Sunday, February 13, 2005


Night sky high

A falling star

shooting past


so far.

Can you catch

with your eyes

the tail end

of the dust



backwards in time?

Over there

the remnants

of the once supernova

a wild comet

destination oblivion

shooting fast

shooting past

your weary eyes.

Catch... a glance

of light

in your sight

press the shutter

freeze the flame

hold this moment

seal the time

before it fades.



Something is burning  
without flames  
somebody must be  
playing games.  
Ashes turning  
into dust  
invisible dreams  
beneath the crust  
Birds are singing  
so we must  
hear the whispers  
of the past  
find new meaning  
in ancient trust  
Time is burning  
here at last  
life is changing  
changing fast.


Thick and thin

I ask the winds    
to take my words    
to places yet unknown    
through the tracks of dust    
and memories of passage.    
Places in the here and now,  
the past...the future and all    
from the ink stains  
and annals of creation    
to the micro chips  
and galaxies of regeneration    
I have arrived here  
with cautious discretion.    
So far I have been riding the railways  
within the terrain of life  
with all its strife.    
I shall be meeting a dark stranger soon    
a mysterious hero,  
death as we call it...the quietus.    
I must again and again, without strain,  
refrain and abstain from pain,  
then again...there is no such temptation  
as going insane...    
given half the chance to dance  
to the rhyhm of my tune.    
I heard the deejay pull the plug  
and play a song for me.    
I shall submerge into this chord,  
emerge from a deep sleep  
beyond which the eyes can see  
despite the prevailing mist,  
the long stretch across the frets  
where the going is rough  
will soon be smoothened over  
by the solidity of my resolve.  
I assure the World of this  
and implore the winds to grant me  
this historically unprecedentad opportunity  
of transposing wholeness  
where it would instantly make a dent  
way within,  
through the thick and thin of my dreams.



Saturday, February 12, 2005


Artist's statement

My art emerges without any deliberate intention.  
Not a single stroke is foreseen.  
All are dictated by immediate impulses  
the faintest tremblings of signals  
coming from the depth of my being.  
What proceeds is the gradual emergence  
and recording of unpremeditated imagery.  
This is a mode of expression  
that fully satisfies the eye  
by achieving rhythmic unity.  
What counts is the spontaneous, the impulsive.  
My drawings become what they are.  
Like poetry the lines, the forms rhyme  
and strive to become animated.  
All is constantly changing as it is being created  
and when it is over it goes on changing and living  
according to the state of mind and perception  
of whatever... whoever is looking at it.  
I am not merely the executor of my art  
I live my work!


Primal stream

Stranded on an island called exile  
where the self inflicted pain  
makes the itch of longing remain  
unscratchable ever again!.  
As I wander on primary rocks  
searching for my maker in gratitude  
for stuffing my mind with empty thought  
and an "easy come, easy go" attitude.  
Yet I insist on demanding peace  
without an apocaliptic struggle  
but with a good old primal scream.  
I reach out, longing still  
within the language of stones,  
for a breathe of fresh air,  
as I walk that lonely walk  
up and down in rapid pace  
searching for a place  
where I shall face  
the choice of my own making.  
I have no time to rest  
till the incoming test  
hits me at best  
where it hurts.  
I am here with hope  
to be able to cope  
as the outgoing tide  
will take away and hide  
those turbulent thoughts  
while voices keep on falling  
from the corner of my eyes  
I can hear the silent cries  
of forbidden angels.


The puppet had no more  
than two eyes.  
To the ordinary person  
a right & a left eye  
to you and me and to all  
makers and discoverers  
an interior  
an exterior eye.  
To those who demand  
further information...  
an eye which saw from  
the tip of his nose  
to the distant stars  
another eye which saw  
what was within...  
from the tip of his memory  
to the sparkle  
deep in his dreams.  
As for the puppet  
to him there was  
just one eye.  
The meeting point  
of two cycles  
where horizons curve  
into each other  
where the eye  
is the sparkle  
and the sparkle  
the star.  
With this eye  
the puppet played  
towards this eye  
the puppet flowed.  
The eye which was  
his cultivated potentials  
the meaning of  
his never ending search.  
As the passing years  
carved wrinkles  
into his face  
the eyes would get  
closer to each other  
until the day  
right at the center  
of his forehead  
where his eyebrows met  
the eyes would eclipse  
and like a cyclone  
the puppet would make  
'enormous sounds of joy'  
Again and again

Too many things to do  
when you  
waking up to the  
surrounding the nucleus  
of your being  
set aside the dreams  
that only moments ago  
part of your being  
snort twice  
turn arrrrrrroooooooound  
you beast  
you ungrateful  
you undevoted  
to your past!  
You angel you  
you unresentful  
you unregretable  
you creature  
of the time being you.  
Who may I be  
to pass judgement  
but the echo  
which strikes twice  
and once again  
and again..  
till you turn  
to the other side  
you see  
you do not snort no more.  
Wrapped as you are  
with sorrow and solitude  
well disguised  
in pearls & rubies.  
Busy.. busy ...  
always almost  
carrying messages  
of faith and glory  
from times past  
to times to come.  
No more to say  
not much to do  
but snore again  
as aging wings  
armfuls of them  
from me to you.  
Shapes and shadows  
all dark and gray  
came out of their windows  
and started to pray  
as I floated along  
in my little spaceship  
thinking to myself  
all time long  
have I done something wrong?.  
Which button must I press  
to relieve my muscles  
from this stress  
which hand should I use  
to stop my hair fall.  
Yellow people in street corners  
asked me which way to go  
and one by one I answered them  
" there's nowhere to go ".  
When I realised I was on Earth  
some strange feeling came up to me  
I uncurled myself all over this place  
and let the grey sleep by me  
and let the streets feed by me  
It felt just fine to be so free.