the last sin
  pale ashen sky
a bleary eye
clouds of recurring screams...
i am a zoo
  an octopus leviathan
tentacles into an ocean
of unformed emotions...
syphilis and love  
  syphilitic pall
stifles the clear blue
i contort...
shell and pearl
  amidst highs and lows
in life's ocean flows
a shell peony-mouthed...
i am an unmarried mother
  fed on stings
of barbed milk morality
my child-plankton...
the lovers
  cell upon cell
bridge of their union
hung on the pillars...
  ogre of age
and time cavil
at a warm picture...
the young today
  innocence thaws
at the altar
of ambition...

Your search continues  

Your search continues.

Untrammelled, relentless.

You keep looking. You keep searching.

Inside and outside.

 In other people’s friends’ photos.

 In their lives. In their drunken parties. In their bonhomies.

In their sharing of daily trivia. In their Goan trips.

In their backslappings, their cosy whispers.

Their secrets.

But the void continues to grow. Like a black hole.

You go to work and forget it.

You do live meetings and forget it.

You chase numbers and forget it.

You set agendas and forget it.

But it comes back to haunt you.

On evenings after work. You go home. Have a single malt.

Nuzzle your German Shepherd, talk to your teenage daughter and your soulmate of a wife.

On weekends, you devour newspapers, double-egged cheese-tomato omelette, chicken biryanis, play a voyeur, confront your moments of truth.

Catch a flick that mirrors life. Or mocks it.

You look at the sky and hunt for your lodestar.

You run to your rathole and dig deep, deeper.

And it’s there.

Like a haunting memory or a bad itch.

And it keeps growing.

Sometimes knowing, sometimes gnawing. 

8 August 2009