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  • I Want to Break Free

    I Want to Break Free

    as Queen sings

    i want to break free

    but what is freedom

    it confuses me

    wherever i go

    whatever i do

    by evening

    i get adverts for things

    i merely glanced at

    never wanted

    never desired

    always testing my curiosity

    as if i am walking down a market street

    looking at every face

    every shop

    and suddenly someone signals

    you can come inside

    have a look

    you might find what you are looking for

    and i did

    i entered

    i said

    i am looking for love

    he replied

    we have a collection of tshirts

    with LOVE written on them

    i had wandered into a ready made shop

    where answers were ready

    but i wasn’t

    my teacher used to say

    you can buy everything in this world

    even love

    you just have to find the right market

    perhaps he was playing with us

    some truths arrive disguised as jokes

    perhaps he spoke from experience

    and then another advert appeared

    asking whether i’d like to order something

    in fact

    i was only watching the woman

    on the billboard

    holding a drink

    her eyes enchanted me

    more than the drink ever could

    now i think

    i’ll probably see adverts for opticians

    eyewears

    contacts

    or something else

    i know nothing about

  • The Man Who Had Never Seen a Diamond

    The Man Who Had Never Seen a Diamond

    “The sparkle in your eyes

    resembles the geometry of marbles 

    like there is a separate universe

    inside the eyes.”

     

    He said:

     

    “What sparkle are you talking about,

    I have been wearing

    the same necklace

    for five years

    and it is silver.”

     

    “Gold is expensive

    my dear

    We have to save money 

    to afford it.”

     

    And she stood there, 

    thinking 

     

    “Oh poor him

    he had never seen a diamond in his life.”

     

    Then the tears rolled from her eyes

    down her cheeks

    onto the piece of paper

    where this poem was written

     

    plop

    plop

    plop

  • The Book I Want to Read

    The Book I Want to Read

    Someone asked me

    what book should I buy for you

    I said

    buy me the book

    that can instill hatred in my mind

    because goodness is stuck to me

    like an adhesive

    and ordinary thoughts will never be enough

    to peel it away

    buy me a book that can make me cruel

    utterly selfish from within

    a book that burns through my heart

    like fire

    I want that book

    because too much love

    can sometimes kill you

    give me something that can erase

    every positive thought

    a book that teaches bitterness

    betrayal

    and the art of becoming a monster

    because perhaps then

    I will finally realize

    that it is a hundred times more painful

    to remain a monster

    than to be a simple

    and good human being

    then maybe

    I will learn to compromise

    with my pain

    I will tell my soul

    dont worry

    you have read the worst

    yet lived the best

    live the best

  • Cassettes

    Cassettes

    When cassettes were around,

    things were different.

    Memories stuck to them

    like dust on their plastic shells.

    On the front,

    the artist’s picture.

    Inside,

    a list of songs.

    Side A.

    Side B.

    I would turn it over

    from A to B,

    then B to A,

    again and again.

    The same sounds,

    the same music,

    reverberating around me.

    One day,

    I managed to buy more cassettes.

    Some borrowed from friends,

    some from my mother’s collection,

    some from my uncle’s collection,

    some from classmates.

    The fusion of all that music

    was beautiful.

    After school,

    during holidays,

    a cassette became a place to rest,

    an escape from the noise of the world.

    Bitter moments

    stacked quietly in my mind.

    Good moments,

    I treasured.

    And somewhere

    between Side A and Side B,

    pieces of my life

    were being recorded too.

  • Without Invitation

    Without Invitation

    Somewhere majestic,

    in a Queen’s home,

    I walked without invitation.

    Nobody came to greet me,

    no royal escort from the station.

    I was simply curious,

    wanting to know the history

    of a glorious nation.

    I told the guards,

    “Do not judge me by my clothes,

    I have little sense of fashion.

    Looking around and asking questions

    is not my occupation.

    I stay true to myself.

    My face carries the look

    of someone who has just returned

    from a long vacation.”

    Once again, I apologize.

    I arrived at the Queen’s palace

    without invitation.

    But if you choose to welcome me,

    I would gladly enjoy the occasion.

  • Nobody Famous

    Nobody Famous

    He irons the same checked shirt every morning

    pours his tea before the city wakes

    steps outside

    and the world loses its mind

    Phones appear from nowhere

    Hands reach

    Someone wants a photograph

    Someone wants his signature

    on the back of a biscuit wrapper

    He obliges gently

    the way a man does

    when he doesnt want to be rude

    Then catches his bus

    He is not running from anything

    He is not going anywhere important

    Just the office

    just the same desk

    just Tuesday

    But they follow him

    down the high street

    past the corner shop

    past the pub that opens too early

    filming every ordinary step

    like it holds a secret

    Maybe it does

    There is something about a man

    who is not performing happiness

    that makes people stop

    Who eats his lunch without checking

    if anyone is watching

    Who laughs at something small

    a pigeon

    a wrong change

    a word he mispronounced

    and doesnt explain himself

    They call him remarkable

    He calls it Thursday

    He goes home

    Leaves his shoes at the door

    Puts the kettle on

    before hes even taken his coat off

    And sits

    in the particular silence

    of a man who needs nothing more

    not knowing

    that this

    exactly this

    is what they were all

    trying to photograph

  • Sweet Imperfections

    Sweet Imperfections

    There are things I am not good at.

    But it doesn’t matter.

    I am not chasing perfection.

    It will never reach me,

    and I will never reach it.

    Keep me away from it.

    I was not born to be perfect.

    I was born to be okay.

    To enjoy my imperfections

    at their fullest.

    I need errors.

    I need trials.

    I need mistakes.

    Some lessons from others,

    some from my own bruises.

    If someone tells me

    to walk from A to C,

    I will break that line.

    My imperfections

    run perpendicular to me.

    Whenever I begin to feel perfect,

    that other line should remind me

    I am not there.

    I am not chasing anything.

    I am not building anything.

    I am not destroying anything either.

    Just me,

    in my being,

    with all the imperfections.

    If you can accept me,

    I can flock around you,

    clock around you,

    and when the ghost of perfection

    begins to surround you,

    I will quietly keep my distance.

    I have embraced

    my sweet imperfections.

  • Borders of the Mind

    Borders of the Mind

    Where can we go

    blaming each other?

    How far can we travel

    hating each other?

    Sometimes things get stuck in caste

    sometimes in color

    sometimes in race

    sometimes in collar

    Humanity is not limited

    it is meant to be an infinite space

    of love and understanding

    mutual respect and peace

    Yet sometimes I wonder

    if those are words

    we only raise as slogans

    beautiful to hear

    difficult to live

    We have our territories in the mind

    We have learned addition

    yet our thoughts speak

    the language of division

    Perhaps the greatest challenge is this

    one cannot accept another’s presence

    one cannot tolerate another’s happiness

    Laughter becomes memes

    tears become reels

    Only an individual knows

    how he or she truly feels

    Every day thoughts kill a little

    you grow tired sleepless

    then come more prescriptions

    more pills

    Dont be tired oh human

    the world says

    You still have so much to achieve

    so much to see

    Maybe one day

    someone from another planet will visit us

    And when we have found peace within ourselves

    the pact we make with other species

    will be divine

    But before that

    we must learn to stand together

    not in lines of separation

    but in circles of understanding

    We must learn

    that another persons joy

    does not diminish our own

    We must learn

    that another persons existence

    is not a threat

    Only then

    will we be ready

    for distant worlds

    Until then

    the unanswered question remains

    Is it possible?

  • Sweeperman

    Sweeperman

    He descended from the sky,

    wearing green shorts over blue pyjamas,

    something that did not resemble

    the image we carry in our minds.

    He wasn’t Superman.

    He introduced himself as Sweeperman.

    With a broom in his hand,

    he cleaned the city streets,

    cleaned the vile thoughts of people,

    the hatred inside them,

    their greed,

    their evil-minded desires.

    Sweeping was his day job.

    But something within him

    was immensely powerful.

    The peculiar mask he wore

    was only a disguise.

    If he came in his real form,

    he would look like an ordinary guy.

    In truth,

    he is still an ordinary guy.

    Before anyone wakes in the morning,

    his magic broom cleans the streets,

    the alleys,

    all those places where people place their feet,

    so that no dust

    may cling to them.

    And at night,

    he becomes a mysterious figure,

    a silhouette in the distance.

    No one can ever guess

    what he is capable of.

    Sweeperman.

    Sweeping the sky of blood,

    sweeping hatred from the mind.

    He fights with his broom.

    I can imagine all these things,

    sitting quietly in my room.

  • Love Finds Its Way

    Love Finds Its Way

    My candle doesn’t light for you alone

    I told her

    Please

    don’t stand against the light

    Let it pass

    through the gate of love

    She didn’t listen

    She spent herself

    extinguishing every flame

    cutting wires

    so no bulb would glow

    Yet somehow love found a way

    Beneath a sunlit sky

    the light she tried to dim

    found its own horizon