by the window

I feel the sting of it
Every single time
it touches me
burns my tongue
Everytime you say nothing
and I sit alone
by the windows
asking to be freed
to be easied*

I feel it’s sting every day
I wake up
I feel my throat dry
and I wet it
With Waters of all kinds
to feel quenched
And I feel dry even more

I feel it’s sting everyday
I walk up
To the class room
my heart aches
You say nothing
And I escape
by the window
Into the stars
where I float

I must be saddened
Or maddened
By love

Or no love.



slowly unlearning
all the things
with every puff
as it burns
through the heart,

slowly unlearning
all that is immaterial
i float like smoke
and it burns
to live in a world
like dead-wood
ready to die.

all the lonely people

there is such desperation
and tremor in people
taking offense of everything
quaking in pain
waiting to shout out
to every possible person
of their disdain
and their out of luck life
rotting in the gutters of a city
with no time to feel the depth of any instance
any emotion
rotting away
with lesser and lesser time
rotting away
with only words to brace their meaningless life

in contrast
a sullen man
in a dark room
playing a melancholic tune
on his violin
or his radio
cries in silence
lays in torment
and carries on with his job
writing poems and articles for the newspaper ;

is a better way to
rot away

corpses in love

a poem that’s not wholly satisfying
or a love that’s not complete
could be the worst things
one could feel
everything on the edge
words , left basking in the sun
On the edge of one’s tongue
everything on the edge
the slowing down of life
every emotion laid naked
And undone

this is the worse of the  two
the other is somewhere in England

a message from the old man

People walk by
thousands and hundreds of them
They walk by the shops
the old man selling peanuts
the lights lighting the way
and me,
On a scooter
rotting away into the night
and then a thousand more people walk by
and it doesn’t make a difference
and it won’t
the cold winds begin to blow
and it’s time to go
I should be going
but I don’t
I sit here
And wait for a thousand more people to walk
I don’t know why.

a firefly

Amidst an eerie night sky
With the constant lining sound of crickets
Came home A Lonely Wandering firefly.

The world was too daunting to face
And his mates, consumed in this race
Toward a certain tree
That they thought would make them free.

He was lost, confused and mislead
or so the world had said ;
He lay still and silent upon the darkened walls of my corridor
Unwanting to listen to more.

There was nothing between him And I
Just the ordained difference between man and a lesser being
Why would one think he was lonely?
Either way, I knew he was not the only.
-Anirudh Shankaran.