My poem in the Fall issue of The Fox Chase Review

The Fox Chase Review is amongst my favorite online literary magazines. Submitting to the journal is by solicitation only. So I'm pleased to have yet another poem published in this review. Please read the poem at the link below. Thanks!

The July 2014 Issue of IJML

 I received my copy of the July 2014 issue of the International Journal on Multicultural Literature today. 
The journal is published biannually in a book form by Prof K.V. Dominic from Kerela. It brings together diverse poets, writers and academicians from all over the world. It's delightful to read so many voices expressing themselves through articles, short stories and poetry. 
This issue carries three of my poems which I am posting here for my readers. 
I must make a mention of Anisha Ghosh's poem -Anonymous in the same issue. Loved it!


We Become a Destination

In a magical corner of air

A cello plays sacredly.

My heart tumbles into your sagacious posture,

Turns into a capering contour for your fingers,

Begs for the uneven geometry of your craggy words 

As it watches you unfold ancient parchments in your eyes

Relaxed white walls 

Shift between my left and right brain hemispheres 

Show me a kaleidoscope of a million rosy moments

Knitted into a single future.

Music bows into this enamored opera of love

Rains swing into this diaphanous rhapsody 

Sheer and sweet like curtains 

When we gaze at each other,

Through all the bitter lessons waiting to be learnt,

We fall into a dream.

We float like wisps of feathery seeds into each other's throats

Slip into gulps of immortal love.

Time less, journey less, route less, 

We cease to traverse. We become a destination


Alloy Ink

This ink

Dark with desires

Old with knowledge 

Older with thirsts

Incendiary yet apologetic 

Inciting yet comforting

When I write

The ink becomes 

As cleansing as water

One fine day in history

It hardens, becomes tensile like steel 

Coagulating feelings into

A frozen crystal lattice, defying time

Blistering souls

Forging truths

About why things are the way they are

In the crucible of life


My name, a boat

My name is a boat

Porting my courage

To the pure waters 

Of your voice 

Say it

Break my name between your teeth

Taste it with your tongue

The way you would taste a fruit

Or sip wine

Savor the breaking bedrocks of its syllables

The furrowed alluvium of its earth 

Smeared and shiny with too much walking

With too few pauses 

Floating into eternity 

on the sails of your lips

Docked in the anchor of your throat

Only to bob again in the water of your eyes

When you rise next morning...or the next

My name is a boat moored between your own


Abandoned in Old Age

The grime and garbage on the streets 

Are his focus points

Things he wakes up to every morning

Tortured by his aching joints

The street air has little in it

To give to his poor lungs

Oxygen is not an option 

Here on life's lowest rungs

His clothes are baggy

Tattered and torn

The same he wore

When he was thrown out of 'home'

Only his tears are fresh

Refreshed everyday

When he assesses the cruelty

Of being abandoned this way

He relies on whatever he can find 

Bits of leftover pizza and bread

Thrown away waste

Have become sustenance instead

I catch his eyes at a traffic signal 

See in his eyes, the clarity of pain 

Wan lips, pale cheeks, gauntness

That he tries to conceal, in vain

The rudder of life sometimes

doesn't steer very right

Man depends on his children

But children are indifferent to elders' plight

Old age and loneliness

Go hand in hand

When life deepens and ripens

Ironically, all joys disband 

The pain of this reality

Haunts like a ghost

Why loved ones abandon us

When we need them the most

We're living inside deaf walls 

Where no sensitivity permeates

Compassion is dead

We've forgotten how to tolerate

Demeaning those 

From whose seed and womb we are born

Ceding the flowers

And clinging to the thorns


Posting a new poem today...21st July 2014.

Thinking Skin

I have thinking skin, made of indus mud, opium and autumn rain

It's used to kneading seconds to minutes, minutes to hours

Like sand inside the walls of an hourglass

But today for some reason 

It's thinking of alpine roads, cool mountains 

and Kestrels fluttering rapidly like hearts

My skin has thoughts in every pore

it thinks of taking chances with stray pockets of breath

and runnels of a soft, whispered language 

It disintegrates like a picture puzzle when you look at me 

Bunting goosebumps on the winds

Like little pontoons keeping love afloat; skin to skin, hand to hand

I have thinking skin and it wonders why we

cannot burst forth with mirth, like humble Euphorbia seeds

and pollinate our love with joy



Fall Issue of Pea River Journal

Can't wait to read the Fall issue of Pea River Journal themed around 'The Burden of Home'. It also has one of my poems in it, titled The Summer We Called Home.


Clothes Pegs - Open Road Review

The poetry section of this fine journal is edited by Vaughan Gunson, all the way from NewZealand. My poem Clothes Pegs was selected for the May 2014 issue. Sorry for posting this a bit late here on the site. Nevertheless, here's the link:



This was published in The Brown Boat, a Raedleaf Journal:



Homes have no walls

no rooms, no furn

iture, no thresholds 

Nothing through which you might enter 

and nothing from which you might want to exit

Because homes are not houses

Homes are built in the eyes 

Erected by naked, hungry hearts

In skies, in dew drops, lichen, mosses, 

Sometimes on parched, parted lips

Sometimes inside the darkening irises of your eyes

Homes are tender assembles of empty air 

Sorted by the linear breaths you lend to me;

Built for unborn little feet to run

And for smiles to sun themselves on broad porticos

My home is in the centre of your palms

Sunk in the wells of your destiny

That you carry like a liquid in your eyes

Or like an abode in your hand, my very own delta 

Between the nine mounds of the universe




Day 17


Almost thought I wouldn't get the mental space to write today what with so much going on with the hacked email account and countless well wishers calling in.

But finally I did.

Today I.e. Day 17 prompt was to write a poem about at least three of the five senses.

Feeling It

The call of the cuckoo bird 

Like a deft crochet needle 

Diving into sound

Knitting laces of octaves

Moss on cliffs 

Arching it's back in abandon

Craggy chins velcroed to emerald cheeks

Grey aching silently beneath the brilliant velvet

Wise, aged tree barks

Stenciled in warm brown and crimped tan 

Resin, sap, nectar running in rivulets

Filling tiny creeks of wood like tears filling eyes

Sensations run from nature's spigot

I hear them, feel them, see them

In my knuckles reaching out to them

Even as I parcel them in my lungs for next life


Another review of my book on

Mamta Agrawal is a force to reckon with, when it comes to reviewing Literary books. I have read many reviews by her in the past but have to say that she has excelled herself in the review currently posted on boloji. And the fact that this time the book is my own, is purely incidental. Her review has depth that comes from a broadly read mind, it has that extra quality that comes from a exquisitely sensitive soul and the comprehensiveness born from a thorough reading of the material being reviewed. 

I'm truly Honoured to have my book so diligently reviewed by Mamta. 

Here's the link to the review:

Two poems published in The Brown Boat by Raedleaf Poetry India

Linda Ashok is a fine editor and so I was delighted to find my poems in the newly launched journal The Brown Boat, which Linda edits.

Here's the link:

The only thing is that you will have to scroll down considerably to reach my poems because the poets are showcased alphabetically.

Nice cover!