The Veiled Virgin is a Carrara marble statue carved in Rome by Italian sculptor Giovanni Stazza in the early 1850’s


A block of stone
a hammer and chisel
endless crystal beads
fallen from the brow
days and nights
driven by passion
an envisioned creation
some pain, some magic
the surgical blows
and some million chips later
His work emerged
veiled from all eyes but his,
and whose soul, one day
only those eyes would see.

And yet when he sees you,
in ignorance
of the credibility
of the prophecy
that time held
in its secret folds
you continue to whisper
from beneath
that veiled shield –
‘I am just a stone,
no heart, no soul,
turn back and go
don’t waste
your time on me’.











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Everyone wants
to catch one
none can really hold it
no one sees it rise
everyone sees it fall
it falls in self destruction
so that others may rise
No ego to restrain it
its karma
too well defined
one does not fight another
nor attempts to race ahead
each falls as each must
at their own given time
Neither stands out
in the multitudes that fall
nor is there an attempt
for one
to outdo another.

Have often heard of those
who rise to save the world
rare is the one who falls
falls to save the earth
And as the falling
meet their destined end
the earth entices the senses
and a memory rises within
A face looks up to the sky
a forgotten childish smile
with half shut eyes
a mouth wide open
and a tongue stretched out
the freedom of being
the presence of innocence
the attempt to catch
a few of the falling stars
was worth a treasure chest
the simple goals
the thrill of success.

In that impulsive moment
as I relive the memory
of the child within
and do
what the child did then
those falling raindrops
once again free me
from me.


Winds of Change

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Walk a step with me,
for I know not where this road leads,
throw some light,
on the path I tread,
listen, and I could tell you a tale,
talk, and I’ll hear your story,
history is created when lives are lived,
and lessons are learnt,
when experiences are shared.
gone is the past, familiar as it was,
time has crept in,
and cradled its memory,
as it passes, that too shall fade,
not all specs of memories,
can turn into pearls,
some get blown away,
by the winds of change.

Walk a step with me,
till the wind catches in its arms,
and teaches a falling leaf,
how to fly like a bird in the sky,
inspiration is never planned,
nature is never a prisoner,
paths change, and so do lives,
look around at the quizzical eyes,
judging what they know not,
basking in their own shallow pride,
if change was a song,
I know I can sing it now,
hear my song, it could be yours.
thoughts abound, in the stillness around,
the journey though, must continue,
with a step at a time, and miles to go,
walk this step with me.


2nd Mar. 2014


If I could hold you
I would,
in every way
one can,
but I just don’t know
where to hold you from,
For apart from
the cracks,
in the fate lines
that run across
our hands,
And your soul
that holds you up strong
keeping your trust
from wandering again,
the rest of you
seems so fragile.




I wish I could
have held you
but you were
the wind
and it was
your perogative
to touch and go
but the feeling
of coming alive
was mine
and I wished
it could stay
to remind me
of your existence
like footprints
in the sand
a reminder
of the magic
that was there
in everything else
that existed
when you
were around.


So It Flows


It is in the nature
of things, emotions
and relationships
constantly in a flow
that even a river
can split into two
and sometimes
two streams
meet as one
to share
the rest of the way.

Who is to tell
what makes one part
into two unknowns
going their separate ways
and why two can meet
to emerge as one
from directions afar
in an emotional confluence
inspite of varied
accumulated experiences.





the good days
precious memories
shared smiles
the lingering feelings
of secret moments
the concrete foundations
then taken for granted
for a future
shared life.

One unexpected wipe
on the blackboard
and traces of dust
are all that is
left behind
you try and collect
the scattered specs
but they can never
go back from where
they fell.

Sometimes in life
you just have to dust
the blackboard clean
and use the remaining
pieces of chalk
to draw some new lines.