Sunday, 26 February 2012


I write stuff. 
In-your-face, sometimes. 

Tantalizing, to myself. 
Nerdy, to some.
Often, surreal, to all.

For, the meaning, the picture
Is hazy when seen through eyes
That do not own words.

See? You've got to see them
Then touch them just a bit
As you roll them round your tongue...

Feel that quiver perhaps when a tiny
Plosive sound echoes a heartbeat's cry.

Bah! What's that? You gag!
I've known terrorists you know, 
The kind whose "plosive" *snigger snigger*
Sounds I've laughed away...

And you. You. You perhaps 
Insinuate, I cannot fathom
The utter senselessness of 
That word?

Which one? I ask. 
You're not sure, I can see.
Which plosive sound? Did I not
Just implode, with that suggestion?

And that is what I did mean.
A word like Love. 
A word that cries.
A sound that smells 
Of disdain. 

Breath rushes out between
Half opened, sometimes closed lips
When you articulate. I beg you. 

Even when sounds defy
Phonetic seriousness
Not adhering to norms. 

When you listen.

And then, then only
Will I grant that you can


26 February, 2012
Online, on a silly line of thought :D


  1. Oh! such heady stuff
    like nicotine after a strong puff
    you managed to catch me by my scruff
    and better still, could call my bluff
    denuded I wonder standing in the buff
    see? feel? taste? can I read? I ask myself.


  2. Lol! Govind this has to be the best yet
    That has dropped into the comments net
    And if it was my lastest dollar, I'd still bet
    That no one lives, who better than you can get
    And read, and see and know the words here, set!

    So, denuded be not, dont fret :D
    In fact, into a secret, You shall be let
    It's just stuff, all that you can get
    That becomes brilliant, because it's met
    With some eyes that know words, and into them jet
    Meanings and notions, even I've not had yet :)

    Thank you once again, Govind. Your comments always inspire :)


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