Little Wild Child

Little wild child

Sits on the swing

And gently rocks himself.


Back and forth—

The words won’t spill out

He thought,

It is but wasteful devouring of air and soil.

Was he you or were you he?

This cruel little third person–

He sees the little child swing

And then,

He sees him seeing the little child swing

Back and forth—


Back and forth—

I’m sawn

I thought I was moving

But the moment you saw me,

I knew I had to eat everything

I had to stop,

running after you…

Back and forth—


I guess,

It is the Black-hole paradox.


*Black hole paradox refers to the quantum physics theory which speculates that in a black hole, all physical states dissolve into one. I don’t particularly like physics, but then, who doesn’t like mysterious space theories.




For the lady across the Paris hall
and a bony pauper with a piece of meat
Where do they meet?
Where do they meet?
In a dustbin full of her half-chewed Cashews
where his bones drooled without the meat.

I sat at a sandwich station
And thought about how people would never look in the eye
But when they all dropped their wipes in a black air bag
It was like their saucy fingers have joint in a touch
Like some merry children with muddy hands
At the fancy eating bar
They shook.

So when they say you have touched a million lives
Do believe
Do believe
For all the humanity was found in the dumping stash 
Embracing each other’s finger prints
Sailing with a fowl smell

Down in the asiatic seas.
Down among the Arctic seals.