Oh yes, the dead soul creeps into you oftentimes,
Like the viper slithering on the rough bark
And pounces on you when you are lease unaware.
Or perhaps like the Orpheus walking back from the land of the dead,
Floundering at the last step…no, no, not quite.
Like the Orpheus that does not flounder
But rips into your heart with the song of agony.
You sigh, you cry, you pine, you whine,
And dread of a lost life knocks you with the moonshine.
And shipwrecked like a Crusoe you find yourself,
Gulping down the bitter brine through watery eyes,
Your arms flaying in slow motion, your legs stiff tired
And you vanish with the gentle ebb of an encroaching tide
That drops you like a discarded condom on a pristine beach.
And then next morning you rise up to take stock
And collect the pieces of a ravished life
One by one.

Oh yes, the dead soul creeps into you oftentimes,
You find back the lost rythm, the confounded harmony,
The sweet charm of voice, the effervescent colors of life…
The bitter pills of tragedy, the flickering warmth of dying embers,
Embers of dead letters that lay a lifetime – undelivered.
The agony of it all, the twenty years of futile travel
Through the wiles of goddesses charmed.
And you wonder – what the fuck, what the fuck is back?
Shall i not dig myself a grave and savour the last warmth of a dying winter?

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Language: English
Date: 16 March 2006
Place: Bangalore, Webmarketing.com office
Occasion: Mail exchange with friend
Meaning: God knows what! You tell me…
Significance: A longish piece of verse after a long time