Victor Nunes

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Check out this awesomely fun artwork by illustrator Victor Nunes — with Lots more to see on his facebook page.

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Writing 201: Sonnet/chiasmus/Future aka Moment

So much chaos within a moment

Spent in mono,dia & sometimes trialogues

What is good,better or best

Soundlessly sneaks out th rogue

Leaving the fretting, fuming & more

Keening heart with restlessness

Sinking into subdued torpor

Bind the shackl’d to the harness

Check the unreined! Faraway it gallops!

Tether the strain or you’ll strain the tether.

You delve in its whys and wherefores

Seeking answers if not the joys from it

Indecisions burden it as the clock keeps score

Burning & turning & roiling on the spit

Were you searching a better instant in a morrow?

For now is the future you waited for yesterday

There’s just so much further time to borrow

Do, please do- when sun shines make hay!

Einstein’d vouch; the time is relative

Be in the moment & the moment You’ll Be.

Writing 201:Ode/Apostrophe: Drawer

An Ode to the Drawer

Oh wrench away from world, oh do

Bring close the head, Word- it’s keypad

There’s loads of work to do

Study the table bare and lonesome

Cleaned free of dusty thoughts

A single one lurks behind the modem

That won’t do, won’t give, won’t take, Ha!

All business of ideas fall flat on surface

Oh where, oh where is my moment of ‘Aha’?

The knobs wobble when you open or close

We keep clean in our home

Even if some nuts are on loose.

The teak brown sheen’s of fresh varnish

A white ear of paper peeks out of turn. Out!

With it! How thoughtlessly you all vanish!

Drawn by the drawer, I pull it to me. Whee!

Like errant children hiding behind others back

They seek, implore sweet release of me.

Oh what mayhem Pandora kept!

Let it trickle slow, some now

My little chamber of secrets.

Writing 201: Assonance/Prose: Fingers

What use the arm you say?

Ah! the charm of the arm t’ xplain by half ain’t that banal. Beauty resides with duty at command at the press of a thought or finger; For, look down the smooth route o’erhanging your hard shoulder! The thick, earthy deltas of yer five fingers like iambic pentametres, they pierce the ether at their ethereal ends. Such delicacy to a sight it gives, might not I seek some for the palate to savour? With one arm you wield this delicious magic, with the other caress my curly tress while my back I rest. As I lay… and also claim you in total–fingers, arms and all.

Ballad:Anaphora/Epistrophe: Hero/villain: The Human Song

The Human Song Stretching the self across that green stretch In a land illumined by words and chants Pure air with peace and learning enmesh Such a place have I been in past; Where Minding the Gods with meditative minds Lulling the deities with the tinkle of temple bells Raising hands only to greet & give a word so kind Where every soul was kindred & a bard so soulful An upturned dinner plate & spoon to bang in a tune Catching someone’s laughter while heart went joyful And the flowers absorbed a hum from the air in June It’s the ‘human’ song cried the bee without care Rich were they; ignorance of the richness was bliss Till such a time when they saw factories or the tin tinning till Sea, land, or sky is the limit and business is all you see Human sits agape and men hold the courtly court.

Poetry: Underwater Notes- Keki N. Daruwala

I like Keki N Daruwala’s writing. He is a national award winner poet and short story writer from India. I find his writing very sensitive and honest. Here is one called ‘Underwater Notes’. Hope you’ll like it too.


(On revisiting a dream)

I am alone in the house.
It is warm
but I feel cold.
The doors swing open across the years.
For someone who has no ancestral home,
who doesn’t have
the long shadow of the past
to ruffle his hair,
homecoming gets distorted.
Time squints, space wobbles
and the visit, encoded as it is,
remains undeciphered.


It is cold,
the windows are frost-smudged.
Counsel yourself, there’s no one
else to do it.
Let hieroglyphs
remain dented where they are.
Let wind erode them, or time –
they are warp and weft of all erosion.
Come out of the house and write
(not hieroglyphs this time!)
It is cold.
Frost has smudged the windows.
Your hair is grey as hoarfrost.


A rundown house,
is a desolation.
A rundown house
perched on a live memory,
with me alone conversing with both
is a double desolation.
Twenty years ago when I took a look around
It wasn’t there.
Someone now tells me at a reunion
the house is standing,
only new streets
interlock around it.
It’s still there! That’s nice,
one desolation gets sloughed off


It’s only when reality slips by
like a sliding panel
that you realize
that the marvellous in the everyday real
has passed you by.


Seated on the hull of your boat
you lurch and tilt.
The horizon is the forest,
darkening leaf on darkening sky.

Slot your time properly
in the right caves.
The sea is the present
The forest is the future.

Speech is present tense
Echo is the future.

If you are talking of echoes
you are talking of walls.
If you talk of water echo
you are discussing womb walls –
odd territory,
come out of it.
Unsure on land
you take to the sea.
The skyline is a forest
Fern-dark, shadow-dark
graveled with white coral grit.


Whatever evil he suffered, he forgot
said Milosz in one of his poems.
Now that’s a scrap of myth, isn’t it?
And it is one thing to forgive
and another to forget.
I tried to put things behind me,
in the backyards of memory-clutter,
and went back to my flirtations with altitudes,
touched the Karakorams at Siachen,
touched – Hindi has such a lovely word for it, ‘sparsh’ –
Nubra, the garden of the North
and slept in a tent at Tsomoriri –
the rocks brown, the lake blue;
I got hold of a scrap of a myth here
(at 15000 feet it’s a good scrap to grab).
It was very hot, and a woman called Tsomo
riding a yak couldn’t rein him in,
as the yak made straight for the lake.
She kept shouting ‘riri, riri’, ‘stop, stop’ in Tibetan,
but the yak went in and they both drowned.


The stars have flung
their net into the sea
Among the thrashing fish shoal
and the lassoed crab
look for me.

Writing 201: Elegy, metaphor: Fog

Times and places we see in such rainbow hues

A picnic, or a visit to grandma or monkeying at zoo

The colourful moments of those that then lived

Hearty laughter and ideas they believed

The wide open space in the middle of the house

The glum & the numb lost in chaos

Of friendless times in laps of love

When at 100 m/hr the tongas did plough

Accelerated due its riders’ lung power

The earthen stove, smoking up the food

That makes reality into an apparition

Clouding my eyes for no apparent reason

I try to remove the haze with an impatient swipe

But all my memories are now just in black & white.


twitter: richa04richa

Poetry- Concrete, enjambment: Animal


man you

may’ve done

something right in your

previous life, alright; For it’s

Karma to have me so happy with delight

When you come tired home from office or market

What would I know of appraisals or targets. But here

I am with you, for you to love you always. To see your spirits

soar and flag, while I lay or sit and my tail does wag. Like a totem


that puzzles

me of my Karma. What

terrible thing was it that though

your drivel could drive anyone senile,I

only can happily drool, wag, jump and smile.

Book Review- Be Careful What You Wish For by Jeffrey Archer



This is the latest from one of my favourite writers in fiction writing. A gripping tale of a family becoming victim to personal vendetta and business rivalry in an arena that knows no value for ethics. The story has all the neccessary ingredients to keep it going but I do miss the incisive wit and cunning that spewed from Mr Archer’s pen in his previous novels like ‘Kane & Able’,’Not a penny more, not a penny less’ and others.
The story is about the Clifton family who is being targetted by Don Pedro Martinez with a vicious vengeance that will brook no obstacle to obtain his aim. While the Cliftons are being keenly guarded by the police, Don Pedro takes his fight onto Emma Clifton’s brother the cabinet secretary Sir Giles Barrington’s chances to further his political career. Other than that all is well in everyone’s personal lives as Emma’s children Sebastian and Jessica find suitable life partners too with all sides giving their blessings until Don Pedro plays his heinous part to bring unhappiness all concerned what with his connections with the Nazis and even the IRA.
In all of this, Cedric Hardcastle, an outsider to these families, appears like a godfather and sets about righting the wrongs. But is he able to help them despite his efforts is what is most interesting.
Just when I’d decided Mr Archer going all mellow and spongy soft with most of his characters, he lends a twist that made me ask him- Why sir why…?

Writing 201-Acrostic, internal rhyme- Trust

A lone ranger you may be, ah! the tragedy,

Love lorn your heart will ever remain; for more & again

Will he, won’t he? love me or claim me?

All you care is another hunt, another snare

Yes I’ll be your friend, to the earth’s other end

Secure of a back-up, no issues will I rake up

Check the crack in the dam, I’m done damn you!

Over with the ache, out with the farce, for our sake

Undo the ties that belie the truth

Never believe I am- far too gone in this sham

Truth be told, I saw us together grow old

One life we know, we reap what we sow

Nothing more than your thoughts;you’re all about wild oats!

Me and my chatter, are things that don’t matter

Ever so my dear friend, we can see it through the curve & bend.