The Dejected Indians head off to Sleep

So close, yet so far away now,

The trophy lies behind the glass.

Good job, Team India, take a bow,

Love surrounds you; be it gold or brass. 

For once the land comes to be One. 

Together, even in the sweltering sun. 



Growing up looks like madness,

Where there was once reality, there is now absurdity.

A loony fool twirling towards a petrol-water sea.

Winding down the hours with a joint in hand,

Wondering if there is any reason at all,

For the World to really be.

One of those Days

Sulphur dust caught in my bones

And swirling in the rust.

Whispers coated with sheer trust

Sizzling like water and limestone.


As heavy as a broken heart,

She picks up fallen light.

Paper cuts of wounded kites

Can still be sold as art.


Filtered sun rays say good bye

To get back home and rest.

Dusk comes to settle on her chest

And brings a lonely sigh.


Homeward bound but knowing no way.

Both her hands come together to pray.


Twenty Four is burrowing herself into my thoughts. I know i have been waiting for the confirmation that I am, in fact, chronologically an adult. I can “do whatever I want now”.

Here she is. Beautiful, preening and somehow, familiar. Somehow like a voice I could recognise but could not place. Trying to catch the words of a far away echo. 

Hello, Twenty Four. I meet you after the day you were born. I know you don’t feel like an adult either but we can play our part together on stage for society to see. After the show, we can share the snacks and drinks and head home to rest. Giggle under the covers about how funny that guy was or how strange it all seems when we are out in the world. I look forward to caring for you on those tough days when things don’t go according to the script. I will nurse you back as you would have for me. 

Hello Twenty Four. We begin this together. 


This 24 year old looks for metaphors in the world,

Something that tells me that the world has meaning.

Not realising that a lot of times,

Among all things considered,

Meaning can still be quite absurd.


Trudging through certain days,

When the meaning is flung around.

Withered thoughts come toward the town

Of metal and chains and evening satin gowns.

Tell me, where does meaning lie

When there is no bed soft enough

To let even the innocent fall asleep?