The midnight tales

My love, spoilt and sour
Is it real or just another fable?



Marooned democracy, over a cup of tea
How much of an actuality? How much of a lunatic?



You. Me. Drenched in the inexpensive city-lights
A dream, or just a miscarriage? 

The other side

You. Me. Aesop.
All dead. All alive.



Sane. Insane. Borderline.
Who's who?



Imagination. Illusion. Fantasy.
Where do you draw the line?

A thousand times...

A thousand times, I thought of telling you
But, I couldn't speak a word...



A thousand times, I thought of writing to you
Poetry, I could never afford...



A thousand times, my city felt the rains
And yet, we could never get drenched.....

The song...

"Give me a song..."



Pen. Paper. Pablo.

They were all there.



The words were there.





It was all there, but


The song.....

The unusual lullaby...

"I'm gonna tell God everything", he said.


The life of three summers

Walked the grave...



A hundred corpses

A thousand rubble...





With love, Dylan.....

The hero...

He was a hero, they said.



A brave hero

A valiant hero

Alive from the jaws of death.



A glorious hero, he was

A true hero...





War had no heroes, though


The perished, and the remnants.....

The obituary...

The sliced rainbow across the burnt skies

Inexpensive bone china, the poetry of a stale coffee

Your glass, drenched in my rains

The monochrome city streets arrested...





A midnight dream, napalm wrapped, forgotten in


The jihad of a crimsoned Quran.....