Let my words have an unvarnished feel to them. Truth writ in the grain. Sentences that feel like bark and offer comfort like a bench after a long walk into the hills with a woman.

Let my words have the clearness of a stream - the seeing pebbles look. The kind through which you reach and pick a water smooth pebble. Or better still cupped in both hands, its icy coolness splashed on a sweaty face and arms dewed with a laughing run up a summery slope.

Let my words have a good taste to them, like warm stew ladled with loving arms, brown-gold as loaves snoring-soft in a basket weaved hither-thither with sentences and bible rhythms and the warm taste of grace.

Let my words smell like the tenderness of a woman's breast or a cupped hand raised gently, its fleshy plumpness to nostrils trembling as a race horse's might. Or let the words breathe of iron-hot clothes, or a leather saddle, or a table being waxed by the arms of the carpenter.

Let my words sound like a lullaby, rocking my child in its syllables rippling like gentle waves in an ocean with no shores.
Depicting beings of pure consciousness is different in one key aspect from depicting usual objects. A representation of lightning doesn't give shocks. A true evocation of an energy being… actually calls it there. And when that happens it can be jaw dropping.
Tarun Cherian:

Poetry Books : Speaking in Tongues

Children's books: The Sun's Handkerchief

Healing Books : The Lost City of Dhrammon

Graphic Books : The Greater i

Graphic Books : The Door of Fragments

Also unpublished books of all persuasions.

Advertising: 18 years of it. Like one in the pit of mammon? Perhaps, and yet, it taught me, a lesson all poets should know, that words are not impotent... That one taut line can hold in its hands eternity, or the next best thing, the wallet of the moment.

A lot can happen over coffee.

It's got Zaz!

Burn your briefs.

Crafted from desire.

Stop bleeding.

The League of Global Indians.

Athithi Sexy Bhava

TrANZforming Banking

A writer's prayer, 2 nd prize winner, 1993, Poetry Society-British Council contest. It truly is an ode to Celia.
Poetry, Fables, Soundscapes

Like a man handling a battery forgets that it is lightning... The man using the word forgets that on sound he stands. Question: Does he need to be electrocuted to remember?


In the last 3 decades, I have begun to go beyond the word that screams to the word that blesses, from the word that shouts to the words of silence. From the word that talks, to the word that creates.

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Joyous: Today a happy wind. Dusty Rainbows.3 gunnysacks of sun for sale.

Pilgrim's Progress: I speak through you. For the lack of another word he is a half guru. The Pilgrimage to the Newspaper Stall

Kundalini Shakti: The Lightning Body, It's like you know, Seed of Gnowing.

India: Where is India? Maru Kuruchitit Ondo? My Grandfather's Voice.

Whacky: A New Score, The World Cup Final. Thought X God

Fables: The Over-ambitious Chinese Lantern. The Master Carpenter & The Tree. The Golden Butterfly. The Great Huge Lake & The Tiny Forest Pool.

Please click on the white links below, to read Tarun's writings