michael_kenna_100 Copyright Michael Kenna

dying is certain there is no escape your whole life moves unto it this rigmarole, the breathing seconds count your remainders as the veiled robber beholds to snatch away your precious.

the accompanying days remain cold landscape barren white, frosty in the middle a forlorn sight still towering high with youth arms stretched afar and aplenty the cries piercing the icy air and leaves roll down trepidatiously.

many days pass by, many seasons fleet none visit, no bird whistles along horizon is white and long no sights remain unseen the chord is stuck at G sharp the pain numbs the soul.

alone he composed poetry there was no one to read it out to.

alone he composed music there was no one to sing it to.

alone he died there was no one to mourn.



This photo is taken by my friend and photographer, Hari Menon. I got introduced to Hari a couple of years ago and since then I’ve been an ardent fan of his photography. Hari has something special about him. His photos speak. They really don’t need captions or words. I’m always fascinated by how he does this. Another thing strikingly particular about him is his simplicity. For a man of his stature, he is extremely humble. We have never met in person but that doesn’t change anything. We still connect like long lost old friends.

Hari’s photos always inspires me to write something. This particular photo above inspired me to write these lines:

He glanced to his right

Moist eyes, a runny nose

Inside a cauldron of wounds.


Someone behind the window

Looked at him in amazement

Suspicious of the content

Discarded him as you would

An old newspaper.


No one walked along, except

A tiny ant.

He crawled up the yellow bag.

The man watched him climb


A mighty fall awaits him.


The ant kept him company

On the weary days when he sat waiting.


The train never came,

it never does.