Space-poet Spike

Are you a lonely falling star,
Zipping aimlessly through space?
Or a castaway, from a planet far,
Longing for a familiar face?

Are you an unidentified puff of blah;
Or a shiny cosmic pathogen?
A giant hazy nebula;
Or a teensy Protozoan?

Hear ye as I call,
Hailing all known spatial freqs;
Spacecasting Live for all,
Aboard The ISS Poetrix.

This is space-poet Spike,
On his weekly open mic.

There’s nothing but emptiness and dots,
As far as my eyes can see;
So I plan to fill them up with thoughts,
Far beyond many a-galaxy.

Time and space are obscure;
Cause what is mine, isn’t yours.
My words shall transcend them for sure,
Defying reasons, logic, they shall soar.

There’s poetry in how our lives traverse;
Beneath the obvious, something stirs.
It’s really just one big poem, we converse,
Perhaps that’s why we call it The Uni-verse.

This is space-poet Spike
On his weekly open mic.

Now, the show today is dedicated,
To war-torn unknowns,
The luckless and the ill-fated;
The saddened and forlorn.

I don’t have a permanent cure;
Nor I promise to allay your pain.
But I’ll give you few smiles for sure,
And pray that laughter rains.

I will keep sending over
Words of greatness and power,
Deep into the darkness, forever;
So that some day, on you they shall shower!

This is space-poet Spike
On his weekly open mic.


“Say, I’ve to admit that his rhymes are getting pretty decent!”.

“Hahaha yeah! I agree! I have heard him so many times, that I believe that I too have got a hang of it. Let me try …”

“There goes Spikey, spacin’ out again,
Jumping and rolling all over his beds.
But soon it’ll end, his trips insane;
Cause now it’s time, for his daily meds!”



I once cried for four days.

My parents recall.
And the docs
Couldn’t fix me at all.

Always practising,
I guess I was born to sing!

I once ate some mouldy bread.

To fall ill.
Hoping that,
Skip school I will.

O Cruel Mother Of Agony!
This tops my ‘never-again’ list.

I once caught a firefly.

Shined on it,
A light-bulb bright.
Into its jar;
For five straight nights.

On the sixth,
It never once glowed.

I once made fun of a fat girl.

She cried;
Pained, she sobbed.
The guilt in me;
Like apples, bobbed!

To this day it remains,
A day, I wish I weren’t an ass.

I once lit a rocket sideways.

Straight to my neighbour’s house,
Did it dart.
Set aflame his mom’s
Hideous works of art.

With every whack, I realized,
Some jokes, not everyone finds them funny.

I once tried to make my bike fly.

A superhero-jump
Off 1st floor.
For two teeth,
And two bones more.

Come to think,
I should give this a try again.

I once punched a kid solid.

Cut his lip,
Bloodied his nose.
He deserved it bad,
God knows!

Somethings in life,
Are definitely worth a black eye.

I once fell in love.

I heard poetry,
Whenever she was near.
So I sang,
For her to hear.

Hurt like crazy,
Worse than broken bones and swollen eyes.

I once did a coalwalk.

To purify,
My ephemeral soul.
Someone said,
It’ll make me whole.

All I was left with,
Were feet of different colour.

I once wrote a masterpiece.

I threw it
Into a well.
Burned it to hell.

Needless to say,
It was a tragedy.

I once …

This 250 word post is my entry into the Clarity Of Night ‘Uncovered’ Short Fiction Contest.


“That’s not just stupid, that’s suicidal. Makes no sense at all”, he bellowed.

She turned and smiled. “Babe, not everything is a Bob Dylan song!”

“Give me one good reason, why you need to do this, and I won’t say another word.”

“Well, sometimes a woman just needs things. You’ll never understand. Jewels aren’t just mineral lumps; fur coats are more than dead animals! They’re just as sacred as your beers and motorbikes; only costlier!” she smirked.

“Damn it! I’ll get you a fur coat alright? And all the fucking stones. Let’s not do this.”

“Babe, I know you’ll get me things. But it’s the ones that I can’t get that I want!”

“It isn’t worth it!” he pleaded.

“Exactly! It’s the sheer improbability, the rush that makes it all so worthwhile! See that? The whole planet looks like an untouchable, shimmering jewel. Look at it…”

“Look at what? Fucking Fireweeds growing from Craevitus’ core? Parasites, sucking up minerals with their ass and shooting off rocks into space?

You know what? Their shit that builds up over time, your so-called ‘precious stones’, are flying randomly across the Craevitian atmosphere, like flaming cannonballs. Your ship won’t survive two minutes.”

“Well, I have a flight plan!”

“How the fuck can you have a flight plan?”

She gently leaned over and kissed him.

“You … are my flight plan. You’ll always come back to me!” she smiled mischievously.

As he took-off, she waved.“I love you.”

“Yeah. Likewise. ” he murmured.


Not long ago, I came across a very intriguing and mischievous piece of poetry. Thanx to Geethu, my cousin sis, her friend’s sleepy, forgotten blog was brought to my attention. There I found the following words

I am Neha, I steal spoons
I steal spoons from the kitchen
and store them in my room
in a chipped white bowl to be precise
7 spoons in the bowl
then I go to the kitchen
and watch people search for spoons
they look through drawers, cupboards and sinks
but they find no spoons

then I take it up a notch
and accuse people of stealing spoons
as they stutter and mutter in their defense
I chuckle in my head
for I am neha and I steal spoons.


Now, I felt that this was kinda wicked, and I need to know more. And so I reverted with…

Spoons & I

I am Harish, I lose spoons.
I lose ’em from my kitchen,
I lose ’em from my rooms.

Could be that a hungry poltergeist
Stole my spoon-set whole;
Maybe a thieving bunch-o-spoony-goons,
Or there’s a spoon-engulfing hole.

Have searched for them,
Searched and how,
Searched over many moons;
But there ain’t no story
Of disappearing spoons,
Even in ’em ancient runes.

There’s a legend though,
‘Bout a spoon stealin’ girl
Who if I ever meet,
Shall I reprimand;
But for now
There’s not much I can do,
Except to eat things
With my hand

It all makes me laugh,
And chuckle, in my head,
To think, I am a loon.
For I am Harish and I lose spoons.


I got my cousin sis to get this poem across to Neha, to see if there is more to this unusual hobby. And in a few hours, I get a reply…

Spoons & her

I am Neha, I steal spoons,
I have been doing this for quite a few moons.
Alas, the road I travel grows weary and lonesome,
No one about except me, my spoons and half a bottle of rum.

So this is an open call,
to one and all.
Come join me in my pursuit,
and add to my spoon loot.

Your eyes will gleam with pleasure,
when you see your first spoon treasure.
We can steal spoons of every kind,
silver, wooden and any other that our eyes can find.
No more spoons shall you ever lose,
To lose or to steal, it is yours to choose.

The benefits I offer are a plenty,
my favourite is that awesome thrill,
when you spot the spoon and go for the kill.
I offer spoons to balance on your nose,
or even as inspiration for prose.
Join me and you will realise,
Eating with your hands, chopsticks or a fork is a bore,
stick with me and you will have spoons galore.

For I am Neha and I steal many a spoon,
Won’t you be my fellow goon?

Whoaaaaaa a job offer! This was way too cool. I had to explore. So then…

Hey there Neha,
The stealer of spoons,
I knew I would run into you
Later or soon.

Will admit, at first, I was angry,
But now my head’s kinda swirled;
For intrigued now, I am,
With the proposition, you’ve twirled.

True that eating with hands
I really don’t wanna do more;
Especially since drinking hot soup etc.
Have turned ’em kinda sore.

But now you got me confused,
To steal or to lose;
I would rather not choose.

Instead I will look at my strengths,
And extrapolate the lengths,
To which I can be of use!

Stealing, I ain’t so good at,
But would love to join the crew,
Will pass on the rum,
But I sure can hum
And so i’ll hum a hum or two.

How about this, pray tell,
That I work my magical spell,
To catalogue your treasure,
And give you an exact measure,
And all the data on MS Excel?

Do give it a thought
And say if you don’t mind,
Can I be a spoon-goon
Of a different kind?

I promise to bring order,
To all the spoons that are strewn;
For I’ll be Harish, cataloguer of stolen spoons!


To which  she replied…

Today I found myself in a cafe,
There I saw a spoon by the cream parfait,
I stole it and my heart jumped with glee,
Until I found out the spoon was for free.

Perhaps I am getting rusty,
Quite like the loot in a sack all musty,
Organisation is what I need,
Could even do with a spoon stealers creed.

Excel sheets sound perfect,
You are hired by immediate effect.
What is the remuneration you might need,
That plus loads of entertainment is guaranteed.

This is a huge responsibility,
The spoon stealing business is quite the liability.
The spoons not only need to be organized,
But the spoons owned and free need to be recognized.

Together we can locate spoons on new soils,
Then eat hot soup with our spoils.
I am Neha and I steal many a spoon,
And am looking forward to you joining pretty soon.


Aha! I thought about it, and went…

I think I may know,
To check if a spoon’s for free or no;
Its a quick fix test of sorts,
Kind of a touch and go.

When in doubt,
Drop a spoon down;
And when you do that,
Make a lotta sound.
If no one cares,
The spoons are for free;
And they’re not,
If the maitre d’ does frown!

Guess I can be of help,
As you can see.
All this and more,
For a paltry fee.
Pay me in songs,
Whenever you can;
And once in a while,
Gimme concert tickets free.

I hope that I ain’t
Asking for too much,
And that it’d be cool
With you too, as such.
I wish that our
Requirements are a match,
Cause I can’t wait to get started
On the first spoon batch!

Do drop in a simple
Yes or No, fellow goon,
And I will see you soon
On the dark side of the moon!


And just like that, a random conversation happened…
… over stolen spoons.


Ramblin' Blues

I am just saying…
That if it was meant to be,
And it did not,
Then it probably wasn’t me.

Hey, I am just saying…
That if there be pain,
Heart-breaks and cold rain,
Then a smile’s not in vain.

I am just saying…
It better be worth something,
If you’re losing to win,
That game you’re playing.

And I am just saying,
‘Cause I know that speech is free;
But it’s for you to see,
To give a hear or let it be.

Oh and I might be ramblin’,
But yeah I’m thinking this through.
And when things take me tumblin’,
I realize I am on the run too.

I am just saying…
If you been a good daughter or son,
Your Mama’s li’l one,
Your life is far from undone.

Now, I am just saying…
When things turn on you,
Adorn a deep black hue,
Keep a spirited point of view.

I’m just saying…
That if a song makes you happy,
So happy that you cry,
Then sing it till you die.

All I’m saying,
Walk on and walk a thousand mile;
Make it worthwhile,
And crossover in style.

Oh and I might be ramblin’,
But yeah I’m thinking this through.
And when I find myself stumblin’,
I realize I am on the run too.

While You Were Out

The Door sighed,
As behind them
It closed with a bang,
“I’m getting too old for all this!
No excuse.
I wish that these guys
Were more recluse.
Wish they stayed out or never left home at all.”

The doorbell chimed,
“That’s if only
They could get any more!
Any less active
Or ever more lonelier,
I believe I will
Transact Alzheimer’
And simply forget why I stick to this bloody wall!”

Cushions genuflect, reflect,
“Gone are the pampering
Days of the showroom,
Where they graced us with
The ‘Cushiest Cushions’ Award!
Now we’re but a seating,
For tons and tons of lard.
Day by day these guys continue to make us apall!”

The sofa cynically commented,
“You are ones to lament,
My friends!
You too sit on me,
Come to think.
My spine’s broken,
Or on the brink!
And one fateful day, all together we shall fall!”

“Woe is me”, cried the TV.
“No one even looks
At me anymore.
I’m telling you,
It’s a complete tragedy;
Blasted PCs, Internet
And the godforsaken HD.
For once the Kings-o’tainment, I feel kinda small!”

The table creaked,
“Guys I’m busted,
In ages, haven’t been dusted.
My shelves are beyond
Their shelf-lives;
Pesky termites carve me
With their teeny-weeny knives.
Sigh! I used to be a mighty Oak, sturdy and tall!”

The curtains rustle,hustle,
“Any more dust on me,
I’ll collapse.
I intend go down fighting,
I’ll … A Aa…Aaaachoooo!
Atcheeeyw  and Aaaatishcheu!”
Sniggers all, “Bless You”
“Punks! As I fall, swear I’ll down the roof on y’all!”

The potted plants voice,
“We are victims
Of biological warfare.
Darwin’s spinning  down under,
Conditions so traumatic,
We go without water for weeks,
Then suddenly one day … aquatic!
We plan to mutate, and these ‘in’humans we shall maul!

A muffled voice laughed,
“Hello there,
I am the forgotten tennis ball,
You can’t see me ’cause
Behind the shelves I’m stuck,
Shadowed by the plants & curtains;
Just my luck!
But I shan’t curse my fate, I won’t ever bawl!

The tennis ball continued,
“Good times, ‘ve had some,
Had my share of fun.
Now I’m waiting for me to be found,
Enduring this trial.
Just to see my old friend again;
It all seems worthwhile.
I’m rather excited, as time does slowly crawl.

Paper Boat, Paper Plane

A paper boat, gently afloat;
Forgotten notes, winds connote.

Gossamer air, a summer spare;
Neither here, not quite there.

A lonely wave, silent cloud,
A beatin’ heart, rapture loud.

Off on a prayer, an ancient lore,
Off the shore, off for more.

And I row, row, row on by,
Sailin’ mind, roving eye.
And I row, row, row on by,
Live and die, laugh and cry.

Paper’s wet,  boat’s in pain.
Paper’s dry, boat’s a plane.

Wings of flight, a gravity fight,
Into the night, into the light.

Oxygen rare, thrill & fear,
Up I tear, the atmosphere.

Endless race, endless space,
Golden rays, golden grace.

And I fly, fly, fly on by,
Cruisin’ soul, glidin’ high.
And I fly, fly, fly on by,
Live and die, laugh and cry.

Paper boats, paper planes;
Through misty winds, summer rains,

Uncharted skies, waters unknown,
Beyond lands, none ‘ve flown.

On the run, once begun;
Ride’s fun, ride’s never done.

Dawn to dusk, dusk to dawn,
On and on and on and on.

The Two Stop Express
And so very slowly, I opened my weary eyes.
I was tired and lonely, with a whirlwind in my head.
Came to realize that in a blink, 27 had gone by,
Feet moving furiously, but never leaving the bed.

Strange that I woke up, when it wasn’t meant to be;
Surrounded by millions, wherever I laid my sight.
Some were silent, some smiled, while some of them cried;
Some huddled in a corner and some shadow-boxed a fight.

I found myself riding The Two Stop Express.
That runs till you stop,
Circlin’ a circular track.
Found myself riding The Two Stop Express.
A one-way ticket ride,
You start, to always come back.

Tried to stir up, the stranger asleep nearby,
She mumbled and whispered quietly in her sleep,
“You are the one asleep, and I am who’s awake.
Go complain to the driver, I’m in too deep.”

A hundred I tried, to get them to answer,
A hundred times I heard the very same words spoken.
I set off walking, then runnin’, towards the driver,
Hours and hours on, there was no sign of the engine.

I found myself riding The Two Stop Express.
Where the two stops are one,
and the start is the end.
Found myself riding The Two Stop Express.
A surprise at every turn,
and it’s always turnin’ a bend.

I had stopped to catch my breath, when I heard him ask,
“Did I sell-out for a price? Did I exorcize my demons? ”
The sleep-walker cried on my shoulders as I said,
“Whatever it be, I am sure you had your reasons.”

The sleep-walker smiled, he patted my head, and said,
“That’s right. And I guess, you had yours too!”
I found myself right back, as if I never left my bed.
And sleep prepared me, for all that was to come through.

(Pic Courtesy: Flickr )