The author of ‘Postmarked Quarantine’ has eight books to his credit. He is a journalist, father, and the editor of ‘Words Surfacing’. His works have been translated into twelve languages, published across the globe.
Near The Red Light
From the drunken garden,
from the dancing silhouettes,
the clients and their mates
turn their sweaty heads when
the bells of the temple sway.
Summer, and yet the garden-floor
muffles the footsteps
with its layers of fallen leaves.
The fallen ones never leave
here and now – they say.
That Last Train
Tomorrow’s train passes
the Wait-for-me station
leaving no one.
Songs wear torn trousers;
a tambourine sways in
the cradle of their constellation;
the singer sniffs some nailpolish remover.
The girl waiting, my unborn sister,
my long gone mother,
perhaps seen through my rear window
like a ongoing slow motion murder,
does not stop believing
what she never believed with all her
senses and gnawing.
“Roll over.” A beggar asks his partner,
“Heart aches.” The announcer
goes berserk with some rotten news.
What Do You Remember About 1969
In another birth, contemplating
on whether to haul the end nearer
or to wait for it to arrive at its own pace
towing the knowledge
that I wouldn’t emerge in this life until 1977
and that I would build ruins again,
have the same phobia of the cemetary birds,
I had no notion of the social media trends
or of a question that would hollow out
nostalgia carelessly, causing the cave
of existence to collapse.