A flag that I can call my own

A little to the left

push it to the end

Stop, before you hit the wall.

turn it by around by three sixty

face it that side

face it to the wall

face it in a way nobody sees your face.


Lie still like a human sushi platter,

don’t flutter around like a butterfly

cause the Gods died ages ago,

Don’ think. Don’t feel, Just lie,

like a story book in the shelf.


Be colorless, Be odorless.

be anything but shed blood.

For all I care, be a rainbow unicorn

in a fantasy world where clouds

are made of marshmallows, but

don’t rain the city with your knives.


Don’t put a ring on my cock. If it’s not yours.

Don’t color my hair or ask me to cut it.

Don’t ask me to recite words or die for it.

Just follow a lot of dont’s  and mind your business.


I like my flags in solidarty

with the silence

of them fluttering

in the evening breeze.







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.


unseen startles!

each new year; a special day,

I ask her out and she whistles to the woods,

there are no woods in the city,

yet she talks to the darkness, She isn’t dark she is white like the lamp,


‘New year resolutions’

‘New year party

‘New year poetry’?


She says ours hands are lying in the dark,

entwined and broken like my ring finger,

“I am shy of light”.


She was singing,

she told me she was sad,

Sad at how she was ruling the world.



I think you are no special human being,

nor borne of horse or a dog,

a mortal man with blood running, through nerves and body,

I called a horse-cart,

There were fireworks in the sky

I could see bright lights and loud sounds,

And I knew she was giving me another birth.