All Works

Is this even a question When lakhs flood with one ask When millions stand erased from rolls When you betray the spirit of your rulebook When your own peers flag your work When the flag stands tall as you cower When the machines drown under shouts of your fall When the blood of youth dots the streets When you close your ears to the screams outside your office When the people's servant, and his servant friends, and his friends' friends When the filth of humankind defecate on th

At the edge of everything My heart said to me Leap Lustful ambition aspired In my mind freely Terrifyingly Ghastly clouds descended Near my footwear I limped away Backtracking my steps Silence welcomed Night enveloped The lingering thoughts Of that quiet afternoon Where my heart was left with half-memories Where my hands could grasp no paper proofs Where my pockets held no keys nor wallet Solitude was gifted to me Wrapped in material poverty Signed by eternal longing Yearning

I followed a scent into the darkness Its grab on me sounded like fresh rain on patient soil Flesh and bone stuck out from the violent forest floor I dragged through the path the stray fingers of a passed soul Clean and precious eyes fought the jelly skin Morning dew and fresh human blood Gory art followed my scattered presence Two paths I wished to take, twelve paths my feet graced Hungry mouths yearned to feed on my pious lifestyle Trendy footwear drowned tearfully into quic

A limping body’s nails dug into the falling crests of light and tides Its threads, woven, coloured, shed shadows on the tug of war The fact of distance was hid, by layer upon layer Of sweetness among oceans, far from present Dry fading cells fell on many shores, swelling with dream Dwelling in minds, power held in each coast A pleasant hunger satisfied by a morning slurp Its shouts climbed the well walls, holding on every cry and piece The figure rushes, laying claim on waves

The red apple fell right beside my hand. I picked it up, only to realise that fruit was rotten. The smell of decay seeped into the picnic. I ran away, maybe the dog is still sleeping. The referee approval fell ripple beside my handshake. I picked it up, only to realise that fugitive was rotten. The snap of decomposition seeped into the pigment. I ran away, maybe the donkey is still sloop. The refuge architecture fell river beside my happiness. I picked it up, only to realise

Hard copy: https://store.bookleafpub.com/products/9789375436263 Ebook: https://ebooks.bookleafpub.com/product-page/kilikoodu

“Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity. What do people gain from all their labors at which they toil under the sun?” (Ecclesiastes 1:2-3, KJV) The above declaration that opens the book of Ecclesiastes captures the human anxiety that all the pursuits of man, such as wealth, comfort, goods, are fundamentally meaningless. This primal and persistent fear of the emptiness of human efforts has existed before this theological text and continues in