The House


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Once in a while
I pass by the house
A sad and dilapidated affair
That used to be my house
A rented house
In the fringes of humanity
But a house all the same
Just to remind myself
Of how things used to be
Back then…

The house stands behind a tattered and sorry looking metal gate
It’s green paint peeling off
It’s noisy hinges grumbling with rue
Of better times
The house is a desolate thing
The cracked walls tries to hold it together
Trying to gather around it’s self the long and lost past
But with little success…

The roof is rusty and tired
The doors and windows are haggard
And devoid of life
They just hang in on there
Swinging with a stifled anger
And without any hope for better days ahead…

I shudder with a curious uneasiness
As I walk past the house
And I instantly recall
That this used to be
My abode
My home
My crib
My sanctuary
My state house
My white house
My dark house
The place where I used to rest my tired bones and soul
A one roomed shack sans piped water affair…

And oh boy
This shack is full of memories
Most bitter
Some grand
Others crazy
And few positive…

I still remember vividly
How I would lie awake
On my rickety bed
In some dark night
And listen silently
While the rain pelted down the poor tin roof
With a certain vengeance
And the harsh sound
Would lull me into uneasy sleep
And I would dream
Of grandeur
Of fame
Of wealth…

But the harsh sun
In the following morning
Would briskly rouse me
From my sweet dream world
With it’s burning heat rays
That would penetrate the weak and ancient tin roof
With a mighty determination
And bake my hapless spirit
To the ugly reality…

The plonk
That I used to slosh
Every other night
In the many dimly lit off license Shebeens
Never helped matters
I had thought I was drowning my sorrows
But the wily sorrows had learned how to swim to safety
And haunt and hunt me
The following day
And I was beleaguered with an ugly dread
When the cocks would announce
And with a certain vanity
The arrival of another morning
Unwanted morning
While I trudged warily
To the house
In the wee hours of the morning
Lonely and alone while lost in deep thoughts…


The House….

The Darkness…


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The darkness is ever silent

Ever present

Ready to stalk and sulk

And patiently awaits

To descend

Upon an exhausted soul

To haunt and torment

With a certain vicious pain

And anguish

That relentlessly

Taunts a beautiful spirit

With ungainly

Scopes of depression

Anxiety mercilessly grips

A benevolent heart

While the voices

Refuses to keep quiet…


The darkness

Is ever present

Even in a laughter filled

And sunny days

But no one would

Ever suspect

The enormous



Behind a smiling face

But again

These things

Are never said


A great sense of humour

Is the only escape

From this darkness…


No one

Hears the loud silent cry

Laughter is someone’s cry

Laughter is someone’s

Attempt to heal

Deep wounds

Frightening wounds

That somehow

Refuses to heal…



This darkness is comforting


This darkness is frightening

All familiar

All part of self

There are some things

That this darkness


That makes sense

And sometimes does not make sense

This darkness brings certain loneliness


The darkness is a friend


The darkness is a foe



The Real You


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There is certain person
A special person
A powerful person
A beautiful person
A great person
A wise person
A mighty person
A blessed person
A wonderful person
And that person is you
Existing inside of you
And has always been part of you
The real you…

But unfortunately
You have been on the run
Running away from this special person
Sadly you have been hiding from this wonderful person
The real you…

You are afraid of this person
You cow in awe of this person
You really admire this person
You are frightened by the sheer power and potential you instinctively sense in this person
But unfortunately
You have been alienated
From this person
The real you…

Fake beliefs
Have all separated you
From this great person
The real you…

Be yourself
And remember that
You are here
Not to please anybody
Apart from your dear God

It’s time
To holistically
With your real self…



, , , ,

And unending
And lurking in the heart
And lacking in the soul
A constant
And an agitated state of being
Of searching
Of reaching out
Of looking out
Of what I know not and what it is
Reigns in my realm of reality
But still
The soul yearns for it deeply
A certain and ravenous hunger
Assaults my very being
Making I restless
A hunger of something I don’t understand
Of something I have never had before
Of something I have never seen before
Nor touched before
Nor held before
But the longing is still there
A strong desire
And I instinctively know that I will understand it
Once it hits me
But until then
Restlessness rules..

Upon This Table…


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Upon this white topped table,
There lies various scribbles and doodles,
Of someone’s life story,
Of someone’s dreams,
Of someone’s trials,
Of someone’s happiness,
It is all here,
Upon this white topped table,
And some coffee spills,
Upon the scribbles and doodles,
Burning their aspirations…


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