Meaning Of Life


There is meaning to any life.

Prostitutes sometimes go pro-bono
Even lawyers sometimes do the same.

The doctors, they surgically remove
Cancers and tumorous growths.

The politicians they make funding possible
Although they may pocket something out.

And the meaning of life, is
Somehow related to how we

Answer to that “call”, just like Saul did
When God called him.

Our biologies are not wound around
The mind, only the heart, which strays

Just like a wanderer, to the unknown.
The first kiss was just a lip-press

The first time you made love could
Be assisted masturbation – a hand job,

And still, the first time you looked
At a woman, just to let gravity

Shoot you down, is timeless. An epiphany
Is that sixth or seventh sense of yours,

That gives you the only credential
Needed to know life was lived large.

We are only mechanical if we don’t
Let the heart rule the body. And soul-mate

Is the one who sits on the central throne,
And lets one feeling get the better of you.

Folly is a science that is home schooled.



Love 6

There is a family of proteins
In biology, called Aquaporins.
They allow moisture through 
A cell membrane pore.
I listen to biology’s wonders
Knowing we are just scapegoats
Of enzymatic fates,
Leaking out salt tokens through
Eye sockets, but insisting, life is mostly
How we navigate a water channel,
That life-sized aquaporin,
That lets matter through,
Swimming across the water.
We break our bodies doing love,
When the milk of our genetic marrow
Fed on the end of a wooden spoon,
Scripts, a little haiku at first, which
In the poetic sense, adds lines,
Grammar and syntax, until
There is an epic poem, which
Can be narrated just like The Odyssey.
We are all wanderers, like
Odysseus was, pacing our
Lives to a biological clock that
Issues timely coupons, which we collect
And at the end, the collection
Of coupons becomes the only
Thing of worth. Aquaporins,
They do matter, especially the first one,
That defining moment when you realized
You swim through the pore
Better than any wriggly eel.

Y2K (Millennium Bug)

There is something
Called the millennium bug.
The Y2K bug that was supposed
To kill off many computer systems.
Still they didn’t. I remember
That day, when all around the Sydney
Harbor bridge, there were revelers
Partying the whole night,
Fireworks pushing sparks
Onto the sky, that the stars became
So inconspicuous, fading to sight.
I was wondering whether my yahoo account
Would crash that night. Still it didn’t.
Fast forward to 2017, we are now
Past Y2K, even the Mayan Calendar Armageddon,
And we are still together. We are so diverse
In skin, in gods we worship,
In our heart capacities,
Or the infrastructure of our libido-makers,
And still there is something that
Binds us all together, something
That is labile, vulnerable, to
Something as little as the flowing out
Of a second, like when 1999
Became 2000. We are time-driven
People, holding onto our spaces
Lover, residence, computer, e-mail account
Our possessions, looking at an endless source
That we can never possess.
Like a river, time flows. The estuary was not Y2K.
We are only boatsmen at best
Navigating the white waters
And the still waters, knowing we
Are just like Y2K. Gone in a second.


Kim Kadaashina

A fat roasted chicken
Bloated by injected hormones.
Kim Kardashian in a negligee
Catching the lustful eye.
The elephant in a Buddhist temple,
A tusker so mammoth in size.
The whale on the beach,
That carcass touching the eye.

In this world of large things
We strive to be larger than life,
Fact not myth. And looking out of the window
I see a little house fly,
Lurking on the window sill,
Unaware that a gecko was prowling
About to mouth it.

So the small, enters the belly of the big,
The big is swallowed by the bigger
The very big, almost the superlative – Homo sapiens,
The wise one, as proclaimed in a scientific name,
Worships the biggest by far – god.

Telling the Truth


The topography
Of what is straight, uneroded
Between two proximal points,
Uncurved, shaping a beginning
Carved into a heart-to-heart magnetism.
When one mouth, like a buzzing mossie
Makes a sound in one’s ear
That rocks to and fro,
Even quaking in spasmodic forces.
Aeolian truth, that begins
As a voice, that is untarnished
Unadulterated, and metamorphoses
To a thundering echo inside invisible walls
Of an empty room, housing
A creature so unanimalistic,
Yet always prowling,
Exiting through pads of fingers
And lipful succulence,
As pure as moving glacial snow,
To the heat of that little chamber,
That has no air-conditioner,
Only a fireplace that combusts
To truth logs.


Landscape America Skyscrapers Metropolis Manhattan

The lady of liberty
Stands with a tablet on one hand,
And a torch raised in another, 
And a broken chain on her feet,
Looking like the perfect goddess
Signifying liberty, in a country
Of worldly freedoms.

While in uptown New York, near 125th street
There is a lady, of French ancestry, living alone.
A tablet of Xanax, she takes every night
To curb the anxiety, and a torch
Underneath her pillow,
To flash at night and a broken
Rosary on her bed stand.

And freedom for her
Is waking up alive the next morning,
And the cup of Sri Lankan tea she sips,
Before she takes the subway
And ferry to Liberty island, where
She works at a ticketing counter

And in Liberty Island, these two
Women collide, not knowing how similar they are.
Both, as an Emma Lazarus
Poem inscribes, are mothers of exiles,
Exiled to opposite poles of a defiant freedom,
That lives larger than her mighty dimensions,
And yet is as small, as a single ballot slip.


Mother Theresa

What you admire in life,
Has changed over the years.
Before the modern trends, the hipsters
And Generation X, there was the
Church roof doming, church bells
Ringing, and people gathering on Sundays
To partake a meal of the body and blood
Of a man called Jesus Christ.

Fast forward decades, and you’re
Stumped at what you admire.
The girl who travels alone
In a journey of wanderlust, the man who
Comes out of the closet for far-reaching
Applause, the first space traveler
Who happens to be a woman or
A minority. That is when we applaud,
When we pass invisible tokens to
The ones, who are in the limelight.

Still courage is not just about
Wanderlust, the closet or space travel.
It is how your conscience makes
A thought into an action,
The good deed, the utilitarian action,
That surpasses all other virtues.
We are in a world fast eroding of
Real goodness. We are matchstick men,
Cowards, bigots, people with an
Exoskeleton weighing their foot down.
Just look at the ocean, how
Mollusks even after death
Leaves behind a sea shell,
A legacy for all to admire.

Gandhi was no lawyer
Mother Theresa was no nun
Mandela was no prisoner
They were all prime examples
Of courage before anything else.
They stood for the real battles,
That lantern inside, that the conscience
Oils and what fights flicker,
And makes the pads on the ends
Of our palms, beds of generosity
Triggering Aeolian processes
Shaping our future world.

And courage is not removing fear
It is what exists in spite
Of fear or danger. Admiration
Is not just for the ambulance driver
Or the paramedic, it is for the windy
Voice of the truth, blowing
From mouth to ear, from
Conscience to heart, when the
Lantern fires up, steadies the flame,
Like a cauldron does,
Only for the gods to see.