The City of Lost Souls

I walk back down this path
I see a city torn down
I look at the pain underneath
And slowly touch the heavy ground

The old man who sleeps by the road
He smiles in blatant rage
He has seen you here forever ago
Flaunting your golden age

You wonder what story he’d tell
What past he lived
You wonder if he ever took what was his
From a world with nothing to give.

The city is in shackles
Of some silent pain
Most of us on the streets are dying
Some of us are insane

Where would I hide in dark of the night
Where would I go
I have come far from nowhere
In this city of lost souls


Banging on the walls in my head
my ghosts haunt me still
they call me names and are insane
perched in my room like pigeons on a window sill

I embrace the noises, the insults, the pain
in my love of lack of life
they still call me viciously insane
and want to eat me up inside

At first you hate all kinds of light
everything is then a tunnel
you move on from sight to sight
waiting for the stench of trouble

At length all food is shunned
lost in a swarm of sloth
you realize this is only day one
in eternal hell one eternally rots

Post Valentine’s Day special: Love is all around!

A visit to the hospital can give you more instances of love and its truths than an Archies showroom on a Valentine’s Day. I might be a bit morbid here (what’s new) but the truth is people don’t marry because they LIKE or even LOVE someone. It’s about finding just one person unrelated to you by blood for whom your life would matter just a little bit more than the million other strangers you pass by everyday.

Now, I understand the celebration of love is over. But this is a realization that happened today, just for a fleeting glimpse when everyone who loved someone sympathized with a worried wife. “I can actually understand what she’d be going through.”, my sister had said, “To have someone who means the world to you in the ICU.”

More morbid than the thought of actually being one of patients in hospitals (I’m shit scared of doctors!) is the thought of being the one holding the hand of someone who is sleeping through pain. It makes it worse to know they are in pain and you can do little about it except tell them it’ll go away….

Why do we do it, I wondered. Why in a corridor of white sobriety were 50 people crowded outside the ICU, waiting for that one hour when the visiting hours for the relatives are open. And why while we were asking her how he is, my worried cousin kept looking at her watch hoping to go back in to fully utilize the one hour just to watch her husband sleep to the lullaby of humdrum machines and powerful medication.

Everybody inside a hospital has a heart condition, the one that comes fleetingly disguised as a relieved smile at the end of a successful operation or even as a moment of intense anger (“why doesn’t he stop eating oily food when it’s not good for him?!) or a painful dejection at a loss of life.

So there you go, the moment you lose your faith in the goodness and love of the world, walk into the nearest hospital and you will realize that there are more relatives than patients in the vicinity of the ICU. Love, as they, is all around.

The Unknown Lover

He sits
in an open grave
his innocence sometimes sinfully craves
a morbid sense of love
who’d love him
if not her
the darkness of a hidden sky
she, who lives with a shadow
and a tear in the corner of her eye
He sits
perched on a grave
for the dismal joy
that comes in pain
who’d love him
if not her
the death of sound
she, who lives in silences
and for unknown music she dances
She is the unknown lover
a shroud, veil of secrets
the start of all of life’s mysteries
and the end of bleeding regrets..