“through the act of living, the discovery of oneself is made concurrently with the discovery of the world around us. . ."

Sunday, October 12, 2008


Late in the night, there is a time

When silence is total, for sometime.

Traffic stops then; tramps slump

Dogs stop barking, cats stop yowling,

Breaths are bated; leaves are frozen stiff.

Later, in the stillness of the night

When I must have slipped deeper

Into a slumber that is akin to death –

My old dog let out a howl.

There is an explosion deep in the heart

Shaken up from a dreamless sleep

A sense of regret, having to return –

I shush him, snuggle deeper into the sheets.

Slowly I must have wafted back

Into the swirls of sleep once again –

This time the howl was louder and longer

For the younger one now joined his father.

My head was being blown apart –

Jerking up, I shout, “SHADDAUP YOU DOPES!!”

Dropped back like a stiff nudged down

Struggling to remember my shattered dreams.

Why should there be a third time always?

The best of three or the worst of three

Why on your mark one two three

Why in myths, boons are always three?

I just sat up, blinking my eyes, feeling numb.

Scratched my groin,

Groped for a butt,

The beginning of yet another sleepless night.

The howl did have a beauty to it.

It began on a low key, skipped a couple

Went up piercing the moonlit night

Like a shaft of sorrow splitting my heart.

It was a ghoulish, mournful howl

It went ow ow o wow as if in pain –

As if death was on its daily prowl.

Beyond the gate, under the lamp

That streetwalker bitch was hanging about

Her eyes glinted in the light of my torch –

My old dog turns, looks at me -

Humble, gentle and apologetic.

“Don’t you know, master,

That I need my bitch

Just as you do yours?

Look at my boy, he needs one

To sow his seeds, as you did.

Let me out, let me be free

For a night to run with her.

To roam the streets, rumble with the boys

Let me be me just for a night.

Early in the morn

As you very well know,

I will be home wagging my tail

Your friend and servant, faithful and true.”

The stone must have hit

Right on her teats

For she let out a yelp

And ran into the night.

“Go to sleep”, I tell my dogs.

Tails are wagged politely

Doors are barred

Windows are shut –

Silence returns

Though sleep doesn’t, to my lonesome side.

************* Balachandran, Trivandrum 12-10-2008
(Apologies to Allen Ginsberg )


  1. Balan - this is brilliant!

  2. Brilliant is the word, Balan. The leisurely pace with which you go about narrating the experience creates the mood beautifully, disturbingly.

  3. atta boy.. this was funny.. in a strange serious way... keep posting :)


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