Poems are fragments of life.
In this collection, there are blissful moments; deep, invisible wounds; cries for help; declarations of defiance and philosophical observations. These poems are fragments of life elucidating the different phases of the human condition.
My book is now available for Pre-order. Reserve your copy here!
Once published it’ll be available on all platforms 🙂
Am excited to share the beautiful cover of my new book of poems and short stories. How do you like it?
More info soon!
A cup of Tea
is a fuzzy warm morning
flicking aside the blanket of night
It is a lazy afternoon
a let’s sit down
and chat for a while
It is a moment
booked just for me
to waste as I please
to brood
sit by the window
look at nothing
or hitchhike on a plume of steam
to neverland
A sample from my upcoming book of poems and short stories Under the Shade of the Banyan Tree. Out soon!
I watched the dense thicket of clouds slide over the giant luminous cookie in the sky. A pitch-black darkness descended over the neighborhood, and there was not a single streetlamp to mar it.
It appeared that All Saints Eve was going to live up to its reputation after all. I glanced at my companion. I could tell she was thinking the same.
“Should we start? The time looks right,” Myra said.
“Yeah, let’s go.” I smiled at my long-time friend and neighbor.
She adjusted her lace-up corset and handed me her long and tattered train before gingerly stepping out of the alley that had been our hideout ever since the beginning of our ritual. Once again, I had to pause to admire her elaborate costume. She was pleased with it, especially since she had put it together herself. The delicate tea-stained ivory lace and tulle dress accented with droopy brown roses gave her a wispy and forlorn look. The many years of our adventures had supplied a precious aura of authenticity to the dress, as it had been tripped on and ripped several times.
Along ancient streets
and by-lanes
alien sounds ebb and flow
With familiar inflections
passions don’t simmer
they explode
Stirring smiles
on drab countenances
The air vibrates with soul
Inspired by the ancient streets of Cordoba, Toledo, Seville, Granada, in Spain. Walk on! More poems in my soon to be released book ‘Under the Shade of the Banyan Tree’.
As a physician working in acute care I’ve seen many things that few others have and which are perhaps beyond a lay person’s imagination. Among these are few encounters that are etched in my mind. They have moved me, exposed me to my vulnerability and changed me permanently. I’ve learned so much.
I share a few of those encounters in my upcoming book ‘Under the Shade of The Banyan Tree’. Here’s one of them :–
Changes
Yesterday I met a young man in the hospital. I had seen him before, maybe a few months ago. He had an odd name, a name you don’t expect to forget easily, but I did somehow. I must be getting old, I think.
His name didn’t strike a bell when the ER doc told me about him, but I remembered his face.
“He’s a nice guy;” the ER doc said. “He really is,” he reiterated.
That had me curious. We don’t speak like that often. We physicians are a cynical bunch, you see.
I recognized the young man right away, and it was a shock. He didn’t look at all like he had just a month or so ago. He had shrunk. Literally deflated by several pounds and he had grown a beard to disguise his gaunt face.
He had been a young man in the prime of his life. Big, muscular, strong. Still hopeful and smiling, even after a heart attack at thirty-two. Still hopeful and smoking.
He was still smiling now, but it was a different kind of smile. There was diffidence in it and fear and uncertainty. There was also hope, but it was fading fast. It’s astounding how clearly I perceived it without him having to say a word.
Instinctively, I clasped his hand. It was perhaps the most spontaneous thing I’ve done. It was the best way I could express myself other than crying for this man’s life. That’d be a terrible thing to do.
He had given up smoking after the surgery. Ever since they told him he had cancer. We talked some more. I explained why he was here. The spots in his lungs could be pneumonia.
“Maybe they are,” he said and smiled. He’d become adept at dealing with bad news. He had aged beyond his years in such a short time. My heart wept for him.
A collection of poems, rants and short stories.
Freedom to speak, to choose, to read, to love
I have everything
Still, I’m trapped
In a closet of noise, worry, anxiety
And perception
My wrinkles and lack of beauty
My aging mind
My cancer
Acknowledgment
For
My ordinariness that remains
I need liberty
From my big house and smart kid
From the constant urge to scale a summitless peak
From fatigue
I need detachment
Not from the world but me
I need peace
