We all shared a fantasy

about college walls

splashed; dripping

under the scent of adolescent penis,

bleeding profusely in the color of red

forming the sickle-hammer flag.


Of a giant knowledge tree,

under which,

leaves were rolled in paper–I could hear the trees

screaming– burnt at the crushed, twisted edges

while our hearts flew into palpitations,,

each fag produced a ideational obeisance

of which we knew little.


Or a much more,

innate desire–

to rebel and destroy,

even the bell the rings regularly,

invariably, making me salivate,

but nevertheless, an absence of hierarchy.

And like school children

we would walk out of classes

or sulk in corners.


But  what kept us together

was a silent yet intelligent voice

which kept screaming

“premature ejacualtion”





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.


The black crows that have surrounded

are waiting for the vultures to leave.


pounding upon meat upon meat,

pecking on his eye balls.


Leaving nerves and

flesh and flesh together.


Lying in a rotten casket,

of his  exposed rib-cage

He awaits;

his heard yet pounding.


Degraded flesh

leads to a love-laiden flower;heavy with its own burden

it crumples.


Out of the moist earth

arises another red

that turns black,

like the soot in the air.