GrandLapin sent his signed photo

Twelfth Man

I do not remember it anymore
I do not remember the date anymore
but still April is the cruelest month
and on someday in April
my friend Subhash died of a heart attack
without treatment suffering at a free hospital
for eight long hours
the twelfth man who has no rights or claims
who comes and vanishes
falls on the way to be replaced immediately
by another.

Some-fucking-day I will drop dead here and nobody
will know, Subhash paused, his right hand up in mid air
and his fingers playing on an invisible piano.

Subhash was a writer who danced with
other little men in this
stark naked local hooch shop and melted
in thin air asking for a glass of drink
for he was all dry.

I do not remember the date
but still April is the cruelest month.

Another Ordinary Day

My new E-chap book of poetry Another Ordinary Day is now available from Ten Pages Press as their 31th offering.

Here is the link.

Pic taken in a cafe in Plaka, an old poetical neighborhood under the holy rock of Akropolis, in Athens.

Recent Works

My recent works


Horror Sleaze Trash


Carcinogenic Poetry


Full Of Crow's Quarterly Poetry


Danse Macabre


Graffiti Kolkata Broadside

Once More In Favor Of Lucy And All Radio Stations

[ I just found this long lost translation of my poem done by Basant Rungta during a rooftop poetry reading I did for his organization Srijan on May 29, 2003.]


At least you know Lucy,
How dangerous was our morning
When our veins were bursting, as if yanked out
Lips were not just grazing but delving,
discovering mysteries of each other
Like water discovering water
You were a face, Lucy
and a lot of clouds
And it would be unfair to call them all just water
They were smoke which had frozen
And houses upon houses
How shadows – walked up to you, readying themselves
All that searching all the waters of the morning
On our florid and blushing skins
Which, if burnt by rain,
colors will cover again
But even then, all those life-long angers
might talk of that burning, that arson
and to master that burning, harness its powers
The blood flowing in streams
on guitar-strings
would have to be licked clean
All those clouds, their lumps
have now lifted their veils and fled
Such is the fun of staying alive
Which means
that the mile-long nets woven by the veins,
have not learnt to fly
Are tied to keys of the guitar
And from out of the stomach emerges that very tree
Its roots and shoots
From the mouth grow branches
which peep out and look
From the eyes, pour leaves – exalted in glory
It would be unfair if they are called just water
Maybe all these are words – not flesh and bones
Maybe these are births, being born
Which cannot be sent to you
through broadcasts from a radio station

getting late

I hate this telephone ringing
in the morning,
either it is some agents calling for
repayments of unpaid bills
or news of some little man
jumping out of the window.

I was waiting for the tube
when this girl comes up
and asks me what time it was.
The train was running late by 5 minutes.
I am getting so late she said
and walked away towards a
huge standing fan.

Her hair flying dancing
and I could hear the rumbling
of the train approaching.
When it was a few yards away from us
she jumped
trying to reach for the third rail.
The train screeched to a halt
but by then it was too late.

I came out of the station slowly.
It will take at least an hour
before everything becomes normal again.

Canton Chalk Walk and Street Poetry Readings, July 1st, 2011 and more...

It all started last year when poet Christina Brooks started chalking some poetry outside her house in Detroit and this idea caught on and finally became Canton First Friday's CHALK THE WALK event. A group of poets assembled as a street team gathering at the offices of Citizen X (publisher of BRsq.org) at 2:00 on July 1st, 2011 to collect chalk and poems and then heading out to cover the art district sidewalks with lines of verse!

It is a great honor for me to be able to join this group for this event, though physically I was on the other side of the world but I could still share my poems with them and support this venture. Cheers !!!!






let the phone ring
i am not getting up
let the sun burn my legs
i am not pulling the shades down
trying hard to finish this dream


For more photos of the event click here.