The Muse

There exists a universe where I'm known as Lima. You aren't allowed there.
There exists another universe in which Lima walks. You are already here.
You have entered because you can appreciate style while ignoring content. You had been warned.
P.S. Don't bash me up if you find haiku or plain prose here.

Sunday, December 31, 2017

The Bell of Mithra

I found in an abandoned temple
A bell, wrapped in cobwebs and silence
That once honored an ancient deity
Who even now lay asleep within

Curious, my heathen hand
Reached out to the sacred metal
And along with the silvery peals
A whisper filled the air

Softly, it spoke of the memories
Of the exploits of that divinity
The prayers answered, The miracles wrought
The feats achieved by the devoted flock

Until one day when the winds of chance
Filled the sails of their ambitions
And drove them, each to divers ports
Away from their community

"Some carried the light of their faith"
Said the voice, "and that is why"
"Despite their distance and my age
Uninvoked, I am still alive"

"And who are you?", I asked the presence
"What is the faith that sustains you?
How is it that you fell asleep?
And how come you are now awake?"

"I am Mithra, Lord of the Covenant
Friendship is the faith that sustains me
Space and time may send me to slumber
But remembrance will awaken me"

"Whether you be part of a fleet
Or single ships that pass in the night
I am the basis of your joy
I am the pillar of your comfort"

"My bell is none but your lines and cables
Borne on pylons and buried under the sea
This copper and glass, it lies in wait
For those who would communicate"

"Dwell not on the encounters of the past
Or of the years lost in separation
But ring my bell, here and now
So new memories may be made"

And thus enlightened I dedicate
This year past and the year forthcoming
To the old friends in distant ports
To the new ones that are not yet so

Fortune I thank for bringing us together
More than once in our lifetime
But to you I owe a greater debt
For you have never let me go.

Saturday, September 5, 2015

स्वयं विधाता

शिव - गौरी के चौसड़ के खेल में
हम गोटी नहीं खिलाड़ी हैं
करमजोग के जो है पुजारी 
पूजें उन्हें त्रिपुरारी है

Sunday, January 18, 2015


Judge me, for my utility,
Engage with me, accordingly,
But know that I still have my own place,
In this impartial universe,
And you may hate, my existence,
(Or love it, or be indifferent)
But if you raise an eye at me,
Be prepared for my answering glance.

(#IAmNotCharlie #GoesBothWays)

Wednesday, October 22, 2014


Dominae, dominated thou art,
By the four laws of the multiverse.
Thou favour and scorn on thy whim,
Thy touch is both blessing and curse.
Devi, Devas lust after thee,
Their brothers fare no better.
But thou who art loyal to none,
Find thy fickle heart in a fetter.

Theá, thorny is the way,
Of those who would ignore thee,
Thou art denied by none but thyself,
I beg thee! Don't deny me.


4 laws:

  1. Mortality - All that begins will have an end
  2. Vulnerability - If you have a head, you will have a headache
  3. Mutability - Change is the only constant
  4. Love - Love will conquer all

Friday, September 12, 2014

Gravel - Part I

Hail! Samarkand, end of all roads
Proud abode of the great and good
Light of the desert, sight for sore eyes
Balm to the weary of heart and foot.

The sun sets on Her pearly domes
And shatters into a million lights
Her bazaars fill with men and wares
Her gardens with all earthly delights.

As they walk past Her blessed gates
Both men and beasts sigh in relief
For the day's journey has come to an end
And tomorrow is but a distant dream.

Among this throng of travellers
Is a Viking of the Russian tribe
And a Moroccan and a Chinaman
With a hundred more of every stripe.

They marvel at the sights and sounds
And enjoy the moonlit scented breeze
They plod along the winding lanes
In search of a meal and a place of ease.

Between the palm-lined cobbled streets
Runs a lonely dark gravel-lined lane
It harbours nought but a lonely inn
At whose door stood our heroes fain.

Well met good Sirs, the innkeeper said
Please step over my humble threshold
But the price of my hospitality
Mark thee! Is not to be paid in gold.

A tale I seek from each of you
In exchange for victuals and rest
As long as you can entertain me
Your honours can remain my guest.

Though puzzled by this clause unique
They entered and sat at his table
And as soon as their meal was done
The Moroccan began his fable.