Lovelorn in Cholula


Crackled the skies of Cholula,

Winds from the past,

Caught trees, scrubs and bushes by their ears,

Punishingly swayed them,

By now they should’ve been well acquainted,

With the tale of this ancient land,

Tilled for eras with spades of death,

With lovelorn Mayan shadows,

Their graves hid under the grass,

Locked around them forever, now restless in their eternal meadows,

Dragging their bruised souls, unattended since the Classic Period,

Hauling their feet across Mesoamerican sand,

Still, sleepless from vintage fears,

Historic colors, the ceaseless current in their tears,

Scorned unexpected,

Trees shoved their sight down to the turf,

Low with shame,

While well-shaved green blades,

Tidy with care from great-great-great sons and daughters,

Overflowing with respect for their pre-historic ancestors,

Looked up at the leaves,

Pinched dumb, green vision to turn nowhere,

They were ready to listen, learn and remember,

Thunder bursts, applaud jolted from above,

From Heaven’s department of Mexico,

Time for lessons from that chilly tempest of time,

Scared, they were ready to hear…


AD 275, that was the year,

The Princess had her youth turning gold,

Her desires ripening,

Her soul burning in fires of passion,

Swollen lips, innocent eyes,

Her nurtured tan craved a man,

She wanted her dream to blossom now,

One that she’d been nourishing since she’d been a little one,

Peeping into the court-room, into majestic sessions,

For only a glimpse of his divine knowledge,

His broad shoulders,

Ones on which rested celestial responsibilities,

The future of their pre-Columbian land,

His power to talk to the Gods,

Bring in Their message for the Lord,

Connect worlds together,

Dexterity at everything from astrology to historiography,

Had her mesmerized since ever,

Till the Mayan Priest,

Eclipsed her senses to everything else,

Had them enslaved to him,

Addicted to his mojo forever…


Little did she know she had a fate,

That would soon start leaking overflowing irony,

That would be soon charcoaled black,

Mourned the kingdom when she was fifteen,

Their King on the brink of death’s cliff,

Everything done, everything tried futile,

It was time for a precious human sacrifice,

She’d thought of a rebellious future,

Her dream to fight the royalty,

Voice up her will to marry off the Priest,

To have him as the unstoppable heir to the throne,

Will be slaughtered, was unthinkable for her little soul,

And, here she was tied to the golden bed,

Lying helpless, her mouth sealed before the temple,

The same cold blooded Worship Preacher, her love,

Getting ready to chant celestial spells,

Green flag her sacrifice,

For he believed only the Princess’ blood,

Could please thirsty Gods,

Heal their King, have Him revived…


Interred somewhere around the Great Pyramid of Cholula,

Her soul roamed the terrain,

Leaped across wilderness of time,

Days and nights, she would spend gazing the church,

Shining on the hill by the field of Mayan graves,

She believed her love was born again as its pastor,

It had defied every law of chronology and age,

It now seeks sympathy,

If not, then gratitude, a share of her royal loyalty,

Maybe support from every breathing organism standing on her soil,

The Mass is on inside,

In his black robe, he would be soon walking out,

The hour of confrontation hath arrived,

Greens of every size,

Join in a collective prayer,

Beg the Gods to have mercy at last,

For today, love shall travel through unsolved labyrinths of space,

Break apart clocks of this universe,

Escape the maze of births, for once and for all,

Catch hold of her love’s new birth,

Have him repent for his age-old sins,

In captivity, have him motionlessly devoured divine,

After, kissing magic to freeze his spine…



(Scripted around the Great Pyramid of Cholula, Puebla, Central Mexico. For more on this historic Pre-Columbian archeological site, visit:,

Images from :,,,

Amazon Oars


The Oars! Where were they?

My arms almost tore apart in pain, as I searched for the pair of oars in vain…

For a boat as small as this, weren’t they a bit too huge to disappear in thin air?

Under my seat, beside the fishing rod kept aside, I looked everywhere,

There wasn’t any space left unsearched in that little boat of mine.

Like a grandfather, who even after losing his walking-stick, was holding on to his grandson, in his arms,

He was willing to fall, and willing to endure it all,

Trying his best to keep the baby, away from a single scratch,

The boat without its oars, was simply afloat,

For all that it could now do was to ensure, I was dry…

Oaring could be fun,

But only with a partner to help you in turns,

For a first-timer, trying to oar across a stretch of the unfathomable Amazon,

Was an idea that was not only dangerous, but was also overdosing on optimism,

But, that was the only way out for my scared spirit,

Scared of never-ending layers of darkness,

Pulled over eternally, by the dense, unforgiving broadleaf tropical rainforest,


Scared of the Jaguar’s volcanic eyes,

Of the Black Caiman, as it seemed ever ready for turns to hunt me down,

Of poisonous Dart Frogs, and the Vampire Bats,

All of whom were at their fieriest,

For each and every one of them knew,

They were blessed with skyless Amazon nights,

Always there, ready to conceal their sins, their blood-soaked mouths,

Ready to their rescue…


I took to the water, for I knew,

It was only from here that I could avoid the dew, sense the sunlight,

Bathe in its warmth,

For all I wanted to feel,

Was that the night, was still not powerful enough to engulf us, completely,

The Sun was there, gleaming on the equator, and guarding our backs with a smile,

As if, continuously mocking the silly man,

For spending his unique mental prowess in imitating the ant…


Last night, as I continued oaring,

Gasping for breath, celebrating short intervals, and stretching my hands, every now, and then,

I tried hard not to look at the dark forest,

As if letting out that stare,

From those green grumpy eyes,

To avoid imagining, my boat capsized by a gigantic striped Anaconda,

And hungry Piranhas jostling the water red,

Tearing me into pieces that I doubt could make it to the river-bed,

In the process of gulping down my worst fears,

Slumber gripped me tight,

And, it was only now, hours after Sunrise that I realize,

The pair of oars had slipped from my hands into the water,

While I snored in peace,

Sunk in tranquil waves of my loneliness, and the vicious serenity in that atmosphere…

I’d always dreamt of a moment like this, and no matter how badly I missed the oars,

I knew, my moment was here…

With a stiff glance, I gazed at the seemingly, motionless Sun,

At the rippling surface of the deathly water,

As I waited for another boat, or maybe, another wishfully stranded soul,


I did not want to think of a way out,

I did not want to feel like a man lying on a landmine, waiting for his soul,

To tire out and escape its breathing tangible shell of flesh and blood,

Eventually, torn by a deafening explosion into minute bits,

Here, I was safe and secure,

Secure in the precarious lap of nature,

I felt a peace that though, was strange,

Washed me off my fears…


It is into Mother Nature that we perish one day,

Here, I was waiting for her,

To gulp me down deep within,

Immortalizing my soul, forever…