Electricity is his lifeblood
A nuclear reactor generates
Infinite power for life.
Grease lubricating his joints
As his limbs move with
The robotic efficiency of
A hydraulic pump system.
Plexus of electrical wires
Connected to a myriad of
Hair-thin Optical fibres that
Are sensitive to external
And internal stimuli granting
Him a mechanical homeostasis.
CPU of a billion microprocessors
Coordinating individual programs
And ensuring all processes run
Together in unity as a system.
A 1000-megapixel camera
Recording its 4D reality to be
Stored in a hard drive.
Epitome of rational thinking
Immune to all human emotions.
Infected with love.
Steal heart. Stolen.



The Hole

Inspired by a conversation…

He asked her about a hole in the ground
That exists in their minds but nowhere else.
He asked her if she would jump past it if
She could or skirt around it completely
Or if she would instead stick both feet down
Its mouth not to check how far she will fall,
But to know if, maybe, it leads to her
Own secret adventures in wonderland.

She said she would ponder on the kind of
Devilry contained therein. She would take
A plunge into the darkness, the abyss.

He warned, the fall might last eternity;
The fall might prelude the earth’s molten core.
He feared the darkness consuming her light

She said she finds it better to fall, that
Way she’ll learn to fly and in between she
Would have learnt so much.
She’ll take the fall to
Know if in that darkness she has a niche
Of her own. No, she would not fall, she would
Jump, soar, fly! In that hole she finds herself.

But she is scared he would not fall with her;
Scared he would not hold her hands as he does;
Scared he would not be there to catch her with
An open heart. While he is scared of the
Answer to her question: “Do you want me?
What do you desire?” The hole is simply
A non sequitur, a misdirection.


Kukulaja: A Children’s Terror

Kukulaja! Kukulaja!
I hail thee, O Terror of Nights!
The King of shadows! King of fright!

Kukulaja! Kukulaja!
Look how these children whimper at
The mention of your mighty name!
Those who know hide laughter beneath
Sombre faces ‘ever wary
Of your wrath! Those who do not cry!

Kukulaja! Kukulaja!
I hail thee, O Master of Tricks!
Maker of Masks! Father of Freaks!

Kukulaja! Kukulaja!
Beware the light and breaking Dawn!
Disappear in the face of the
Shining sun! My Mother sings me
To a graceful sleep! Tonight I
Slip away from your terror grip!


Source: Kukulaja: A Children’s Terror


Listen well enough and you’ll hear the echoes
Of the pieces of my broken heart falling in
The vacuum left in its hallowed place.
Although I smile and laugh at everything
I simply am a mask and nothing more.

A statistic with a life but faceless;
A grain of sand in a livid sandstorm;
A single photon in diffused light;
The first scale shed by moulting snakes;
I am of lesser worth than my sentimental value.

Hold my hands and walk this walk down memory
Lane but beware the quicksand of sentiment.
First step I take in remembrance takes me
Back to serial uterine contractions,
Back to the promise of my very first breath,
Back to the washed-out cardboard box where my
Name was whispered into my infant ears,
Only to be snatched away by my tears
And baby cries as we say our goodbyes.

Complete me. Call me. Don’t call me. Nameless.


Source: Nameless

Phantom of the Fog

It had been a clear day
Coloured with the chirps of blackbirds
Heavy with the sweet, thick smell of Frangipanis

She’d been at peace

Then the fog came
Creeping all around her
Draining the colour from everything and then completely obscuring it all
The chirps were gone
Replaced with the hypnotic whispers of the dark fog
The thick sweetness of the air was gone
Replaced with a much thinner sweetness bearing an excitingly bitter tinge

Just when she thought she’d faint from the mesmeric embrace of her new world
She sees his face
Eerie eyes burning into hers
They weren’t menacing
They were emotionless and powerful
Strangely comforting
She raises her hand to touch his face
She draws her hand back when she does not feel the warm flesh she’d imagined she would
He was a phantom
She could see now
The way the edges of his face blended into the fog
He was the fog
This was his embrace

Her eyes darted open
When had she closed them?
The colour was back
The chirps now irritated her
The Frangipanis now stung her nose
Who was he?
She’d known him through his embrace and his eyes
She didn’t know his name
Perhaps he had no name