These days work involves a lot of travelling.

Some of it is nice, new sights and sounds. The liminal space of airports always just on that side of welcoming.

The travel soon gets tiresome, though. The two-and-a-half hours spent flying each way soon weigh on your veins. Sitting still becomes harder. Feeling anything but bone-deep tiredness becomes harder still.

Sometimes though, when it’s late, you catch a peek at the city below you as you land. And suddenly there is a spark that ignites your heart. Your synapses snap out of their trance, and you fall a little bit in love.

That is what this poem is about.

Note: over the next few weeks (hopefully before 2018 arrives), I will try to archive some of the poems I’ve written over the last few years which never made it out of my books.



Grey cells (generations).

You know that feeling when when suddenly you have a vivid flashback to certain moments in your childhood? All of a sudden you find yourself surrounded by ghosts of memories and of people you loved so much. You realize how far you are from them, in distance, in time, in mortality.

This poem is for my family, as I remember from hot summer nights fifteen years ago. I loved them once. I had them once. Now I cherish the memories.

grey cells


As you walk away.

15847872Photograph by Keith Morris, Nov/Dec 1971

This is perhaps my favorite picture of Nick. This is the one that will be tattooed on me in some form or another one day. Yesterday was his birthday. He’d be 68. I’m having a lot of trouble believing that. It’s almost inconceivable.

Nick Drake, 68.

It sort of rhymes, doesn’t it?

Anyway, as is tradition, I wrote him a poem. As the vestiges of the day slowly disappeared, I rushed to write it. Who knows why. It’s not like I get a special fan award for remembering him 42 years since his demise. Still.I guess it’s the thought that counts (although it isn’t even good).

I also realized today that he was born right around the summer solstice. Music takes over the world every year two days after his birthday. I think that’s quite poetic.

… enough dilly-dallying, here’s the poem. It is based at the same spot where the photo was taken.

As you walk away



Warning for ableist language.

I can’t believe I abandoned NaPoWriMo so easily! Agreed, there was some emotional turmoil, but seriously? A month?!

Anyway, things are much better now. Oddly enough, they’ve been better for a while. About a month back, a close friend and I mutually decided to cut off all contact. While it was hard to acknowledge that someone I was supposed to know for the rest of my life would now be a stranger, I cannot bring myself to regret it. We stopped fitting into each other’s lives a long time ago. Right before the “divorce” (that’s what I’m calling it), I couldn’t even picture them in my life anymore.

They brought with them a darkness into my life that I am better off without (this isn’t to say that they were negative, rather, their presence had become toxic for me. And I imagine something similar must have happened on their side too). Of course, I am in no way innocent in this matter – in fact, I’m pretty sure that for them I am 100% the root of the problem. Anyway, there is nothing to be done either way.

The following poem is essentially a summary of what I’ve felt over the last month. It’s annoyingly ableist and I apologize for that. I like putting bookends to events and emotions whenever I can. Consider this a final sendoff to something that lasted 17 years and then disintegrated.


(Note: Oceans, a poem I posted previously was essentially the beginning of the end of our friendship. You may notice that one of the biggest things that motivated me to let things continue as they are was time. The 17 years that had already passed. I understand now that time past isn’t always a good enough motivation to continue things into the future.)