Here

I feel like I've been here forever,
Like this day has gone on forever.
As though I can neither escape the dread of the night before,
Nor the weariness of the morning it preceeds,
The afternoon, the evenings,
the week that returns home sullen, unforgiving and fallen,
the nights that melt into oblivion...

El sabado le samedi, phir aaya shanivaar

In between saturdays
nothing happens.

The days stand still
and I,
whether in patient waiting
or by restless choice,
drive around-
point to point
end to end
of weeks and months ,
around the occasional moment of truth-
barely rising before being able to fall;
barely engaging before
being able to let go of it all.


(*)El sabado
le samedi
phir aaya shanivaar.

Deja vu

Qui sas

Perhaps the morning prophecies
will live up to fulfilment today.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps

Entre des Espaces

Between here and now
then and there,
Floating on a cloud
of pink and purple flowers
From aeons ago

Escapades in Ennui

Winding lines
in drowsy climes,
I drift into the wilderness
of a long forgotten rhyme...

un peu d'esprit

First Whiffs

In the moonlight filtering through great swathes of tropical sky
We stood there in our cotton nightdresses
(terracotta tiles glistening beneath our feet
the smells of coffees, cream and expectant earth)
Toasting our bent glass flutes to the harbinger,
To the aching thunder's beat,
To the silk of the palm fronds,
and the crust of our skin
seared by the heat of a testing summer,
The forgetfulness of a trivial winter.