My comrades are silent!


white eyes of Bellagio Suites

stare into the crisp shadows hiding me–

forming from men hanging their day’s spent

on parallel lines of black cable wires

their now drenched, detergent smelling jerseys

leaves puddles on hot terraces.


While, I stand

Smell of coffee wafting

the yellow lights yellower than a jaundice patient

brighten more than the neighbor;s dusty car

I feel breezy

and hear caressing. Like waves falling one on top of other.

forming a effervescent froth on the top; a taste of saline

Fish pickled in vinegar.


But honestly, these silent beings,

made of flesh and concrete

steel and blood

stand uncomplaining

to my constant chatter

only speaking among the shadows

their long bodies cast.


But when I look,

far and wide;

a city far away

with far less people

with nevertheless, a million lights.



Staggering with the dead

It’s cold, chilly winds

The hot warm soup

“It’s spicy”


Shutting off the tap,

it’s brass knuckles

leaving prints

on my hand


Tomato soup is red in color.


Warm and cozy

Like my pool.


I am lying beside it

Staining the blue tiles

Into maroon.


The blood-soaked water

Is now bloddy red in the



Fishes choke

on my platelets

They float

Like clouds in the sky


The sky is sparkling white

A white Mercedes

Is walking beside the bus.

The cold has creeped


My hands are numb,

My fingers are falling off,

Shell by shell

It peels off—my



In the midst of shrouds

and withered flowers

Mushrooms and dead plants grow in



The warmth of closed windows

has disappeared.


The sand is cold,

Dead people are icy.


The bus is gone

So is the distance.


From the old wooden dock

I flung my rod

Deep into the ocean.


The reel flying in the air

Made a horizon with the seagull

With the hook pulling me down

I could feel my catch


fish got caught

the sharp hooks

tearing its gills apart


the blood leaking  from the fish

stained the brown wooden boards


“It looks disguting”

And the fisherman carried his stuff

And left.