The Writer Sleeps

Image by Luis Beltrán

Image by Luis Beltrán


The writer sleeps…

Her dreams are home

To stories of such wonder

That could she grasp their truths,

Her pen would never leave the page again.


Grey matter feeds

Encrypted hope,

Its secrets — yet to plunder.

The unexpected soothes:

A journeyman’s respite in the inane.


So strange this land;

Dispelled by dawn

Its debris — buried under

The roast of coffee beans,

Like every morning’s rite of the insane.


Yet all the same,

The writer sleeps…



DailyPost: Mouths Wide Shut


Surrogate Goodbye


I feel your body

Expanding next to mine,

Curdled into sleep.

Bodies linked

By inevitable stillness.

Secluded in your hopes,

Yours is the certainty of blindness – 

Mine the despondency

Of broken masts,

Stranded in windless blue.

As an eyelash disentangles itself

From the weave of your dreams,

I taste its resting place:

My surrogate goodbye.


On Bees and Efs

HarsH DreaMs


I dream.

I dream in colour. In textures. In scents. I see, touch, and even taste. My dreams are so vivid that they often feel as real to me as reality itself.

Through dreams I escape into another world. They whisper stories and draw me away from the pedestrian into the uncommon. Sometimes I know that I am dreaming. Memories of other dreams surge forth, and in remembering I take flight, journey to distant lands and uncover secrets that lay hidden to everyone else. They inspire. Dreamscapes.

I meet loved ones in my dreams. Sometimes they are living friends and family, sometimes they come to greet me from the world of shadows, as alive to me in that moment as they were when I last held them in my arms.

But there are strangers too. Both friends and foe.

Tonight I had an unexpected visitor. It was the second time he made an appearance. I did not know what to make of it the first time around. I am yet to make sense of it now. My visitor was neither known, nor unknown to me. He was OM.

I wish I had the skill of a portrait artist, or at the very least know someone who could sketch OM in a MAN WANTED-style. Lacking both, I have delved into the google universe in hunt for an image that would come close to his dream-self. Meet OM.

His first appearance is still fresh in mind. Three days past, the voice he shared in his vlogs seeped into the dream, and seated around a small coffee table, we talked. He spoke of “once upon a times,” of poetry and prose, of his hopes for the future. A man of no regrets and relentless in his pursuits.

Then again, last night, there he was on my doorstep. Something was wrong.

“We must go. Now,” he said.

I picked up my coat and we were on our way.

He didn’t have to tell me neither where we were going, nor what had to be done. I knew. I knew as only in dreams you can read the other’s mind and their harsh reality crisps up within you becoming yours.

I felt no fear. No apprehension. The danger that awaited beyond the comforting bustle of that Bloomsbury street on a Saturday morning, was nothing when compared to what awaited the world if we did nothing about it. It had to be done. There was nothing more to it.

It was a call to arms, and neither waivered in crossing the threshold into the darkness that lurked just out of sight.


You can find OM @ HarsH ReaLiTy

In the shadows


I was asleep,

But in that dream…

Believed myself to be awake.

So crisp the coolness of the day,

Such vivid – textures… Could not shake

The feel of you, so real still

That it enticed my senses all,

Beguiling chance within. Without

The questions bayed unanswered.


Caught in the chase, the thrill

Of days long disremembered

To resurrect I sipped the offered prize.

Pierced through

How cruel a vision where a loved one dies!

A dream to nightmare rendered.


For there too abandoned soon

My body eddied. Cut away

From your arm’s grasp, it lay tormented

Under a hellish moon.

I cannot tell you why it was not meant to be.

I waiver in the dark…

In leaving you extinguished

My light.

Now set me free!

Secreted sighs

Storms all
Adhere to a code
Dawn brings
Delivery from fright.
Entangled spectres disappear with the
Erase all that is past.
Dare fall.

By falling
You will learn how not to fear.

In battle hardened

Know how to rise up.
Nothing will hurt unless you choose to steer
Onto another’s course
When yours abandoned falters.

Not quite awake.
Other concealments linger,
Tormenting morning slumber

With yet to be forgotten dreams.
How many of their number
Await the pen to zinger them into
Truths? Daybreak.