Monday, April 09, 2018


not all wars are fought on the front
before an enemy baying to hunt
with journalists scribbling out fate
like history's vultures over a plate
not all wounds bleed wet and red
(just like not all dying leaves you dead)
death can also be walking out of the door
carrying gifts from life’s twisted store
it can mean putting on a game face
and gamely living through the killing days
it can mean never letting anyone know
as your insides reel from blow after blow
yes, not all medals can be pinned to the chest
in standing ovation or to a body laid to rest
yet in the unseen tableaux of the everyday story
the great gods decree there is much glory
so here’s to you, hero of the lonely fight
to how you battle – brave, beautiful, bright.

ram cobain

(Pic courtesy

Tuesday, December 12, 2017


death sat by the sidewalk nursing a beer
his eyes twinkling with bloodshot cheer
he raised his bottle and took a swig
and then another to make it big
he belched, farted and let out a sigh
as he wonderingly watched the world whiz by
he saw a traffic jam that stretched a mile
and never spotted a single cheery smile
he gazed into their eyes wet with worry
heard their short steps breathless in hurry
like they were rapidly running out of place
and thought of the Piper and the rat race
so he shook his head and raised many toasts
to the lovely living who lived like ghosts
to the teeming millions who struggled on
like broken clockwork toys from dusk to dawn
and pondered if they even knew their crime
that they were dead before he called time.

ram cobain

(Pic courtesy Dreamtime)

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

70 years

70 years of Independence and this I know my flag flutters high but my head hangs low how cold the sun on this great glorious day as men once on a path are now galloping astray children are dying for breath and we fill our lungs with venom that chokes and also coats our tongues and the hurt, the horror, the hellacious heartbreak is that it’s whataboutery that keeps us awake how did so much hate come to fill our veins? what happened to our hearts, and to our brains? what made us so blind that we choose not to see that the abyss is staring back into us in glee my eyes aren’t red and my tears don’t show yes, my flag flutters high but my head hangs low.
ram cobain
(Indian Flag pic courtesy Google)
(The ‘abyss’ reference is obviously from Nietzsche)

Friday, July 14, 2017


malice punched him in the gut
spite slashed hard, eager to cut
insecurity went for a frontal attack
as hate stabbed him in the back
negativity shouted into his ears
panic filled him with unknown fears
rage shot at him point blank
while hurt sat in a corner and drank
but steel simply smiled and said
I think I must have a thick head
see, I can take it all on my chin
and you can’t even touch my grin

ram cobain

(Pic courtesy Google)

Friday, June 16, 2017

the knowing

the world looked at him sideways
edged past quickly to give him space
to their eyes, he seemed rather weird
a thing to be shunned rather than feared
he did not fit neatly into their plans
conceived carefully or crafted by chance
he did not know how to follow their rules
(sired as he was perhaps by fools?)
everything about him seemed so wrong
(what was right was he did not belong)
why, even the tide fought him at first swim
and in life, only a handful understood him
yet his great glorious strength did stem
that of the handful – he was one of them.

ram cobain