Anand Seshalyer lives in Bangalore, India; was born and brought up in an orthodox brahmin family. With a Bachelor's degree in Computer Science is currently working as a Software Engineer at Wipro Global R&D.

"I have always believed that the world lives, because poets keep love alive."

A favorite thought: Silence is when the vastness of the universe is captured in the emptiness of the mind.

Unlikely Love

Wednesday,3.00 PM
In the Classroom.
    The eye finds rows of
    immobile bodies and shaking heads.
    isolated souls united in a ghastly trance
    to the hypnotic rhythm of a dull monotone.
    dead ears,dead minds,dead bodies.
    Funny, dead bodies are alone even in a crowd.

    The mind thinks
    death is contagious in a losing struggle.
    The mind knows
    it too is about to die.
    These are the last gasps of a dying mind.
    Broken thoughts, Last musings.

    The last line.
      Before death found me,
          i found you in my mind.

    Sleep is death of the mind.

Copyright 1999 by Anand Seshalyer

a thousand other reality streams

i sleep. i dream.
a thousand other reality streams.
reality stills. distilled to my taste.
time is still here. no undue haste.

fate & luck stay back at the real,
life is what i create in the unreal.
a new story for every moment,
nothing here is as it really went.

frustrations come off.
desparations are out.
happiness comes when i decide,
joy is the only thing i choose to ride.


i sleep, i dream.
i wake up, i scream.
"if the real had to be had,
  let it be with a mind,
  where alternate realities could be had."

Copyright 1999 by Anand Seshalyer

Control - Z

The darkness is broken by
the green screen staring down
as the fingers fumble in the dark.
yet another mistake.
The fingers reach unerringly for the solution.
Control - Z.
Life goes on.
Or does it.

Even as the fingers go on,
the mind stops and thinks,
the mind sees its life
- a barren landscape of errors.
All due to one.
Once it loved.
But kept it unspoken.

That undone will redo my life.

Strange thoughts colour the night.
The graffitti stained fingers
inadvertently type,
  "Love in 2, lives. Love in 1, kills".
The mind laughs and says
  "You can't kill me for i have ceased to live".
The fingers reply and the process repeats.
Every night.

The long dead love returns every night,
lingers around like an unwelcome guest.
The paper is pulled out.The words are put.

And the words lying dead on the paper,
      shiver in the night wind.

Can anyone see the poet's mind?

Copyright 1999 by Anand Seshalyer


he knew not
what love was.

she taught him
what it was not,
for she was not
what he thought.

Copyright 2000 by Anand Seshalyer

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