kunzum cafe


at Kunzum cafe in Hauz Khas village in the city Delhi
I found the answer finally
I am a fool much too blind to see
thirty five years it took to discover thee

while all around me
sitting on a low earth hugging settee
beautiful people talking art and poetry
while outside the city continued madly

you don’t have to pay anything here
you can just drop what you can affordably
but they do advertise an awful lot my dear
of workshops of interesting photography

apparently the cafe built here to be
learnt under a Googly banyan tree
keep them occupied and keep them hooked
pretty soon they depend on you for being happy

I have been living like Delhi was a monastery
alone in my grief and self inflicted misery
Delhi I remember now can also be pretty
Just like the girl in white on the settee

kunzum cafe very exotic ji
deep in hauz khaus in saddi dilli
dropping my ivory tower pomposity
getting drunk on your hot tea


Jesus it is dull here

in a bustling cafe
again over earl grey tea
I watch people play
games I wish I could have played

Some like to romance and flirt
Some make deals to make money
Some seem to be doing both
Music is fast and service is slow

Imagination and reluctance
Creativity and reticence
Fortunately the internet comes to my rescue
I am so glad it is mute unlike the television

I cant help but overhear
Conversations that should have  never been spoken
It is bad enough to be so perceptive
It is worse to be so opionated

That is the life of a writer
Writing in a dull cafe
Churning out fifty words per hour
at fifty cents per word

daily love

daily I get up
do my stuff
take my walk
read my emails

read the paper
write my blog
do some work
call some people

travel to somewhere
get bored in traffic
smile at random things
feel sad at past memories

this is my daily love
I love life so much
I forgot why I fell in love
in the first place

getting used to the habit
in the hope
that tomorrow will bring
something to delight

everyday cant be exciting
but we can hope
hoping onwards is my daily love
and it keeps us alive  these days

Paradise Parasite

Somedays thoughts go sunder someways
I have everything I ever wanted and worked for
I got what I deserved and what is more
I am in my own version of personal paradise

Lately I have come to love the thoughts that come to stay
The insecurities, doubts and melancholy that choose to pray
Makes we wonder if today I did all I could have done
Am I near the end or have I just begun?

Doubts are the parasites in my paradise
Sucking my happiness secretly without a glance
Gnawing and throbbing on the healthy of my mind
Leaving a rotten core to be found

There is a parasite in my soul
and I dont know if the bleeding is helpful
But it is sure making me weak
The thoughts of drowning and turning bleak

Shoo! Shoo! Go away, little Johnny was in a pleasant mood today
Prozac induced music inspired food satiated weather fine tuned
But the parasite called nagging doubts have

English: Eastern Phoebe (Sayornis phoebe) nest...

come to stay
Is that all I could say to you today?

Crappy Poem


early morning I wake up thinking I feel good
later after a walk,and eating some food
I think I need to have a plan
for seizing the day today lest it wastes away

so I fire up my old computer and wait
for inspiration to strike a pleasant note
but inspiration is on vacation and gives me
a Out of Office reply be back in two weeks

do I risk another mediocre piece of crap
hopefully lurking in the generosity of fellow artists
do I power the laptop down
and move on to the next meaningless task I choose to fill the interval called life with

nothing risked nothing gained nothing written no one pained
so we risk another chance to clear our literary throats
and let our woozy art ramble on cyber space
hoping to get better at creating art since we got worse at living life

mediocrity is a dull enough curse for it to be accompanied
by blind self appraisal and melancholic alcoholic tendencies
shit stinks and crappy art stinks more yet everyday we sit
on our literary toilet hoping to produce manure that gives life to art farty flowers

than the turds of stinking yellow lines of words that disgust and fascinate
stupidity is dumb enough curse for it to be accompanied
by verbose pomposity religious creativity and an appalling affliction
which says how do I get out of this sentence