I make a house of sand 
after years of long lost meanderings into oblivion. 
On the day of salvation, the river comes and leaves a stink of blood and bones. 
I don't drown. I don't die. 
I find myself as a beggar wandering the streets of faith begging for some hope, knocking the doors of the invisible Lord that can turn all dreams to ashes if I speak blasphemy.
I beg him to return what is mine,
I beg, beg, beg and then he answers my call.
He answers my call,
only to put me in a breathing graveyard where souls grapple with themselves to find a way to justify the greatness of the Lord.
He asks me to lie to them,
to sing his eulogy to the one who made me,
the one who matters, the one who deserves to live,
but the one who is a prisoner in this house of death.
So for years I lie. For years I die. For years I try.
And then one day the river comes in the afternoon,
stealing the last drop of hope from the eyes of the prisoners,
putting them into their last sleep.
I don't sleep. I only watch in disbelief.
The last wave of life lashing the shores of existence,
time trickling down like last tears of innocence as the white angel turn into ashes.
Now I wait for the river every night.
When it rains I go to the shore to taste the river for one last time.

Of ants, cattle and monkeys

At first, it was the red ants who raised the clamour,

they huddled together and went to the cattle,

they fought and died and shed their blood.

Then the white monkeys came with ballot papers,

the white far hiding their cold coal hearts,

they weaved them a starry dream,

and then sucked the blood of the forests.

It was then cattle and lambs joined the red ants.

The Monkeys had mortgaged their starry dreams to

the wolves and crocodiles of the west.

The crocodiles wanted to create a zoo for the animals

so one night they burnt the forest down,

but the red ants fought on.

Across the corridor, things were no better. 

Here the cattle had left their shed long back.

They now lived in shanties and refugee camps,

they pulled carts, ploughed fields and at night longed for a home.

So the white monkeys weaved them a concrete dream now.

The monkeys hanged a carrot in front of their eyes.

Soon the cattle evolved into donkeys,

There were no mirrors for decades,

So for years, they never saw themselves,

they couldn't realise how they looked now.

And those who realised had become too comfortable being donkeys.

When the carrots exhausted,

the monkeys summoned the pigs and vultures.

That's how the BT-carrots were introduced.

They opened the gates to the raccoons, wolves and red foxes.

Soon brugmansia, monkshood and bladderwort grew on the red soil.

Slowly and slowly, they sucked the blood of the earth,

And the corridor turned into a desert.

The red ants still fought on,

Digging tunnels, they waited in their burrows,

Awaiting a moment, a coup d'état,

when they can spill over for one last time,

and turn the soil red again with their blood. 

Forgiveness

Forgiveness is a bridge, 
forgiveness is earth, 
it gives life, its a sea where no one drowns, 
all sailors cross this sea,
forgiveness is a walk alone a lonely road,
forgiveness is bliss too because it purges your soul,
forgiveness is love which never stops, flows like a river.
Forgiveness is a drop of tear which is squeezed out of the mountain of pain.

Among zillions of moments that I walked on this earth, many paths are left stranded, many days unattended,

I can ruminate in my vacuum, pick up the pebbles and through them away.
I can change my path or track a new road, but I can never bring back the travelers who could never cross these walls of pebbles and returned home.

I can erase the pencil but I can never get rid of the dents left behind, these bruises will stay in the pages of time.

Those days starved for my love,
buried in a mountain of apathy.

Those skeleton road loses a bit more,
waiting for the river of death to find them home.

Yet I wish relations were like days and roads,
we could at least have a dawn after a night,
we could trace our way back to the beginning.