Dragon’s Inn


Welcome to the Dragon’s Inn,

Standing shady, luring sins,

A villainous desire draws you in,

A dip into comfort lethally seductive,

Your surrender to a deeper sink seems compulsive,

Into those dingy lanes, you’ve to report,

And, then time’s lost gazing the Red Fort,

Every morning, you try stroking out brave,

Departure is then only what you crave,

You beg futile to step out clean,

Now, out of your hands, life’s quietly slipping out, unseen,

Will devour you slow, scrub out all your sheen,

The ‘HI’ is yours, while the ‘GOODBYE’ is his,

There’s no looking back now,

Once in the grip of Delhi’s Djinn,

You gotta pay up for your share of Bliss…


(As felt by an outstanding student of the Liberal Arts from a Prestigious American University.

A step into the Dragon’s Inn and now Delhi’s Djinn has her. She resides on the streets of Paharganj Delhi, selling herself to almost anyone and everyone, for a mere Fix.)




Image Credit : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hCVjreYp1E

Pimp the Nymph…


Applause roared together,

Leaked, seeped out from every corner,

Excitement murmured out of pitch darkness,

Prophecies of the upcoming brilliance shared,

Passed from one seat to the other,

Gossips cease, Curtains unfold,

The crowd gets ready to switch divine,

Dive and sink in a magical tale,

Babbled by her tip-toeing steps,

From her celestial abode, she has just touched down,

Shimmering in white, her little frock high and bright,

In all that blackness, the only light,

Heads nod, wave, oscillate,

Her toes start narrating volumes,

An instrumental beat, flawlessly choreographed,

Has them all, hypnotized…


Streams of Heaven dry up by night,

By the time, the clock strikes nine,

The milky swan runs out of water,

For she knows I like my bills on time,

On stage, her angelic twirls, twists and whirls,

Breaks my stony heart,

Melts the glacier inside,

I had only been a slave to her will,

Her life, her escalating needs,

A dying mother to heal and feed,

I’d just been chosen by her choice,

A permanent spectator to her daily shows,

Have to escort her every day to her existence offshore,

One in the shadows of greed,

Hanging from her altered nocturnal pretense,

In upscale hotels, shady motels, where lust devours her meat,

The butterfly has her wings plucked,

Savors her descent as part of her fate,

Her bartered flesh, her murdered soul, now accustomed to soaring bids,

She cares more than me for her rich hungry clients,

As much she cares for her artsy audience on the other side,

She tops all my whores, any day,

So you see, there’s much more to this ballerina’s life,

Hid under curtains of beauty,

There boils a lot of strife,

Claps shall die down soon,

Now, I should be waiting outside the green room,

A few minutes is all she takes,

To get rid of that Elysian dress,

To put on a sleazy gloss, to crimp,

Scurry out; grab me by my arm,

Hurl hurry across the streets,

An affair, now almost regular,

Post-performance, she couldn’t wait being served on wealthy platters,

In town, the most delicious shrimp,

Her night shall once again be entirely sold,

While my spirit shall bathe guilty in gold,

It’s time to Pimp the Nymph…




(Based on the life of a beautiful young damsel, a ballerina by the day, and a whore, by night.)



Images : http://www.traderslaboratory.com, http://dreamworldreality.blogspot.in

Bring it on, I’m Ready Again…


Denser, deeper, thicker,

A fat base with a fatter brush,

Might just get the job done,

Brushing, touching up the swells,

Facial plateaus, black ’n blues,

Premium brands to conceal wounds, tangible,

Dope for the ones unseen,

Ones on the soul,

Mirror Mirror, it knows it all,

Finds us vanishing hurt-marks,

More often, than we’re found drinking water,

Pimped day-in day-out,

Readying up every now and then,

Every time, my soul, my conscience is dragged to the gallows,

Banged, Hanged, Butchered, Electrocuted, Shot more dead,

Freshening up, putting up a spotless flesh blackboard,

Neat and clean to excite the man,

To jingle upon his riches,

Pay big for his bigger weakness,

Quench his chauvinistic fetishes,

Chalk out brand new images,

Decorate our then, seemingly untouched faces,

 With spanking new swells, black ‘n blues, cuts, injuries… 





(The moment in a prostitute’s life is inspired from the 2012 film Talaash (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1787988/)

Image from :http://planet-magna.blogspot.in

Lit up Red in Chiang Mai…


Christmas lights!

Done, once and for all,

For the entire year,

Doing up the trimmed trees,

The boards, and shop-walls along the roadside,

Only from the Buddha posters on sale,

I guess, one could link, one could tell,

This was Chiang Mai,

The Thai city of three hundred temples…

Well, jingling lit-up open bars,

Here on Nimmanhaemin road,

Could exceed that holy figure any night, any day,

Perched on bikes and three-wheelers,

Quietly awaiting their masters by the pavement,

Lips jaded with thick lipstick chattered away,

Glossy faces eyed every passerby,

Young, tender,saggy and the old,

Every ear could hear their laughs,

Could hear them cheer,

Peeping out of those bars,

Decorating fronts of bordering cafes and eateries,

Squatting in groups with splayed legs,

Their glittery one-pieces, colorful miniskirts,

Adding on to the jitters,

While, robbing the atmosphere,

Of sober colors of masculinity, of any empathy,

Painting it profoundly easy,

With strokes of sheer helplessness…