Wasted & Wanted

How can I admit to loving you,

When all I have seen is skin,

What of the shadows that trail you,

And the darkness within?

I haven’t heard your loose floorboard creak,

You haven’t asked me if I had one of mine.

I haven’t yet caused a tear to drop,

Or sent a shiver down your spine.


How can you admit to loving me,

When I haven’t been here long enough,

For you to read through my pages,

From my beginning..  from where I start.

Or stroll through the ruins of my castle,

I too am one of many, many lonely hearts.


We haven’t shared the same space,

The same air in our lungs,

No shared plate or bread between us,

No wine swirling past our tongues.

I don’t want to only know you,

When you are lovely in bloom,

May your song forever hold melody,

And love for whom you sing,

But if you can’t live through my cold winter,

You shall never see my spring.



It wasn’t a particularly hot or humid night in the city, but she felt a bead of perspiration roll down her spine; a cold sweat. She didn’t really feel like she was taking a casual midnight stroll in her favorite city, not with three men shadowing her while she walked at a brisk pace down a deserted road to nowhere.

Of the three shadows, there was one that lurked completely out of sight, unknown even to the other two. The big man with the backpack; the contents of which, looked like the working tools of a seasoned torturer. He could very well be the most dangerous of the three but, it wasn’t him that she was really worried about tonight. He was the known devil.

The other two were much closer, maintaining a constant distance, blocking every exit she could possibly take if she decided make a run for it back. They spoke to each other in whispers, with the occasional muffled laughter that sent shivers down her spine. The one that did most of the laughing reminded her of the hyenas she used to see on those wildlife channels, a predator. She would look back every few seconds to get a good look at them and he would smile at her. It was the most sinister thing she had ever seen, the face of a madman, with teeth that would probably bite the hand that feeds. The third man was the one that didn’t fit in the picture. He looked like a schoolboy, the kind that always attended class but never came out to play. He was the mouse that lived in the dark. He didn’t speak much but he never took his eyes of her, watching her every move.

The road ended at what looked like an abandoned mill, they where closing in on her. She ran into the abandoned mill and looked for a way out.. she didn’t find one. Panic gave way for cold fear that seeped into her very bones, her hands and feet were now shaking uncontrollably. She moved to a corner and she couldn’t bring herself to turn back and face her shadows.

Then one of them spoke.. “How are you feeling tonight?

That did it, she stopped shivering, only to realize that she was now crying as a painful memory revisited her again like a reopened wound.

She was holding the bandaged hand of her elder sister who laid in the hospital bed of the ICU, her brother standing beside her seething with rage. He was still in his army fatigues and he didn’t look anything like the loving brother that celebrated Raksha Bandhan with them two weeks ago. He was now the angry, inconsolable brother and she was the helpless grieving sister. Their beautiful, soon to be wed elder sister was now battling for her life.

In a broken voice and in between labored breathing, she whispered to them ..

“He asked me how I was feeling at first, and.. then many times later that night. That’s.. all he ever said.. how are you feeling tonight”

She died two days later after succumbing to internal injuries

She was surprised at how quickly her anger helped her overcome her fear and replace it instead with courage. She wiped away the tears, reached into her bag, turned back, pulled out the gun and leveled it purposefully at the speaker, looking at him straight in the eye. It was the mouse and he certainly wasn’t expecting her to pull out a gun on him. He slowly raised his hands up. It was now his turn to cower in fear. The hyena was quick to realize that all her animosity was aimed at his friend and slowly took a few steps backwards but a pair or hands reached out from the darkness behind him and snapped his neck with a very audible crack. The known devil stepped out of the shadows as the lifeless body of the hyena hit the floor. The big man paused to break one of the two colorful sacred threads that was bound around his right wrist before pulling out a blowtorch and pair of handcuffs from his backpack.

The mouse now looked more confused than afraid as he looked at the big man who was walking towards him and then back at her.

Dangerous” She said as she cocked the gun “I’m feeling particularly dangerous tonight



**This story was inspired by recent events**

Hold your fire

Do you remember your childhood fantasies? They would perhaps now seem like pure and untainted dreams, more vivid with light, in a time when the future seemed without limit. Almost like being in love. And you’ve been in love, almost everyone has.
It’s not that I’ve never fallen in.. I’ve felt that hormonal surge, that particular longing, that feeling of comfort with someone else. I’ve felt that many many times and I have memories to prove it. Not flames, mind you; not flames anymore but embers with it’s comforting light.

But to love, to really love.. I don’t really know how that works but I’d imagine that one must let go of everything one knows, of everything one holds dear, one must open ones self up. Love after all, is the grandest emotion of them all. Many layered, varied ingredients give varied levels of the same emotion, Never easy.. I know, but if you want to feel that fire, you have to risk getting burned.


I used to keep my emotions in a wooden box but they kept escaping. So i wrapped my emotions in clingwrap plastic and lead foil but they still managed to find a way out. I locked my emotions in a wooden box in a velvet pouch and i put the pouch inside another wooden box… Didn’t work, never does.

Throw the box in the river, bolt the doors, pull the blinds, cover your head with a blanket… You can try to fool yourself into not feeling anything but what you cast away will surface again, come back sliding under the door, filtering through the blinds, tap you on your shoulder, look you in the eye and flash a big toothy grin.

Some people are like that… The less real the object of their desire, the more real their obsession. But that explains nothing. I have real desires, i have no obsession. I own them, they do not possess me. They are at all times under my control… a controlled loss of control. I cant fight it but I can have it punch me with velvet lined, cotton & bamboo fiber padded boxing gloves.

Blinded Vision

Beauty as it is often said, is in the eye of the beholder. What if the beholder cannot see it? Is it a blessing or a curse? Beauty after all, is rooted in truth and the truth maybe an ugly sight indeed. The truth makes no excuses, allows no compromises, provides no comfort. Perhaps then, we should protect ourselves from the truth…. be blind to it.. if you see what I mean.

Perception is everything, opportunities are all around us, Riches and rewards beyond our wildest dreams. But, we are blind so we cannot see, so they do not exist.  The only reality we can possibly inhabit is the reality we create for ourselves. If we wish to change the world around us, we must change the way we look at it. Take a chance, have blind faith, leap to depths unknown, face an unpredictable future. After all, if you aren’t living on the edge, are you living at all? Or do you just exist?

Lock Stock and 3 Smoking Paragraphs…

                                                   **WARNING: Smoking is injurious to health**

This and an X-ray picture of somebody’s wasted lungs is what you see on every pack of smokes these days. Creating awareness they say. In my mind, clumps of tumors bloomed; soft pink lung tissue took the appearance of charred firewood; grotesque tubers, oozing blood and spore jelly, spread like mushrooms across an unsuspecting lawn; arteries withered like tendrils of parched orchids; clots resembling rotten tomatoes , each clot burning and emitting faint wisps of smoke after combustion.Eugh!!

To non-smokers, it’s an enigma why anyone would smoke, yet the answer seems simple enough when we station ourselves at that profound interface of nature and culture formed when people take something from the natural world and incorporate it into their bodies.

Three of the four elements are shared by all creatures, but fire was a gift to humans alone. Smoking cigarettes is as intimate as we can get to fire without experiencing excruciating pain. Every smoker is an embodiment of Prometheus (He who stole the secrets of fire from the Gods and shared it with mankind and had to face eternal damnation for the same). Smokers probably smoke to capture the power of the sun, to pacify hell, to identify with the primordial spark, to feed on the marrow of the volcano. When they smoke it’s probably not the tobacco they really want, it’s the fire. There was a time when such devotion was as good as worship, the fire dance, a ritual as ancient as lightning. Does that make smokers religious fanatics?? You must admit there is a similarity (or not :P). My take on smoking?? I have none….. But the idea of putting the x-ray on a pack of smokes I think is downright RETARDED!!!
A smoker’s lungs can be compared to a virgin sacrificed in godfire.

P.S: This is a re-post of an old blog entry. Too brain dead to come up with anything new


So many choices in life, so many variations for each and every thing. Being a man I find myself attracted not so much to any particular choice but rather think that there is more than one thing to try;  and I want it all. For some men, the thrill of the hunt is both their blessing and their curse, the bane of wives and the boon of escort services, they are simply addicted to variety. We want not this or that, but this and that.. and that one there.. and there, that one looks good, this one tastes good…. The fun just never ends.

Don’t you wish you could have your cake and eat it too? Doesn’t every man secretly wish to have each and every woman in the world pining for  him and yet have a monogamist, loyal, devoted relationship with each and every one of them?  Well, maybe he can.. it may sound unfair or even abusive, but if he can find the right person and if he doesn’t let their feelings get in the way, he can be unfair to his heart’s content