White noise

The quietest hours are
Often most treacherous
For they don't pander to a routine
Or a purpose.
Like a silent wave, they splice your soul
And shake you out of comatose.

To the white noise of unrealised dreams.
To all the promises your failed to keep.

Its when the inkless canvas of your existence stares you in the face
What could have been, blue and black and multiple shades of red.

But what you have instead is a tale
That's far from written.
A half formed memory that seems to
have been lost in translation.
A tune, that's elegantly incoherent
A fear that's found new home in incompetence.
How long would you wait to slowly die in its clenches?

A lifetime, I hope to heavens is an inappropriate estimate. 

Diary of another insomniac

Living in the mist of your fragrance,

Today, tomorrow, tonight.

As the curtains of passion,

Fall upon a dishevelled night

Dancing to the symphonies of your breath

The artist in me comes to life

Forsaking the gazillion gaze

Of the awkward morning daylight.

Because

because, swollen eyes have dreams within-molten, visceral tartar like

Because, world is shrinking, yet distances are growing

because, technology replaces touch

because, people with feelings are immideiately typecasted as sentimentalist

Because, birds, babies and bats are no more musical

because, beauty resides in the heart of plastic

because, primroses are not poetic any longer

because, sarcam hides more than it reveals, yet keeps communication alive

because, happiness is yet to become a popular brand among the youth

because, there is nothing that mastercard cant buy

because, voices that objected have long disappeared

because, giving up is so much easier than giving in,

because, words are toys-manipulated by anyone and everyone

because apples are not oranges, they're infected with deadly H1N1

because, most deaths happen in hospital premises itself

because, gravitational forces doesnt explain sudden dizziness and loss of breath.

because, mortality is a pain, and immortality a tragic coincidence

because, end is approaching steadily near.

because.

amen

In dark alleys, across the subway, stone-eyed men walk with a hunchback, and grey umbrellas. Humming tragedy in chorus, to fill up awkward silences building like cowebs on their dusty minds. a vermillion spider infests in the prickly gaze of their unappreciated talent, and trickles down to the feet of street urchin. mocking smiles are exchanged, as they fathom hope in glittering golden pyre. Odourless blue toes, stretch on the floor of a bottomless ozone. Pain-wretched clouds gather in mourning, passing a tear from one to another.

An elegy is composed and roses are arranged.

a prayer is recited, in two-shaded baritone


A star falls unblossomed in papercups of sand.

time smells of disease, in abysmally sinking universe.

Another poem

long mercurial nights
- soaked in absinthe of his unruly gaze.
surreptitiously devouring blackholes
and their blackened torso.
Like a squeaky, infantile cloud.
rambling headless without a pen and paper,
longing to slip into night's scarlet bossom.