I asked her “Because you do not know to read, nor write, you want me to write this letter?”

She said “I do not have a mobile number or anything else and my handwriting is so bad. I could be a doctor for that one reason, a teacher said…”

I persisted “How did you let him go, if you loved him and did not know how to contact him?”

“It was too soon. We were catering food to the children, we spoke about some things, and He was very kind and gentle”

“So, you know his name and the label of caterers where he volunteered?”


“What do you want me to write?”


“That is?”

“I do not know you; I want to know you ” I laughed.

“What sort of response do you want?”

She was defiant “He will know”


She looked worried “I don’t know. I did not think that far”


A love full of words

strung together like flowers in blind hands

or like dew drops on the electric line

shimmering in street lights

or like the animated picture of waterfalls

sitting in an underground cellar touching 44 F

Parched throat , sweaty hands

Just as impossible to touch the words

even if they touch me

or utterly unattainable as I wanted it to be

Safety of desiring the one who

can never be mine and hurt me.

reasons dont matter

There is a method to madness , till you discover that madness remains an enigma. And if there is only a method , then it is craft , not art.


written in collaboration with intrudesite

reasons do not matter

with right intentions in the mind

methods do not matter

with madness already in the mind

will finds a way

to a space without a map anyway

so – no reason to keep madness in mind

if will is the matter

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Night rises behind the tall walls

Of endless rows of houses

Some windows light up

Distant tunes come towards me

Impenetrable veil drapes the stars

That deign to look on the

Electric light garlands decorating silent trees.

Awaiting the New Year

Day walked the endless corridors

in sinking sands

Without finding you

Moon wakes up at mid night

where are your desires?

Waiting for him in that corridor?

I fall asleep in your dreams.

{Dedicated to fkregieblog for always understanding} 


Last month of the year is heavily pregnant ,

like a virgin womb with Christ

One sheet of calendar flutters

like a dry kerchief on the blank wall

Carrying few crosses for the mornings with

absent milk a simple sign of kempt house

A pair of binoculars from the closing years birth

await to reach the peak and bring earth closer

Another diary arrives like another

Piece of sky seen and framed

or like another bowl of water

to wash my face or like another storey

of a nameless deserted building.

Those who once made thermos

flasks , make diaries like warm eagle nests

Others who construct old age homes

Encourage memoirs

to be read posthumously

They all begin with

Maps for that healthy temptation

of journey to the  earth

All about existing continents

Marked by green jungles , blue rivers

Little triangles for hills .

Nothing left to explore

Every place is  mapped

Kings were over  thrown

Historians have done with wars

Archaelogists find undiscovered

ruins of past glories, they dig

like burrowing mammals

More information

ISD codes in ques , I can always

Call , someone is  home sick abroad

Perhaps that emotion belongs to

Christmas holidays

After all these printed

distractions , come new pages

with unknown events

A smell of fresh weaknesses

Frighteningly clean new

beginnings …

I can only draw one known face

with one more crease ,

one more laugh line

one more fold

To include the unknown you

( Published in Silent Flute  Kendra Sahitya Akademi

Navodaya Publications for Young Indian English writers