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

Ave Maria


Shot her reflections divine,

Shone glass from the Church’s spine,

Amidst jeers, tears and cheers,

Past cries from an innocent rewind,

From those meadows, wails of the sheep and the swine,

Treads ahead the nervous bride,

Petals rain from all sides,

Fate has her trampling them,

No matter to save some,

How hard she did try,

Triggers and barrels guard her walk,

Lead bursts in skies above,

For a life in arms of the barter of death,

A drop of love in that ocean red,

Her surrender to the Holy Cross,

On the altar awaits her share of sin-gloss,

Her skirt’s cathedral train rubs away the ground’s pain,

She drags it across the aisle, suppressing frowns,

When against lovelorn lips of the groom,

Shy, her sight sweeps down,

Scared, she freaks out, a blemished start,

On her kismet, bull’s eye scores the poisonous dart,

Her wedding gown was already wearing a blood stain…



(From the wedding party of the son of one of Colombia’s most feared and wealthy drug lords. Visualized on and inspired from Franz Schubert’s famous Opera composition, ‘Ave Maria’. For the musical piece, visit: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2bosouX_d8Y

The Ave Maria (Latin) (Hail Mary) is a traditional Catholic prayer asking for the intercession of the Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus. For more, visit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ave_Maria)



Image Credit :http://www.bloominglovelyweddings.com.au/wedding-church.html

Slaves of Pleasure


We’re the Human Senses,

No boundaries can bind us,

No walls, No thorny fences,

We’re restless, on a perpetual hunt,

Blinded selfish, we’re focused blunt,

Sniffing out our only treasure,

Pleasure, Pleasure and more Pleasure,

It shouldn’t end us all at once,

Nothing more matters in advance,

So, there’s a land that I know,

Beyond those grassy shores of Mexico,

That swore by Adam and Eve with a lot of sincerity,

To serve us till eternity,

With its only worthy fruit,

The one that offers us the finest bliss,

In abundance, everywhere, supplies are infinite,

Useless are thy laws, in vain the violence,

We are the Human Senses, it is by nature,

That we’re slaves of Pleasure…


(Dedicated to the ongoing efforts glowing futile to root the fatal Narco-Trade thriving on the absence of alternate livelihood choices,and poverty, out of Latin America.)

Image from : http://teamsternation.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…



I’m just a Yawdie, truly from Jamaica


Cary is what they call me,

I’m just a Yawdie, truly from Jamaica,

Doin’ what, we do best,

Doin’ what, we’d seldom thought we’d be doin’ in the West,

Feeding the monstrous American appetite for drugs,

Dealing coke and crack from my East-End shack,

Gone are those days in cheap printed Caribbean rags,

Now’s I have the dollars raining,

I wonder if Washington on those green piles envied my smile,

With millions on me, I trip to my West Indian homeland,

Only to comfort my people,

Distant from opportunities to a good life,

Baked by the Sun and the Weed,

Spent under those coconut trees,

I bring smiles to each and every household,

Even the ones, I stole from while I was young,

Soccer boots, balls and American gadgets for the kids,

While sauces from Ohio and NYC’s skirts for the ladies,

A drug-rehabilitation centre financed by me is on the way,

Many rowed on my dollars for businesses of their own,

For living lives far away from the shadows of dope,

When I sit back, I realize,

No matter I made a few live, I have been killing thousands all the while,

Philanthropy is useless for a dealer of death,

I know I might not be able to make it back again,

I shall be punished for dealing away pain,

But till then, I will see my people smile,

I will see kids getting rid of stones,

Kicking professional soccer balls, for a change,

Till then, I will rather believe,

I dealt out joy here,

And poisonous happiness on the other side…


‘Dream Americano’


It’s only been a year in New Jersey,

And trust me, I already have understood,

There’s life even beyond all the despair in my hood’,

There’s life even after we are nearly kissed by death,

Time heals wounds, no matter how deep, time showers mercy…

Raised up tough in the Guatemalan Western Highlands of Chajul,

I belonged to a courageous family of fifteen,

Each one of them was a fighter in the truest sense,

They fought their way till their last breath,

But, they couldn’t make it past the East Mexican province of San Fernando,

I did have the opportunity to count fourteen heads lying away from their bodies,

Before I believe as I heard, the killers returned to deal them out a mass grave…

Refusing a drug cartel to transport their contraband across the border,

Showing courage to stand firmly against them,

Certainly, came with a price…


Leaving me only with memories of how we made it into Mexico,

Raging the perilous waters of the Usumacinta river,

We could fight away and murder at least a dozen of honor-snatchers and robbers,

We turned tides, escaped the criminal order,

Swam our way across the Mexican border,

We held hand in hand, caressed our sore feet,

Plucked leaves, cooked and ate atop our train,

Together we shielded ourselves against the wind and the rain,

We thought we’d made it, we’d left behind over 2200 miles,

All that we did not know,

For illegal immigrants, transporting illicit merchandise was the last test,

The final barrier on their gateway to paradise,

It was a compulsory part of the show,

In front of those drug cartels and their automatic American weapons,

To have the heart pounding, one had to bow…

Like a pack of wolves hungry, blinded by the smell of the last piece of meat,

With dreams of making it to the American fairyland,

A little over two hundred of us started from Guatemala for the U.S.A,

Glossy streets and glittery jobs, we’d heard of many a fortunes turning gold,

But, as they life has plans chalked out for you,

Even before you know…

I was the lone survivor out of my family of fifteen,

I was among the eight, the only ones that made it alive,

Out of the clutches of poverty,

Out of those gang ridden corn, coffee and coca fields for life,

It’s the price paid every year by millions of Latinos

Poor and helpless, all they know,

This is what it takes to dream ‘Americano’…