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On Ghosts

So I wrote this one rather ordinary haiku which had the word “ghost” in it, and that led to a set of haikus and tankas, where I used the idea of “Ghosts” in different perspectives. A self-set design challenge you could say, and I was kind of pleased that I managed to put together what I did. Here they are.

That Sick Feeling

When you are unwell
In the City the Mountains
ghost in unannounced.

Second Child

When you have one child
the second is the ghost in
your conversations

Always On

This mute Android ghost
echoing in my dreams an
eternal tapping.


Poetry and math,
two ghosts haunting your pursuit
of career growth

Interior Design

Deciding between
all the dazzling laminates
and woodwork options
lines grow on your face as if
a ghost transplanted the grains.

Slices of Love

Every night the dog waits
on the road, expectantly,
for my tired wife,
the gentle balcony ghost
feeding love with bread slices

Street Photography

Cameras moving
in the market, ghosts sniffing
unwary victims

Cameras moving
in the market, inside them
roam staccato ghosts


Tanka and Haiku overdose #3

And I continue excavating my Facebook and Twitter timeline to deposit a few more nuggets here.

Death in Paradise

The world through her eyes
was heaven for her parents,
now they wait their turn.

You have to dive

A blank document
stretched out like a white ocean
containing a world
waiting to be discovered
by a bold scuba diver

Perforated memories 

Chill winter evening,
Pigs nestling in open drains,
Bats whirring above;
hushed memory of that girl’s
slow long death from brain fever.

Fairy in the room

Watching Tinker Bell
with my daughter, pixie dust
transforms my morning

Work-Life Balance: A haiku here, a tanka there

Work From Home (WFH)

This first winter day
snuggled inside old blankets
taking office calls

Value Addition

So much back and forth
to craft this communique
for the sales workshop;
Bemused, I still fret over
the comma no one catches.

Story-boarding Insights

I tell the rookie
Begin with the storyboard
because I can’t think.

Revenue Recognition

When you generate
no revenue, you can
see the expression
of corporate dysfunction
via SAP attribution

Tanka and Haiku overdose #2


We, filling water
in the inverter, distill
spousal cooperation

Paying our respects

When his mother died
last night, we paid our respects
by resisting this
acute urge to forward jokes
drowning other whatsapp streams.


It is an odd thing
the passions women with rings
on their pretty chins
provoke in men with odd stones
on their stiff fingers

Secrets to a happy marriage

When it comes to food
degust what’s served with fondness
even when your tongue
wants to use that other word
quite likely on your mind now.

Tanka and Haiku overdose #1

I haven’t posted anything here for a while, though it isn’t as if I have not written some. While the words for longer verses have dried up, I have been unusually productive with respect to tankas and haikus. And as it is, when you are unusually productive with anything, there’s a lot of riffraff mixed in with some pretty good ones, even if I say so myself. I am not the best judge of my own work however, just inordinately proud of anything I come up with :-), so rather than curate, will merely present both the best and worst of the past two months, over the next few posts. All of them have already appeared on my Facebook or Twitter feeds, but this is where they shall rest for posterity, as all my creative endeavours do. So, here’s the first of the lot – two tankas (well three, if I have to be precise) and one haiku.


The unseen shadow
of a cellphone tower looms
over my bedroom;
Saunter, Thoreau prods, gently
in hills, woods and wilderness

When the Cuckoos call

Three times the Cuckoo
rings – Koo-Koo Koo-Koo Koo-Koo.
Such a lovely day
Sliding into nothingness
When the dilettante day dreams.

Three times the Cuckoo
sings – Koo-Koo Koo-Koo Koo-Koo
Such a lovely day
Sliding into nothingness
While the jogger runs her rounds.

Where we are who we are

Wood water grass stone
Firm flowing gentle tempered
Out here we are born.

Four little alternating pieces


My happiness is
derived from small little things,
and greatness stymied.



Her observations
fill my days with contentment
I don’t desire;
A summertime caesura
arrives, bringing misery.


When she laughs

When she laughs, her eyes,
exploding in happiness,
simplifies our world.



Sometimes you attend
the wedding of a couple
you barely know, for you think
it is a good chance to meet
that someone you barely know.

Five not so easy pieces: #2

After the rites

In the burning Ghats
I watch tired bodies praying
for a cleaner death.



When the weather turns
a harp plays inside my bones
and ripples my soul.


Hooked Under

Gulmohar petals
trapped under my car’s wiper
struggle to break free
like bra hooks in the hands of
an over eager lover.


The commerce of words

Take a great poem.
In its humble remembrance
over hundred years,
do you picture the decay
of human conversation?


There is memory

Every night, I watch
a father walk with his child
inside our compound;
Sometimes I feel guilty, but
always there is memory.

Five not so easy pieces


This brooding silence,
echo of a despondence
that our road ends here.



Mason breaking tiles,
shrouded in a dusty haze
I watch and resist
an immaterial grief
rising from the detritus.



In the school lobby
I listen, till she completes
Her swimming lesson;
She was born for the water
I, to linger in daydream.


Burnt Waters

The river, submerged
by a millenia’s pyres,
carries life no more.


Unfit for consumption

Even the termites
boring through sheesham wood shelves
ignore my poems.

Two Tankas and a Haiku


Friendless and lonely
He intensely feels the like
Of acquaintances.



A sheet of rain breaks,
Abruptly, the gulls descend
down to the branches.
Standing underneath, I soar
silently into their world.



Rescue me, I hear
Her eyes cry, as she serves me
biscuits and coffee.
I throw her down to the floor,
Watch a scream, “fuck, you crazy?”

Two Tankas and a Haiku


Full moon this morning,
Around, shimmering halo,
Yesterday’s last kiss.



Last week, a snake brushed
My feet while I walked alone
Wrestling with my thoughts;
Now, a rustling leaf, quite dead,
Scars that exposed memory.


No looking back

When I die, promise
You will incinerate our
Memories with me;
If there is a life after
It should be yours to restore.