English Verses


Few will ever see you - but a true friend and a true foe have seen me.
For we are fearful of being seen, the plain state, the blank slate of who we are, devoid of prettiness, stripped of likeness, we are little children in Sunday attires, of undecorated black and white, my vice my virtue under sun’s surgical light-beams, examined beyond dull nakedness.
For we are hard to be seen, layered in the artistry of our daily duties, we knit our own cocoon unbrokenly, our soul takes residence to seek undisturbed sleep: a sleep eternal, till it wakes, blinking to register the gloom of death, to find none of its dreams realized, and the comprehension overdue.
For we lose ourselves a little when seen, like a blueberry pie shared, pieces need be painfully sliced to feed the gaze of the beholders, our ruptured wholeness leaves but a few crumbs for the wounded heart, still lonely, to munch on and be comforted.


One story evokes histories, one tale tells hearts
One mystery resolved, more evidence be unearthed
One song plucked men’s heart strings, an ensemble resounds
One Love is testimony, midway in journey lovers may trust
One star marks advent of destiny, its dusts soon to befall us all

My little poem only swallowed my heart
None its words adds weight to sink the world,
nor any line bladed with intent to harm
Proud sorrows are whispered, seldom delights hidden––
solely like treasure they may be uncovered by you

One receiver is key, though his name I omit to shun interpretation
I will only write, entrusting the verse to multiply its own act,
till abundance may prove to show all


lights crowd my soul
the night is with me

chattering leaves
their topics, all, i know
wind, its songs and lament
charms me

fill me

the crossroad is home––
to dwell on many
paths is a choice

the floor is my bed
onto which i fall, trusting
dream will catch me with
love of contentment


silence is your vengeance
discreetness is your defiance
my unremarkable lecture of nonsense
stalled to penetrate our distance


As I pass away tonight, my interior would die and my exterior live on.
I am the unison of my interiority and exteriority. I would die as I live on.


I am empty for all that is in me is outside of me
What is in me oozes out of me

I am the song that saunters down the road
the space too vast that I may not be heard
I am summer’s invisible raindrops of tears
the air too damp that I may not be felt
I am the eternal film imprinted on the day sky
the screen too bright that I may not be seen
I am the horrific visage of children’s nightmare
the hour too early that I may not be remembered

I reach no one yet touch them all slightly
as I exhale and become one dust in the breeze of yesterday’s dusk

The lock upon an abandoned graveyard gate is forever secure
I will be blown in through the gaps by my own wind


two sights in one
frame framed

let the music decide
the scene
and separate
what we is

yet bounded
within the screen

the intimacy of
look-aways sealed
imagined relations


dough of one thought
with lyrics whisked
in slow motion
rained snow away
ran walkers into shops
hid I behind windows
Shopped, and I displayed
before the frame
where things happen
or images flirt
beyond the setting


Who is the one with substance? Who is the one with soul? A moment ago in the hallway you slipped through me and I slipped through you. With the extending distance between two who refuse to turn their heads, a space is made for us to wonder as we wander on. Whose image would the security camera seize under scrutiny? Who holds the key to the room ahead? Which is apparition? Who is ghost?
One time on the train, I looked out the window at the cityscape all blurred by motion except your face, whose eyes faithfully follow me with a vision ceaseless and immobile. Another time on the street, a familiar silhouette is captured in the photograph you took for her. But as you raised your head to trace its origin, the empty street is the only answer which awaits you and at its end, one gate, ajar.


Lies the meshes of dusk
upon the earth
about me
to the people

Yarns the ribbons of
premature moon-rays
over lovers
about her
to the young man


Leaves of October in ecstasy flutter,
drugged with life, as a cracker,
pulled by invisible winds,
bursts lotteries or flames

Yet in mid-air they quiver
from sudden agitation
and come to the ground promptly aware of
its repose, and motion stilled


Stumbled upon each other, two
on the streets, tripped over
a beat of heart, skipped,
and dropped,
a Roman, no two,
among a pool of items
to the ground, scattered,
some matters of unanticipated significance

Such sudden notice apprehended
by that impartial eye––in cinema
transpire not instantaneously
but twice so:
either he glances first at her
or she be glanced
followed by which
she glances at him or he
be glanced
Unlike in these honest lines,
a look is a look returned
and in their duration,
the sum of a story told


No longer is that single lampshade crowned with aura
as light radiates through the windows and some thousand eyes
The city gleams in arrogance of its civilization and
––compensated through the receding of Day
maintains an equilibrium of luminance
so that guardian of ours named not Night
but Heaven may dream on undisturbed

Yet the Empyrean aroused with a start and
immediate exhaustion
when in twinkling morse codes the naughty stars chatter
Through some vague notions of previous hours
formed through habits of memories or perhaps reveries
it scowls though with kindness
at the same landscapes to overlook a day further
the same discourses to hearken to
the same faces to disremember
all millions of them but one


a thread of lies
each word a pearl
extricated from an infected oyster
by the hands of a woman

the necklace you keep as a token
that can be taken out occasionally
to shame me with its
purity sincere of fakeness

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