Continuing its babble of yesterday’s,
Sea’s narrative goes on where it left

Yesterday and world went on usual.
All narratives are fused into thread.

The waves fuse all of them together
As single indistinguishable prattle,

A meaningless gibberish emerging
From our non sequitur existences.


Inside nausea

The Nausea is not inside me: I feel it out there in the wall, in the suspenders, everywhere around me. It makes itself one with the café, I am the one who is within it.
– Nausea, by Jean Paul Sartre trans. Lloyd Alexander

Nausea exists in existence,
And not in a belly at storm.

Nausea exists out of  body,
A sea raging in yonder sky.

Nausea is body outside sea,
A turtle for a dawn’s crows.

Leave a little spring

To leave a little spring in Feb.
Get rid of every body’s death.

The sea says the same thing.
It says a sea turtle to get off

With death skewered in life
In February, on a next wave.

Get off my chest ,you death
Says a sea ,wave after wave.

Get off my chest , you Poet
Says death, tooth and claw.

(On reading Margaret Atwood’s poem February

Fever by the sea

The sea is out there , lonely.
I have my fever ,by the sea.

I only imagine fellow rowers
In a laughter of bawdy yarns.

I hear the sea’s fever in head
As its moon is up and about.

Sea goes in  fever and foam,
Pukes  litter of dead flowers.

As three boys hop in its sky,
With three torsos in mid-air,

I stand here by a lonely sea
And swear by the lovely sea.

I run my fever by lonely sea,
Behind a sad-assed balcony .

(On reading John Mansfield’s poem “Sea Fever”)



The French General

Here lies French general ,his dog,
His loved horse, in common dust,
An  earth of nobody’s sun at dusk.

Raymond was our loved Monsieur
Moosa Ram and Rahim in  obelisk.
A bird dropped tree lives in its top.

(On visit to the tomb of Monsieur Raymond .He was a much loved French general in Hyderabad’s erstwhile ruler Nizam’s army, who lived two hundred years ago)