the ticking sound of the clock

the ticking sound of the clock
and the chanting rhythm of my breaths
between them and the number of times
I’ll see your morning face
Or hear your footsteps
my mind wanders off to mapless places
dingy and dull
often the only recognisable element
the throbbing ache on the walls within
my disenchanted brain

A witness

You’re bursting with aliveness
like a live wire with pain pulsing through.
No. More like a singing stream,
a gurgling fountain.
A witness to the endless waters within us.
How deep is your well,
it carries all our tears.

You are the chosen blank canvas
where grief gets itself painted,
where poetry moves free
alongside speaking images
and the bird of Life rests it’s secret song
nestled in the warmth of your heartbeats,
a whisper, a tribute, a trace
of our souls existence.

Many moons ago

many moons ago,
I had walked those
very corridors,
rested my hands
on baba’s blue bedsheets…
stood by the window
looking out to the city
restless, heaving, oblivious
the sea somewhere roaring
and we were forever waiting
moving, sinking
no two moments felt the same
a constant reminder
nothing lasts

the moon tonight
a clear slice of silver
hovering over that dense
smoke of nostalgia
If it could, it would tell you
I’m still there,
right where you are
walking beside you.

(for a friend, solidarity…memories at Tata Memorial Hospital)


In the womb of darkness
sleeps a search;
so deep a slumber
that nothing stirs
not even the memory of
it’s own beckoning.

Darkness smothers,
darkness prevails.

On the other shore, oblivious,
Light abides to its intuitive calling.
A cradle howl, a blinding sound.
It is possessed by what is sought.
An awakened energy magnetised.
Shooting through its path until absorbed.
Transformed, it recoils to a dreamless

Light conquers,
light surrenders.

There is a light, of another kind.
That flickers;
dances with the dark. A dark from another
realm. Pregnant with the memories of a world
yet to be born.
Together, they seek and retreat
and create this space which sings.

On its notes, life flows
ushering the divine rhythm of Love.

A faraway home


Look with new eyes

Don’t look outside

look on the inside,

everything is merely a

guiding post

connecting dots

leading to the path within.

Look with new eyes

to the old you,

look in the gentle light

of a slowly awaking morning.


You are my tree, my

earth, the solid ground where I

stand. You are my roots.


Never doubt, never

doubt what you are to me: the

roots of my soul tree.


The universe brought

us together just so you

and I could be us.


I am your tree, your

earth, the solid ground where you

stand. I am your roots.


Slug and Lettuce, Richmond upon Thames

Sunday 15 May 2016, 19.18