Laundry Day

My blue bottle of detergent has pictures of lillies

I wonder if someone loved them ever, I find them gentle

Their fragrance doesn't match the way the liquid feels

Yet they seem to make my clothes smell beautiful

I hate having washed the sheets you slept on last meeting

I know they will never smell of you here-on, and as beautiful 

I often have held them close and slept, feeling your presence

They now smell of a shade of lone lilly, drying in the wind

You remember, do you? How I looked at the clear detergent

Often asked if I should try and taste it, just to tease you

Maybe I should one of these days try to taste it a tad bit

There is no 'you' here to stop me from doing just that

The AI version

My blue bottle of detergent, with its pictures of lilies

A gentle reminder of a love that once was, but now feels distant

The fragrance of the flowers does not match the harshness of the cleaner

Yet on my clothes, it leaves a scent that is much finer

I hate to wash the sheets, the memory of you still lingers

But as I hang them out to dry, I am reminded of the beauty of the flowers

I hold them close, trying to find solace in their scent

But they only serve to remind me of the love that I resent

You remember, don't you, how I used to tease you with the detergent

Asking if I should taste it, just to see what you would do

But now there is no you to stop me, no one to turn to

So maybe I'll take a taste, just to see what I've been missing.

If a tree falls in the forest

I often find beautiful wood grain tables that have these gentle swirls

They are like the curves of your smile, which is as astonishingly beautiful 

And like the wood that lived and perpetrated it, has long gone away

You have taken your smile from my eyes and left for lands unknown

When you are held in a stranger’s embrace, does it not remind you

It shouldn’t too, for I held you closer with an intent to become you

Here I am now as you, and searching for me that loves you

Yet even 'I' as 'you' resents the 'me' that was at some point

It may be that the will of the stars that bound us at an old moment

And their very will now is for me to trudge this now pointless existence

Alone and tattered, rusted and battered, as a being that rues his living

Yet your memories some days are the only air that I lovingly breathe

Let the eyes flood again tonight, I have this beautiful woodgrain table today

I plan to use it to write and in between rest my head amongst my poetry

I have a pan under my eyes as I rest to collect my tears as I cry for you

I will mix it with the soot of the lamp that I write under as I write about you

The AI version

I often find beautiful wood grain tables, with their gentle swirls

Reminding me of the curves of your smile, which once lit up the world

But now you are gone, your smile taken from my sight

Leaving me to wander this earth, alone and in the night

When you are held in another's embrace, do you think of me

Or have you moved on, to a new life, a new reality

I held you close, tried to become a part of you

But now I am left with just memories, and a heart feeling blue

Perhaps it was the stars that bound us, but now they've moved on

Leaving me to trudge through this existence, rusted and battered and worn

Your memories are all that sustain me, the only air that I can breathe

As I rest my head on this wood grain table, and let my tears flow free

I will use this table to write, to pour out my heart and soul

As I cry for you, and mix my tears with the soot of the lamp's glow

I will hold onto these memories, as I try to find my way

Through this lonely existence, without you here to stay.

I admit my erring

The last time I missed a punctuation in a poetry I wrote of you, it hurt

Not for what it meant or what I changed it to

It reminded my soul of its degradation as each passing day drifts

And time has only been an unkind lady luck that loves holding my hand

Between the words of what should have spoken of utter love

Were utterings that transformed to an endless lamenting barrage

The blurring of my vision mid writing can be a very tangible excuse to state

Yet those tears bear no responsibility for my heart should have seen better

In verses that are marred by such inaccuracies how can I voice

And the fact you never read them is only an insult to injury yet

You didn't call for these, so, why, would you? need? to read! either, or

My shortcomings are far worse than the verses I spew forth

Should you ever read these, know I at best can only bow down in apology

Hold me by my earlobe and drag me back to sanity if you could my love

Before this ends me, before I end me, maybe, tell me, you, will read!

Or at least will graze your gentle hands, gaze on the poems on the papers I leave 

  

Hey Love, Again and Again

You could be that siren who knows? alluring me to crash on the jagged rocks

Ending me, reddening the water yet afloat in a yearning for the song of your speech

As each word mutilates my will, ravaging me, making my eye sparkle like yours

Breathing just enough life back into me to be in this endless sea of incessant taunting.

It is your hair, those long tresses, the softness and the shimmer of theirs that allures

Or it is the soul-melting beaming smile that rises from your lips as they curve on each side

Maybe it is the essence of you in the air you exhale that I crave to breathe and drown my lungs 

Or maybe it is this unending, unrelenting, overpowering mystifying presence of you  

I would be on a ship every life I get and be drawn into the reefs you wave at me from

Wish to be drowned under the very reflection you cast on the icy seas you live on

If there is another day that I could spend, I would spend it reddening the green sea

Rushing towards you in madness over and again, wishing to see you be the end of me

When November faded

Those gentle red rose petals last November  brought the warmest of feelings

They faded faster than the setting sun on a winter night of biting cold

For once I had been happy to have floated in the gentle fragrance they brought

I am back to cursing the eleventh month for the atrocities it brings me

Why would this revert to the age old torment of being a month I gruesomely hate

When the other months have neither been kind nor a bastion of hope 

And here I am wandering the nights of a soulless December

Awaiting another year to pass to consume me in it's fading embers

I call not to you, my gently harsh and perplexing calm bringer

For yours and mine is a journey to the realms of disambiguation

When you found me in the torrential downpour of a rabid rain of woe

I knew you were another ship, waiting out the storms in my port 

Hitting rock bottom is ok when your pillow is soft

It is after 1 AM and the only thing on my mind seems to be you casting me into a dark void. I have had nightmares before, but this seems to be a waking one. I turn my face around to the pillow and try to force myself to sleep, but then it doesn't help. The allure of having you in my arms is a craving that incessantly taunts me. 

Where is the gentleness love was to bring to my heart

Has the love I have had not been of comfort to yours

I was in love enough for the both of us and more

Then why does the heart not heal since we have been apart

Or is it that love is a misgiving, conferred upon me to render grief

For there is such a wide chasm between us, and it runs so deep

Will my heart ever be free of your longing and if so when will it be

For there seems to be no end to this unfathomable loss of sleep

As I turn to my phone my fingers twitch, I want to send you a message and say things that I would want to, yet none that you would like to hear I know. I look at your name that displays brighter than the other names and think, if you are all my life will ever be of. I fret not if that is the case, for I haven't seen it better without you, neither before nor post. I could write another verse and lament in the drudgery life brings each day, but you are what I seem to cherish the most, so love gets a free pass.

Where did my eyes misplace their bountiful sleep, for I want to dream

Of you, of me, of the places we once roamed hand in hand and gleamed

It is the approaching year-end where I seem to have lost another year

The only solace is these random once in a while conversation I hear

I have to ask myself on why this is so too, and not the way it should

I know this makes no sense, for I have never even grieved as I could

My eyes have remained as dry as the dead that are buried alive open-eyed

Or maybe I have cried so often in your parting that the tears have all dried.

The AI version

It's after one AM and all I can think about is you

Casting me into a dark void, a waking nightmare that's true

I try to force myself to sleep, to escape the pain

But the longing for you is a craving that remains

Where is the gentleness love was supposed to bring

Has my love not been enough, has it not been enough to ease your suffering

I loved you with all my heart, and more

But since we've been apart, the pain is hard to ignore

There's a chasm between us, a gap that's hard to cross

I wonder if my heart will ever be free from this loss

I want to send you a message, say the things I wish I could

But I know you wouldn't want to hear them, even if I could

As the year comes to a close, I feel like I've lost another year

The only comfort is the occasional conversation, a moment of cheer

I wonder why this is, why I can't move on

I know it makes no sense, I haven't even grieved as I should

My eyes are dry, my tears have all run out

But I still dream of you, of the times we roamed and roamed about

I'll cherish those memories, even as the pain remains

For you, love, are worth the heartache, worth the pains.

Coconuts in my head

This existence in pieces of shattered thoughts of bygone

Glued together by failing hope of wanting making me long

Neither of which brings either of us any hope nor peace

Its a parallax, where the reality and dream seem to crease 

I woke up today and hoped to not pen a verse of mire

Yet the heart has no obligation to consider this as my desire

When the mind tangles with your thoughts in its confined walls

All I can do is to break down and stutter in your muted calls

When the sun at the end of its journey today shall rest

It will as always paint our pictures of togetherness in the west

I can only watch in unbound agony and be wrapped in torment

Knowing you shall never ever read the verses of this very lament

Why then does your rise in my horizon, bathe me in cravings

I was too strong to have brushed off this dust of my longings

But love had to be the falling coconut frond on my head

To hurt and bleed my will and turn my life to that of a dead

Dear Jayadeva - selected

I would wait a thousand lifetimes to know of love from you 

How you embroider the hues of passion into words that still

And then they gently hurt, for ages yet they somehow mesmerise

I would wait at your door to learn to colourise words like you

Never could I ever in a million words paint, the gentleness of feeling

Of the almighty suffering in pangs of separation and with the fervour

Your verses rain upon me like billions of sand grains and embrace me

Remind me of my inability to express like you toward my own lover

I wish to know each word you thought about and flow like they do

When you scatter them on pages, entwining life into lifeless paper

In this lifetime I haven't been able to fathom the depths of your verses

I shall wait a thousand lifetimes to know of love from you

The AI version

I would wait an eternity to feel love from you

To see how you weave the colors of passion into words that still

And yet they gently wound, captivating me for all time

I would wait at your door, just to learn to speak with your finesse

I can never, in a million words, capture the tenderness of emotion

The all-consuming pain of separation, the fire of desire

Your words fall on me like a shower of sand, enveloping me

Reminding me of my own inability to express my love with the same artistry

I long to know each thought that goes into your words, to flow like they do

As you scatter them across the page, infusing life into lifeless paper

In this lifetime, I can't begin to understand the depth of your verse

I will wait an eternity to feel love from you, to know it for the first time.

AI in 17th century style

I'd wait for ages, through countless lives

To learn the art of love from you

To see how you imbue your words with hues of passion,

That freeze and wound, and still enthrall

I'd stand at your door, just to learn to speak

With the same artful mastery as you

I could never, in a million words, convey

The tenderness and depth of feeling

The all-consuming pain of separation, the fire of desire

Your verses fall upon me like a shower of sand,

Embracing me, reminding me of my own inability

To express my love with the same eloquence

I long to know each thought that goes into your words,

To flow like they do, infusing life into lifeless paper

In this lifetime, I can't even begin to fathom

The depths of your verse, the art of your expression

I'll wait for a thousand lifetimes if need be,

To learn the ways of love from you.

Monologue with my father and mother - selected

Words have meanings and some change them as they are used, much like people. I am not prejudiced, that would have needed my mind to be rendered in synchrony by a contorted upbringing. I have been the bread left exposed to air, growing mildew, turning itself into filaments of mycelium and my thoughts are the spores that find like bread slices, grow with them often upon their very nature. They lose their identities and become me. It could be called love, yet is it? These questions I ponder upon often and yet the more I ask the more I have questions. My father in a shade of his blue skin could have been more reasonable I think, my mother could render my world in a shade of pink too I wish, but I know better now or so I think and here I ask again then:

Father, who seems asleep is yet awake on the endless deep

Why is my mind a conflagration of such overwhelming seeds

Why am I not prejudiced, why am I not those that comply and keep

Where is my innocence, my lack of care, my peaceful sleep

Why am I not blue, nor pink like either of your shades

Why is my mind not the most peaceful, and in torment wades

Why do I seek no love from this world, your hands lovingly made

Why do I keep away from this very world as I build my palisade

One could argue that fathers are rigid, the mothers are gentler. I know neither are, nor will bend at the banks for irrigating my mind with care, love, and thereof. Maybe then this very existence is to question mine, if this doesn't translate to myself of rejection then why it doesn't, if it does why it does. Father would not care, nor would mother at his feet. Not like she is enslaved, for in his eyes that open every now and then I see my mother swirling in pink petals of a prodigal lotus bloom to them becoming like lotuses. Kamalanayana as I call them sometimes, yet they feel too distant to me. I could fathom that could be for the unfathomable depths he sleeps on largely ignoring all that happens knowing he has decided what should. In this dichotomy of thoughts, I ask again:

Father, why is it I feel forsaken by you, yet I know you have not?

And that you know I think and make peace with all of it, why though?

Would you not want me to be held closer, assured of calm and love?

Why do I feel lost in these other creations of the very familiar cosmic dust?

Tell me if you would, maybe this time I would make sense of it

Maybe fail again, and assure myself that I cannot ever ascend in thoughts

Why is it when there is so much of gentle pink in your beautiful eyes?

Yet my hurt of this life looms constant, where is the love of thee?

A dance in the dark

I remember your gentle whispers in the dark as you wrapped yourself around me

Those wisps of warm breaths once tingled my earlobes gently, causing goosebumps

This unsettling night devoid of those are a river of black ink flowing mercilessly

Washing away the pages I hold to scribble my thoughts of pain, causing paper cuts

The bleed from my fingertips swirl in the blackness, paint unsavory pictures

Of an absence that speaks in loud blaring trumpets to deafen my own thoughts

I seek to deflect my mind towards the shore, yet the pull of your river of woe wins

Dragging me along, filling and displacing the air in my lungs making me choke

The stars of woe glimmer bright, on the dark flowing waters, in an unforgiving waltz

Swirl me in between the crest and the trough, breach my will and subjugate my wants

It never does trickle, these thoughts of you, it is always a deluge of deep hurt

And hopefulness erodes, as I yearn for your kiss and a last-minute want of being held

This is the strata of my world sans your gentleness, and in marring trepidation 

A self-subversion from the grandiose might I have forever arrogantly kept up

I have nothing, I am nothing, when your arm raises to measure my love for you

And find my heart shattered into a million pieces like powdered broken glass

The remittance of time - selected

Have you seen the boats resting retired cast aside after years at seas

The metal ones, the mighty, multi chimney bearing monstrosites 

How tattered they look now, battered from ever as they lived

Only to now never glide audacious on the often unforgiving storms

The barnacles underneath ate into the hull, embedding themselves

They were quite uncouth, blinded by an idea of a vile permanence

How strange that they now are long dead, on the exposed underbelly

Filled up with silt and mud when the ships were dragged ashore.

The ships know nothing of revive, nor do they seek it anymore

They could have; if not for the utter destruction due barnacles

How such rude interjections brought about nothing good for either

Yet the barnacles may still blame the ships for their untoward end

The ships shall rust and rot, the years may eat into their hulls

Their chimneys will topple, the floor shall be red in their reddish rust

Yet the corpses of the barnacles may still puncture feet

Of some innocent explorer that trudges amongst these beaches

Some harm never heals, Some souls never sleep

Some sins never fade, some fires never offer warmth

At the end of it all, I will perch at the rocky cliffs, watching

Until an end that would be as unceremonious as of these ships.

An analysis by chatgpt.

The poem employs the metaphor of ships to represent the poet's life, and barnacles as the people who have caused harm or hurt to the poet. The ships, described as once mighty and majestic, are now retired and cast aside after enduring years at sea. They are tattered and battered, unable to sail audaciously on the storms they once braved.

The barnacles are portrayed as uncouth, blinded by a false sense of permanence. They have embedded themselves into the hull of the ships, causing damage that cannot easily be repaired. The ships, despite their potential for revival, are unable to seek it due to the destruction caused by the barnacles.

The poem reflects on how the barnacles may still blame the ships for their own demise, despite being the cause of their destruction. The ships, as a result, will rust, rot, and eventually succumb to the passage of time. The chimneys that once stood tall will topple, and the ships will be left in disrepair, with their hulls covered in reddish rust.

The poet also acknowledges that the harm caused by the barnacles may have far-reaching consequences. The corpses of the barnacles, now long dead, may still pose a threat to innocent explorers who tread upon the beaches, puncturing their feet and leaving lasting wounds.

The poem further conveys a sense of enduring pain and the scars left by those who have hurt the poet. Some harm never heals, and some sins never fade. The poet watches from rocky cliffs, perched in solitude, until an unceremonious end, much like the fate of the ships in the metaphor.

Overall, the poem speaks to the lasting impact of those who have caused harm in the poet's life, and the sense of resignation and acceptance that comes with the inevitability of unhealed wounds and unresolved endings

The tug boat at the lighthouse

Remember this love, I am the one who will have to watch you bleed

Not in favour, but in absolute helplessness for my hands are tied

By and away from you, for me to pain in what would be borrowed

And all you would do is point at me and accuse me of inaction as always

This haunt would then be embedded deep into the recesses of my soul

While the larger part of your thoughts would erase such and retain little

Just enough of me watching in helpless pain but not my tied hands

And all you would do is taunt me endlessly in some convenient truth

Know this though love, I have known the extent of your taunts and thoughts

They already hurt me even before they are stated by you profound

But how little does it hurt you, under this pretence of forced distance?

And all you need to do to ease me is to glance at me once 

When you are at the end of your self-imprisonment from love

Turn around and ask me once, if at all on what hurt of you feels like

But you know I will smile at your glance, erase the misery of this longing

And all you would wonder at such is if you ever walked away.

Then a rhyme appears as December approaches

Hey there December, welcome to my life

There isn't much I offer other than my heart

I hope maybe you may find it of some use 

It has the coldness within, of a million moons

If in the nights should you struggle to cast a freeze 

Run the wind upon my heart, it shall chill the  breeze

I assure you of it's sheer ability to send the deepest chill

It can lend you its howling cry, and bring all around to still

Remember that it is cold enough, to outmatch your spite

There is only darkness left, for it was dead to light

You can run amok, steal the warmth from all around

As you run to the end, set my heart upon my final ground

January will arrive next, and it has it's own pangs

And to you months of cold I offer my deepest thanks

Nothing can equate with the darkness of each night

I lie cold and awake in the absence of love's warming light

Ye My love, hear me

What would I stand to gain

 From your acceptance my love?

Another extension at best 

   A possibility of being loved

   On the gentle wings of despair

   Another hope, another smile

   Failing like unanswered prayers

My love! I have waited for you

   And, I always have been so

   Knowing my thirst, I would so too

   Yet my love, that has left me 

   Why does my soul feel so bared 

 

Bring me no promises now

   In the voice of you that I yearn 

   Promise me to never again

   Spare me of such pain, 

   For my soul is so scared

I have gathered my hurt now

  And not a soul has ever cared

  Each ounce of hope I had is lost

  I was born to be a lone soul

  And love leaves me gasping for air.

Yep

I bow down to kiss your lips

As you curl around me 

I can feel the musk of you

Smearing on my tongue and breath

As your fingers traverse my scalp

I feel them grip my curly hair

I can hear you calling my name

And my never will never feel the same

Your womanhood and my lips entwine

My tongue sips from your nectarine

My hands merge into beautiful calves

Your breath becomes this lust of mine

As your eyes roll back then become sane

Pull my face to towards the face of thine

Kiss me, let my mouth forget my tongue

Replace it with yours for all times

Bye You cruel Cruel month

Well, November is ending soon

 so goes another year

I drift from the arms of one to another

each is called despair

March brought me Violas

October brought me Sunflowers

June gave me lillies to gander

And February  Marigolds

I stood by and let my garden bloom

But the flowers just kept my heart cold

None of these would bother

To warm my heart even once

I had hoped this November though

Brought me if any, some respite

Alas as this month is of gloom

She brought me just a reason to break

However one November to another

I know this much for sure

She will find every broken piece of my heart

And them break them for me two fold more

चुप्पी साध लेता हूं ज़रा

तुमको अब क्या मैं बोलूं 

ये पुरानी सी कविताएं जो हैं

उनमें मैं कहीं छिपा हुआ हूं

अब जो लिख रहा हूं मैं

इसमें तुम छिप रही हो कहीं

लुक्का छिप्पी में वक्त बहता जाता है

और न तुम मिलती हो, न चैन

बस मुस्कुराना छिपा जा रहा

पर तुमको बताकर भी क्यों

तोड़ दूं अपने जुड़े रूह को

तुम ना मिलने आओगी कभी

तो ये दूरी खा रही मेरा सुकून

At the mall

Hey, you want to go shopping? I asked as it was her birthday after all

She wasn't in the mood to be out, but she would love new shoes

I mock her about women and shoes, I ask the helper around at the mall

He points us to the shoe section, above the haberdashery

I leave her be at her shoe choices, dash a floor down

I saw a needler embroidering, she could do a request for a fee

I bribe her an extra hundred, get a note on this white kerchief I pick up

I nod to myself on it being dumb but hey

- I exclaim under my muted breath "November, November, you drag on"

Would my lady's love call look good 

Upon this white kerchief, I half mindedly hand it over

The needler smiles, calls me funny, nervous, and other names

The kerchief is ready in under 10, the lady upstairs hasn't narrowed down I gather

Women and shoes, women and shoes

I dash back up; she isn't at the store as I search

I lean over the railing of the upper floor to look

She is downstairs embroidering my camera neck strap

We both wave, and we both say

November, November, you drag on well

Distractions

There is a prime time sale on okra

And I am ordering about quarter of a kilo

They turn out quite well in curries

And cooking is a welcome diversion

I could have ordered a bit more, but no

Eating is already a chore since you've gone

Cooking is really a welcome distraction

बस लिखे जा रहें हैं

हिंदी तो लिखी नही जाती हमसे, कविता क्या खाक लिखें

अंग्रेजी में तो आसमान चीर आते हम, पर वो पढ़ती नहीं हैं वैसे

दिल के टूटे तुकड़ोकी कोई जुबान कहां होती है वैसे

जिस के लिए हम लिखे जा रहे थे, वो कविता पढ़ती नहीं हैं वैसे

मैं तो अपने आपको ढूंढता रहता हूं शब्दों के दर बदर

ठिकाना तो मिलता है नही, खो चुका हूं खुदको ऐसे

अगर वो पढ़ लिए कभी , पढ़कर दिल को समझेंगे अगर

कलम रख दूंगा तभी, बस तब तक ये स्याही से होगी रेहगुजार 

थोड़ा बावला सा होराहा हूं

अरे नही, तड़का दे रहा था, मिर्ची का धुआं आंखो को नम कर गया

मैं रोता थोड़ेही हूं, तुम मुझे पत्थर ही पुकारते थे, बेवजह तो नहीं 

पर तुमने शायद दो ही मर्तबा रोते देखा है, इतने सालों में

तड़का दे रहा था, सच कह रहा हूं, मिर्ची आंखें नम कर गई

तुम बताओ क्या लोगे, चाय बना दूं या जरासी शराब लोगे

मैने तो सुबह ही शराब उबाली है, दूध मिलाकर पी लूंगा

तुम्हे बोतल में भरी चाय दे दूंगा, विलायती है, मेरी वाली

अरे नही, वो चाय का बाप्फ आंखों में लगा,मैं रोता थोड़ेही हूं

अच्छा ये बताओ की आज का दिन कैसे गुजरा, मेरा तो अच्छा था

मां से बात कर रहा था, तुम्हारे नाम का जिक्र आगया तो फोन रख दिया

मां ने फिर फोन कर पूछा, तुम्हारा हाल चाल, और हमारा भी

अरे नही, वो खिड़की पर खड़े धूम्रपान कर रहा था, धुआं लग गया, मैं रोता थोड़ेही हूं

चलो अब मैं तुमको मेरे मेज के खाने छोड़ आता हूं, अच्छे से आराम करना

अभी सुबह ही तो तुम्हारे कांच को पोछा था, तुम मुस्कुराई भी तो थी

अब मेरे काम का वक्त जो हो गया है, मैं तुम्हे छोड़ आता हूं

अरे नही, वो मेज पर धूल थी उड़कर आखों में लगी, मैं रोता थोड़ेही हूं

तुम मुझे पत्थर ही पुकारते थे, बेवजह तो नहीं 

This can't be called Arid

The waves retract, as the sand runs dry

The mountain brook has long gone dry

The trees that sprinkled flowers have gone dry

The grass the blades have since gone dry

The fallen leaf in my balcony has gone dry

The Rosemary strand you planted has gone dry

The balm that heals my pain has gone dry

The cigarette lighter lit up last and went dry

The moss on the walls below has gone dry

The pillow covers soaked in tears are dry

The blood on my kitchen knife has gone dry

The blood splattered on the walls are dry

The breath I inhale has long gone dry

The soul that yearned for your touch is now dry

The will to live another day has gone dry

The sliced salted tomatoes on my sill are dry

This very existence of me sans you is so dry

I could call it a desert, yet deserts have cacti

I am left with thorns, that get worse as they dry

They hurt more each moment as time runs dry

Making Excuses

Hey, the pizza cutter arrived last week 

Why don't you hop over for a nice slice

You have tried my pizza cut with knives

This would be good to slice it, better too

Oh, I forgot to mention the pizza pan is here

It was delivered last week, late Sunday

I wanted to check if you would hop over

These additions seem to be a great excuse to

I got new plates as well, to replace the old

They are beautiful white bone china ones

I thought you may feel great trying pizza

The previous plates were lackluster though

I have ordered some excellent cheese as well

They are set for a Friday delivery, late evening

If you could hop over, on Saturday evening

We could make a pizza dinner for two

I do agree that you can order pizza yourself

And maybe you would get even better ones too

These are my silly excuses, I want you by me

For everything feels pointless without you

Hiya Mate

Hold me close, under this shade

it rains melancholy, I abhor 

I am no longer party to this

and I have so grown out of it

if you have to push me away

let it be into the rains of pain

for that is familiar, and known

I find comfort in familiarity

But then, hey wait a moment

my dear friend, wake me 

I have you here, let's set sail

watch the sunsets, and maybe paint

This Doesn't feel like home

The key turns left, I remind myself though it is the door to my own house

It is debatable, for the past few weeks have termed it to be else

How could it be mine, for mine is where your arms hold me in comfort

And the only arms I feel surrounding me here now is of your absence

The cups need a rinse, and I need to not waste water doing that

It was not negotiable, and I follow through this accepted ask

How could I not, for my acceptance is where you have withdrawn from

And now the only acceptance is to live through, in woe or worse

The chopping board broke, and it gave me a few splinters while leaving

It was inevitable, and I didn't complain or hurry to stop the pain

How could I, for this pain borne from this gift you gave can't hurt

And now the gift has been embedded itself beneath my skin

A night of rambling.

When you are half awake, and hear an ambulance siren

Piercing your eardrums, and people haphazardly lean over 

As if to ask you, if you feel well

Why can't they just let you rest, you ask

I mean the dark does comfort, deeply

And sleep arrives so scarcely, you mutter, unheard

Your voice is not audible, to you or them

But you have spoken, why won't they listen

Have they ever anyway, you think to yourself

You turn around curl into a foetal position and sleep

Yet you feel outstretched, strapped, immobilised

There is this prick of a needle, you don't care right now about

This seems fine, you have been in worse pain you know

You wish the siren dies out, but it's picking up

The adrenaline seems to wake you, yet you hold back

If you were me, you would struggle to win somehow

But the roof shows up ugly, the body shakes , rolling being driven

You arrive, you realise, you wake up, it's you who had gone into shock

For what? you try to think and fail as the medicine dulls you

It feels like love at this point, all urgent yet rejected in totality

You feel the straps open, you sit up, she asks you if you are fine

She looks like this woman you love, or any woman 

No one loves you anyway, you retort in your mind, it's true, you rue

You wake into the dark again, the calls die, you feel coldness reaching you

You want to hold it closer, warm it

You call out again, this time to me

I see you, in the reflection of that ambulance bay window

We hold hands, we let go, we die maybe

But then I die, you die into life, or so called existence

We part, you will stay, I will be a memory

You will be what they want you to be

A utility, a pawn, a means to an end

We wave a goodbye, as you wake up.

The erudite's ballad

The disposition of an erudite, is built on the foundations of failure

Of foolish valour that has met its fall, brewed in apathy

Some to the self, most by the nearest and dearest that hurt worse

Such a premise is a facade, for deep in the heart is lone

Every step away from it spans tendrils, of fear and the mind is masterful

The mind is after all a fear mongering self defeating persistent vice

That grips a life in it's victimising claws, feeding it self doubt

This erudite seeks to run, yet pretends to stand his ground

The only respite could be an undoing, of events that have long gone

Amnesia maybe, selective, partial, complete, or even insanity could help

Yet none of those can ever happen to the all prepared, all godly, charading erudite

I know this, you do too, yet we both pretend this is acceptably fine

I have neither the wish to engage, nor the wish to not 

Such plight is the blight of the audacity I exhibit, unwantedly and ever

In my cries there is no help warranted, visibly yet there is

You can hear it, if you choose to not see me as infallible, but you reinforce it

 

watching my Breached Palisade

I remember the green grass and golden paddy fields

Somewhere in the distance a diesel engine chugs, idling

Having pumped gallons of water into the partially thirsty cracking earth

It seems to be catching a breath, as if tired due toiling all noon

The smell of its fumes is familiar, cities may change but diesel remains

The idling pistons sound like galloping horses running free

Off the bonds of saddles and no hurried rush towards much

Painted a shade of tourmaline green, I identify perfect shades

The fabric of this dream is dyed in angst, in a  touch of yellow

The fabric of this dream has died it's last, in a hint of iron oxidised in blood

For the lack of breaths that no longer enrich what flows through me

The fabric of ours torn asunder, in nonchalant symphony

As I scribe this walking amongst the abrasive leaves of the green paddy

I sigh and wish you were waiting, beside the diesel pump waving at me

This depreciation of a dream that felt holistic now feels empty due wish

I walk alone through the flooded canal, and wade through thinking of you 

Past Foreboding

It is after all  the interaction of these scattered cosmic particles

That you and I are born of, entangled yet not bunched together 

Occluded by the shroud of limited knowing, birthed to utilitarianism

Away from the trance, from the dance of us wanting to merge

Clumped to isolated pockets of what each is called as an individual

Can you hear my existence sing, as each fragment of me yearns

To meet yours, in an anticlimactic existence of this now, we are at

This could not be how it was planned, we were to be in a union

Or to sail through in unison, through the waves of existence of space

Like everything in the universe, that vibrates in synchrony more often

In this totalitarian macabre existence of separation from you

Where time is the pivot of our dissolution, I ask if I could be wanted

Wanted so as to waft towards you, gravitated by your very being

For I find nothing else holding me in orbit, my  wandering is in vain

I long to be merged into you, to explode if we could into a nova 

When the dust of our extension in such colourful exuberance settles

Maybe this time we are birthed again, as one entity, I plead the universe

Yet I also wish for an ending that befits your choices this life

I have been at the edge of wanting an end, since your leaving

If time wills, merge into me this life too, or I'll wait a million eons

Currently offering discounts, limited seats

I have this special door that I keep closed often

It has this lovely downward spiral, surrounded by rustic thatch work

Paved with lovely cobblestones, and alluring palm trees

The thatch work is to die for, and I have personally put it together

I figured that I like a good scenery and setting, when I am lamenting

In posthaste decisions that I transmogrify into reality with my tomfoolery

Who really wants to stare into dark and drudgery when the self drowns

I rather spiral into anxiety and madness watching something pretty

If you need to build one such personal spa of utter chaos, reach out

At this point I am undertaking architecture and interior designing of such

I do reserve the right of admission, and the seats are quite limited

We can make the best of existing in unending  lack of sobriety 

What brand of God do you like?

What God do you believe in my dear?

Is it the one that the invaders forced upon you

As the ones they worshipped were desecrated?

I see you let go of your own beliefs my dear

Is it cos you were shamed into forego

As the ones you had were belittled and ridiculed?

Is the God of the invaders really kind?

If so, why have it's followers plundered your lands?

As the one they worship should've intervened

I find no reason for you to adopt their fake gods

If the God they had was merciful and kind

Why does the one they worship not stay in their lands?

A prayer

I think we will be borderline fine love, or acceptably alright

These winds of sadness shall pass, or stop blowing your way

I may sing a love song on stage, or maybe in your arms one day

But I am praying for you to soar, or to at the very least be ok

This is another day in my paradise, or night whenever you read

And this could be my prayer, or even a love letter un-mailed

I may be in thoughts of us together, or hoping you are well

But I am praying for you to shine, or at the very least be fine

It is nearing eight in the morning, or fifty eight past seven now

You have another day of work, or another day to a holiday

I may be making my morning tea, or it could be coffee today

But I am praying for you to be smiling, or at the very least be ok

You see, time passes by as I live, or maybe my time is running out

This and all we have shall be memories, or fleeting thoughts

I may run into you some day, or we may never ever meet

But I am praying for you to be good, or at the very least be ok

Hey, Listen

Dear love, I can see that you are smiling 

Now, you could ask me how did I see you

In this dark night, and when the power is out 

I saw it with my skin, as you held my hand

You see, in having watched the most beautiful smile

I have also held your hand each time as you beamed one

I know how your fingertips gently shift as it holds my forearm

For your very essence is what drenches mine

Why do you think I become so calm and still

You help me relinquish the darkness from my mind

There is only one darkness I yearn to willfully be covered by

That is your hair, as it shades me when your lips touch mine

Hey, did you ever meet this person?

A random poet writes his heart out into a poem

Somewhere a painter is struggling to match shades

In another place a cook has thrown his favourite spatula out

They all are desperately trying to make sense of their fails

There is enough that echoes in their heads, from lips unwarranted

And life may have taught them lessons that they never wanted

Some days are to be gloomy, we all know this too well

Yet the ones who feel deeply are stuck in this permanent hell

I have met some or even most of these types

Without ever needing to show them how much I empathise

It sometimes is easy to share their stories and maybe laugh or cry

However I for one can never dismiss the darkness they hide inside

So if you should ever meet the likes of these

They expect not to be understood by you for I don't understand even me

Just stay a while if you can be other than yourself for a bit

For life's journeys need stories as we all sail through it

A prayer with Ms Taylor

I couldn't agree with you any less, elephants can exist riding skateboards

With pink hair, and standing on two legs, hell even maybe having a drink at a posh party

Yet Justina, you and I know how those that see these elephants are segregated

For the world deems elephants have a trunk and four legs 

How long will it be before we run out of such fanciful imagination

As society falls prey and comply to such dreary and dull compliances

Dyslexia need not be a crutch, and the society knows it well

It just seems to have forgotten the human side requires variations too

So Ms Taylor, when you say a prayer for these so called anomalies

Know I shall join you wholeheartedly with folded hands

And like your pencils render the canvas into effervescence

May the rest of the folks feel inclusive to those they demean

Hey Sunflower

"Hey Babushkis, it is November again 

You remember I have hated this month being born

It has changed, this is probably the only lifetime I have met you

And here we are, watching the leaves turn yellow and fall"

"You make this November bearable love, I would love to be born again

And if only in every birth and every breath, you shall glance my way

I know this is delirious of me to even wish for such romanticism

But you know how much my soul flutters in your thoughts each day"

"Hey Babushkis, can I rest now, Since you seem to be away this life?

For this life has run its course of your lovely embrace

And your hands are dearly missed all the time now

I could wait for you in the same old places, if you promise to find me again"

You will always be my beautiful home

The other evening when we met, over a cup of coffee and ended up with three

I remember we spoke all night, blaming caffeine for sleeplessness

Little did I tell you, I was asleep in your arms in my own head

You were wrapped around me like a lotus that closes at night

I was a bee that took shelter within, to be kept warm

I rested inside your gentle petals that soothed my aching wings

At dawn when you bloomed I danced around your magnificence

I had made you my home, to be with for eternity

Our eternities are different though love, mine longer than yours

And I am reborn each day in your glimpse, I see nothing less

While the third day I know you would fade and leave me

I will live five times more but each day in dreams of you

So when you start to wilt and fade, let me sit with you

We will watch the sun as it reminds us, of how much longing I have

And as you finally rest into the lake and merge into the depths

I will keep flying circles around this spot I have called our home

Shattering gently into the light

Here I was 

 -reading Frost

and Dickinson 

-is the way my life went

There was 

-an air of distrust 

 -for Wordsworth'ian ideologies

My love , 

ye hath left me, 

I feel not 

-for your going

It has 

-numbed my soul

I feared living 

-before you arrived

I fear 

-having to live without you

For you have left me 

-with words that speak

  -of my failure 

   -unto you

    -unto me

     -into we

And now I am plunged

  into this endless sea

 -see

   -see me seep

    -but how can you now

     -you hath left me

There are reasons

I failed

-to be your voice of

-yet failure has none

-and now you have done

- the 'we' are done

So I bring no joy

 -you did

 -your void doesn't

 -that smile is a scar

 -of my life a farce

I will be

-whenever be

-wherever may

-but November

-be dead spring 

Until a random thought

-of you springs

-greens me

-then dries me

-burns me

Like four seasons

-in a flash

-tormenting my flesh

-reminding me of fails

-until I exhale

Last

This is another 15th

This is another fifteenth day of the month, one of many

One that brought the perfection called you into life

One brought upon me a lunacy of love, of unbound madness

This one has had me wilting in my insides 

When your calling to an ending of us was sent out

It sent a searing pain through my ruptured soul

And as I wait to see you to shower upon me the cold

I have accepted that November will never be else 

It would not be a unlike how life has been for me

But then again it doesn't mean that you would redeem it

As this hourglass times my tea bag soaking into the tea

I think of the time I have missed being away from we

I wouldn't know much of what this 'if' last meeting would do

Other than to reduce my last piece of will to dust

You found me when I was scattered to the winds worthlessly

You put me back piece by piece, and then you are wishing to leave

At the Dealer

I am hoping to buy me a car

Gets me from point A to B

Am neither a fan of racing

And I hate driving in traffic

I will buy myself a deep grey

But I worry if it will be ok

Cos' dark colours show scratches

So I have to choose another

I will buy myself a bright red

But I worry it will stand out

Cos' standing out gets stolen

So I have to choose another

I should maybe get a green 

But I can't decide deep or light

Cos' I would hate to miss the other

So I have to choose another

I should settle for a white

But whites show up messy quick

Cos'I hate showing up unkept 

So I have to choose another

I should probably get a blue

But blue is fairly common too

Cos' I could misplace it in a lot

So I have to choose another

I best stick to a taxi then

For they arrive when I call one

Cos' it requires not much to do

So I should choose this and not bother

Oh but I need to buy me a car

So maybe I will try again later

Cos' I have thought of wanting one

But I will cycle through all this again

Explaining my profile

Rebuilding my wall that took years to build is hard, 

After the walls of my soul were pulled down by my very hands. 

I sought not paradise, I sought to find me

And what I found was what the walls were built to protect me from.

This is my endless cycle of all I am deemed to be

A pointless existence in this life's boundless sea

A hallmark of how life was and what it will be

I have learnt to accept this bane, I just hate the me

I do not blame what has brought me these rich sorrows

Nor do I curse the breeze that scatters all my  dreams

I am in an overstaying, in a rented existence of pain

I could wish but I know, this is what will repeat tomorrow 

All purpose flour, yet !

I like baking on a Sunday morning. Today is another one such

I have the dough proofed; I admit, the room smells a little sour at this point.

Sourdough smell is difficult to make peace with if you don't bake frequently

I make my own starter, get it to perfection in a week

It is so easy to bake knowing you, and everything feels easy

When I stretch the dough and let it rest an hour, I know I can message you

While you never respond nor care, my mind takes a full hour to recover

This, my dear, has of late become my dough resting timer

I always make big eyes at mittens; I love mittens and you know I misplace them.

But then when did I ever need them, though I had a pair of sunflowers too

I can always think of you as I pull the preheated pizza pan out of the oven

Your thoughts and longing makes this seem like holding a firefly

When the pizza or my cheese bread puffs up, I turn around to look

I always wish to see you standing close, looking over my right shoulder 

You know I will gently nudge your chin with my shoulder and move you back 

But often I couldn't feel your chin because of my baking towel, so now I often keep one

You know what I have not been able compensate for all of these though?

It has to be the sparkle in your eyes as I serve you my carefully baked pizzas

You would sometimes count the slices as I over fed you and complain in a gentle sigh

That I can imagine, but I miss holding you in a hug from behind as you say so.

Let me write about myself, or try to

There were enough poetries written for your absence

Yet there was never one I wrote for myself

I could attribute this to an absence of my self-worth

For I had set my worth tied to your desire of having me

When the aging moon, rises every night

And the darkness of the beach consumes the rising tide

Know You overwhelm me, know you are still my heart's desire

I have loved you endlessly, and will do so till I die

Here is another verse, that I have tried to write

It turned to be about your absence in my life

I wished it to be about my own self this time

Yet my longing for you seems to find me, where I hide

One heart on offer, rigorously used

I could spare some comfort and some love

From what I have left over from my past

Feel free to use it or abuse it, I don't care

For this heart of mine has beat its last

In those moments where you look inside 

Find me standing with you in the storms of life

Know well, I am reduced to a husk by love

For this heart of mine has bared its last

Take my kind words, and these moments along

Find comfort in them, and then throw them

I would not ask if you care or love me 

For this heart of mine has loved its last

At most you could use it, or abuse it, or there of

And I would neither lament nor let you know

I couldn't care about being hurt anymore,

For this heart of mine has bled its last

Hourglass Hourglass on my desk, let us watch my downfall

I have misplaced my headphones again; they seem so irrelevant now

I would have them looped around my neck waiting for you to call

Those were times that have long faded, since you have been away

I spend playing treasure hunt with them of-late, re-living your thoughts

Maybe in another time or dimension, there is a you and I as us 

If there is one, why is it not this one, and why is this heart so empty

Between the void of your absence and the vehement rejection of me

I am left lost drowning in my woe, curled, and broken under my desk

My time seems to run out, and for that I seem to be somehow glad

For I often coax and beg for it to run out quicker than it can somehow

For then these sands of time that have separated us, wilting me

Shall enter my lungs and drown my cries for you, is an only hope now

Mahanagar gas Waale aaye the, kaam ho gaya

Gas ke karmchariyon ka shukriya jo aaj mere ghar gas lag gaya

Mai soch raha tha ki tumse baat karu, kahoon ye kaam bhi ho gaya

Lekin phir yaad aaya ki aaj to mangalwaar hai

Tum mangal waar ko bhi baaki dino ki tarah mujhse baat nahi karti

Waise to maine poora kaam kaaj seek rakhha hai, tumne aazmaaya bhi hai

Par tum mujhse pyaar bhi nahi karti ye sach mujhe samjhaaya bhi hai

Par kabhi yoonhi tum aao ghar, kabhi mujhse milkar jao

Mere ghar ke choolhe ko bhi tumko chai pilaakar khush hone do

Bijli ke choolhe par to maine kaafi saari cheezein banaayi hai, banakar khilaayi hai

Zara mere gas ke choolhe ko bhi ek baar jalaa jaao

Tumse dur rehkar to mai jal raha hoon is doorie mein tadap kar

Bas ek aur baar mere ghar mein aakar mere gharko zinda kar jao

diary entry : Questions

Who do you love? 

 Do you love me?

You think that you could, 

  but I'm just shades of a mess

You think I am amazing, but I would disagree

Do you know I'm not lovable, 

  but you are perfect

You know everything, 

   and I don't understand much

I'm ready to switch positions with you

To understand you, 

But I only seem to fail at such

So would you judge me

 I don't, but I wish you won't too

We are in the same prison of love

I can't ask you to be here

 You won't either, for we both fear

Fear what we peddle to everyone else

There is nothing even left to sell

Know we cannot even tell

 For you and I are in our chosen hell

 

Diary entry: Not this month Again!

Welcome November, 

 you bring me such eloquent gifts of raspiness 

I feel joyous at your arrival each year,

  you are the reason for my sinful breath

The first breath you gave was disingenuous, wasn't it?

Then why did you not apologize and stop the second one of mine

I hadn't furnished a desire to be here, was this warranted?

It only seems this gloominess scrapes my heart to salt it 

Pray tell, when you first saw me open my eyes

Why did you let me be, why couldn't I be a victim of SIDS 

How did you take it upon yourself to be my torment

Why did you not make me lovable at the least?

I could complain and prattle all I want but dear November

You are an unkind, unruly, un-empathetic month 

You rake us November borns and leave us in torment

And all we have is broken heart pieces with no glue to mend

Would you like to sing with me a while? don't

You bring me postulates of life, often too many for me to negate

Then you hide away, maybe out of good reason or worse

I see these dreams and wish for a flight on one of these fancies

Then I see my self worth and step back from wanting to be loved

Why must you love me, why must I love you, why even try

I have, you have, we both have been there and almost died

Then why do you bring me hope and then fade into the tide

I stand at the shores of hopes, and then I drown and die

You could have all you want, unlike me who has never had much

I wake and curse my breath, for there is nothing I search

Between tending to needs of all those who need and take as such

Then fade away leave my soul damned covered in mulch

This breath I hold now is only a testament to my failure at love

I could be told by you that I need to wake up from this sadness now

But then again sweets, you can bring me alive only in tow

At your fading, I will lie down, I will lie to my self in woe.

And another day shall pass

It is another day in this so-called paradise of living

I am in my shell, and all is well with the world in my head

This caricature of the self I have drawn in charcoal and mud

Is illustrated with my hopes and dreams that are long dead

I commend your attempt to tug me to the shores of sane

Yet I know there is no room for me to breathe here

Between the coldness that I have breathed and imbibe

I rather shelter you away from my life of utter despair

Think not that this is an attempt at wanting you any less

It is pertinent there be things that I should never share

For I have nothing left to breathe, let alone add value

I would rather want to fade away sooner without a care

So, when tomorrow arrives for you and the sun shines 

Smile or at the least try to, do what I couldn’t wish to

Find even if the tiniest meaning for living and sail forth

For you may have better things in life than to rue 

Smile, and know 

    This is your world

        not mine, I wouldn’t know either

Go forth, shine brighter

Saturdays are to meet friends

I passed by a biker on his evening ride in my tuktuk and waved at him as I stopped

He stopped and looked at me twice and asked if I knew him

I nodded, pointing to a long leash that seemed stuck to his rear fairing 

Promptly proceeded to detach it, and he offered me his thanks

I asked if it was something he was carrying and had fallen off

Being dragged along in ignorance, and the lost baggage was lingering on

He shrugged his shoulders, lit a smoke offered me one and smiled 

He said this reminded him a lot about his entire life

I sent the tuktuk guy on his way, while this biker and I shared a few smokes

He seemed to be headed nowhere, hoping to find company to talk to

He was surprised I was headed out along the same way

And we exclaimed how funny the universe sometimes works too

I rode pillion, and we crossed through the myriad of weekender wanderers

We waved at a few hundred, eight waved back with a smile

When it was time to go home, we stopped just before my home to smoke a while

We left then as strangers, as I reached back to my devices and he to his

We had not asked each other's names, or numbers, or much

We didn't ask the other eight that either who waved back at us either

And when I went to sleep, I prayed another round for him

I am sure he must have done the same for me too, I know 

My reward is atonement

What did you want to know?

        -about my descent into this relegation of worth

        -In your eyes and in your thoughts, 

this is the only atonement for my sins

        -It is a price I owe to my past 

        -of my so unrelinquishable strength

That chose to love you and 

        -to yet remained tone-deaf to your lament

        -and so, the universe turns a blind eye to my plight 

I fret not myself with the so-called dignity

        -not anymore for that man died when you left

        -this is his shadow, a being of no worth 

I offer it to you as to indemnify for what has passed

        -in my sanest judgment and flawless will

        -for you to break both down at last

In this descent of chaos and to your control

        -let me be a cup filled with your vitriol 

        -let me drown in your rage and curdle

But let me owe what I have brought forth

         -it is mine to offer and I freely do

         -and I offer my mind to be strangled too

For another moment should not be spent

         -in woe that I have brought forth to you

         -curdle my soul and berate me too

I rather see your eyes peel my skin alive

         -salt and burn my wound and sighs

         -feed me the misery I have so wrought 

Bleed me alive and let me painfully die.

How could I write about you

Some days when you look in the mirror,

And brush your hair, I can see you smile 

I don’t know what you sound like though

I have always found comfort in your thoughts

When you let your hair down 

and look at the few that seem to have broken off

I would want to yank the strands away

And pocket them and tell you they are mine

But then, I haven’t seen your hair waving

Nor have I seen you unravel your ponytail

I would fathom the moment astonishes

Any who your presence would grace

But then again sweets, how could I know

Other than to write of what my mind spins 

For the words seem pale to compare

When I see your pictures with your auburn hair

To be or not to be

It is easy to find you 

You are either rummaging through pages of inked words

Sometimes lost in the bright lights

Tipsy yet never belonging to any of these 

You are here, you are quite here

But then in the dark recesses of your mind, you are not

I could know where you would want to be

I have been there all my life

A little longer than I would have wanted to

Growing colder than I wanted to

I started out as fire, like the one in you that you try to tame

Trying to fit in, yet not trying, wanting, and not willing

Will you? you won’t this time is not yours

I could tell you that I would want to hear your stories

Wrap my own skin around to stop you from growing cold

But you and I know

The warmth seems to ebb at the approach of love

In our fright, for in our fights

Our flights, we have won, but lost

When your fingers are painted a touch of green

I would call them pastel green; you know it is 

But you would want to disagree

You know I love it

You love that opposing force

-Of truths, 

it is how you and I have faced the world

we hate the absence of that conflict; we know we can win

so, we turn sides to be wrong, wishing deeply

for a higher meaning, hoping

failing

knowing

your heart is as frail as mine, yet you and I are at the frontlines

  of a war that seems irrelevant to our life

succumbing to the numbness of love and longing

not to each other, 

we couldn’t

could you, I wish you wouldn’t 

for unlike me, 

you may have your moments of wanting to smile

I have smiled further than I could anymore,

Or so I thought 

but you still make me do so

- Poignantly too 

So, Miss November, I don’t miss November

You and I are in striking distance of the cold

Let not the cold overtake you as it has me

Be more, be bright, be the storm, be all but me.

My time seems to ebb

You talked about sleeping diagonally in your bed

when you left me behind and walked away 

wanting to not feel left all alone

    that was a while ago

I have picked up your habit since

    like I have picked up your habit since I met you

I live for those random events in the universe  

akin to seeing a star exploding into a supernova 

when you reach out to me

    that was a while ago too

I have picked up my pieces since

    like I am picked on by your absence 

It has been almost a full day since we spoke

and the day passes like a camel through a needle's eye

when these moments are spent in wait

    that was a while ago

I have picked at my existence since

    like I am picked to be broken by time

I hunger to be held in your arms love and seen

and my eyes see the distance and feel blind

when I don't see you holding my hand

    that was a while ago

I have picked at my heart for a reason to smile

    like I am picked to be woefully lost.

Suno Shyam

Raadha mann to raadha jaani
jaane shyaam kya hi
jyaane shyaam raadhe prem
to batao kya hi

kal jab tum sang khel
ghar aayi aadhi raat
laga jaise khud chhod aayi
apne shyam saath

jab aaya din par shyam na
to kare raadha phir kya
ashru bhi jo behne deti woh
to dubaa jaati yamuna

mai to raadha ban gaya
par to to nikla shyam
cheeen gayi tu muskaan meri
bas japoon tera naam

shyaam na aaye mere tat
shyaam na hai mere nikat
shyaam bin na mann maane
shyaam prem hai bada vikat

For there is no mercy, in this universe of mine

Disproportionate responses and torrid torment

Is all the calling of the time I am subjected to

Then again, what would a response be due emotion

Nothing less than the brutal redressal in cacophony 

For the wrongs past, I could reason and defend

Yet neither stands ground when measured versus another heart

No undoing would be possible for the lost time I know

And here we are with the spoils of my love's war

A rebuttal of her cold shoulder would seem wrong

For I haven't forgotten the blood on my hands

And in the current mire due love's labour lost  

I weep in the loneliness of my own being

Every moment I grimace at my own existence now

For I have given up on being alive somehow

The heart that used to be steady and bright

Has crumbled due display of despair of her brow

Growing up

First Act
It was an orange candy and then
    and the sun was orange
    like a giant orange candy that I wanted to bite into
I was told I could bite it when I was older
Then I chased butterflies, always carefully so
    their powdery wings were brittle, I knew
    I was never catching any though
I grew into my teens wishing to be so much more
    little did I know, this world had more to cry
    and so I hid, as I always did,
    from me,
    from them,
    from all of you

Second Act
It was a beautiful sixteen, a bright one too
    and there was no cake
    so no candles to place onto
I was told I could have one, just when it was affordable
    then I chased butterflies, two-legged ones now
    their powdery faces were plastic, I didn't know
    I was never catching any though

I grew into my twenties, wishing for so much
    little did I know, this world had nothing to try
    and so I hid, as I always did
    from me
    from me
    from all of me now

Third Act
I was twenty-five, and at the cross of change
    and there were friends and wine
    and glasses I could fill now
I was told I could be anything, but not what I want
    then I chased the butterflies, those mythical ones carelessly now
    Their images were powdery, I came to see it so
    I never was catching any, and the wine was helping how!
I grew into my thirties, wishing for so little less now
    little did I want, for there was no will left to
    so I hid from me again
    lied to me again
    and again
    and lies became the truths I know

Fourth Act
I was forty-three, and now I have nothing left
    the friends and love have faded long
    the glass ceiling of pretense is broken now
I tell the young to be everything, and I ask them to do it now
Then we chase butterflies, those imaginary dreamy ones too
    they seem to be more peaceful at long last
    I make new ones and let them fly now
I will grow into my fifties, I seem to now bother to wish
    for all I want is either gone or irrelevant
    for now, I stand center stage and sing
    the songs of times long ago
    here I am again, feeling happy somehow

Straight out of my Mind's oven

It is 4 AM again, and I am here making pizza as an excuse for my sleeplessness

I admit it is beautiful to bake, yet the mind feels like a pizza base poked by forks

I would believe that helps in baking it to a firmness when it's pizza

This mind is poked by the forks of your thoughts and longing

Would you like some pizza? I could send it over and your office isn't far away

Would it seem acceptable to send food, when you seem to not want my presence itself

It is a dilemma I am dealing with and it makes my mind sear on this grill of your absence

You probably have drowned my thoughts anyway, like cheese does the sauce

Well, as the pizza bakes, I watch it with a keen eye drawing parallels to my soul 

Unlike the cheese that is being toasted in the heat, my heart ebbs fading beats 

When the oven rings in completion of its twenty-minute cycle and 180 degrees

I stand there contemplating if I have the will to eat it alone this time again.

I hope You don't resent me

The updraft from my balcony scatters my exhaled smoke all over my face 

  - and I think you would have laughed

But you aren't here to laugh now, I can always dream wide awake

 Especially considering it is 20 minutes past the witching hour 

Are you thinking of me, in resentment or even in disgust, couldn't be love I guess

 - else you would reach out in some way

But then when did I give you a good enough reason to not feel so

  Especially considering that I have been a  wretched inconsiderate lover

For all the years I have been so broken and lost as I was trying to be good

- you ended up feeling this love I have is collateral 

But then when could I recognise my own worth until now and it's so late

 Especially considering you are walking away eradicating me from your heart

When I look at life now there is nothing left for another breath than pain

- you haven't caused it, this is my own fate

But then when was it that life looked kindly upon me as I did upon all

 Especially when things got better, the universe would conspire my downfall

A thought about Midnight deliveries

I sometimes wonder why

Why do these midnight deliveries come.wrapped different

Like in poly bags, sometimes in paper bags, and sometimes cloth bags

I guess it is the changing moods of the delivery guys

Or maybe I order from different vendors

I mean, see, I ask it because

I often wonder why does your memory come wrapped different

Sometimes in haze, sometimes in daze, sometimes in a faze, sometimes in a maze

I guess it is like the ever changing moods of your love

Or maybe I have too much of alcohol in my blood

Think logically,

Who equates memories to groceries being delivered at midnight, or at 4 AM

Some are asleep, some getting to the gym, some jogging early, some pointlessly awake

I guess it is , maybe my subscription of anxiety being renewed

 Or maybe I am shopping wilfully at the wrong portals for love

Explanation:

The poet is grappling with the pain of their loved one leaving them, and their struggle to overcome the resulting depression. The poem begins with a sense of confusion, as the poet wonders why these "midnight deliveries" of memories from their past love come wrapped in different ways, like poly bags, paper bags, or cloth bags. This may symbolize the varied emotions and experiences associated with the memories, ranging from foggy and unclear (haze) to bewildering (maze), or even overwhelming (faze). The changing moods of the "delivery guys" could represent the unpredictable nature of the memories, as they come to the poet at different times and in different forms.

The poet further reflects on the unpredictability and inconsistency of their loved one's love, comparing it to the changing moods of their memories. Sometimes it feels distant and detached (daze), sometimes it feels fleeting and transient (faze), and sometimes it feels complex and confusing (maze). The poet wonders if their own state of mind, perhaps influenced by alcohol, is affecting the way they perceive and experience these memories.

The poet then questions the logical connection between memories and groceries being delivered at odd hours of the night or early morning. Memories are not something that can be easily ordered or controlled, unlike groceries from online portals. The poet may feel a sense of helplessness or lack of control in dealing with their memories of their lost love. The mention of anxiety being renewed could indicate that the poet is struggling with anxiety in the aftermath of the breakup.

In the closing lines of the poem, the poet reflects on the possibility that they are looking for love in the wrong places or seeking it from the wrong sources, akin to shopping at the wrong portals for love. This could suggest a sense of disillusionment or frustration with their past relationship and the choices they have made. Overall, the poem conveys a sense of longing, confusion, and emotional turmoil as the poet grapples with the aftermath of their loved one leaving and the challenges of moving on from the pain of lost love.

Uncoated

Do you know it takes a ton of things to shave my head 

A twin blade, 

  I will use it to rummage through first

   Thick as some foliage growing unhinged and dauntlessly

    On the fertile scalp, as if nothing and no one can ever remove it

      And some of it does come right off, especially the sides

A classic razor,

    The one you gifted, knowing my love of being an environment conservationist

      Twin blades are bad, plastic, not recycled, bad, bad, bad, I often have said

        But the classic razor is a double-edged one figuratively and literally

           It may help for the back and center 

            But then I always manage to have my pinky cut on it

A shampoo,

    In between the lush going away and the baldness appearing

        the razor is caught and often chokes like I usually do

         The shampoo helps to make it slide right off

            I always wonder between the washes on if I can shampoo my heart

               Then continue shampooing my hair washing away the cuts

                 It hurts, not just the process, but the scalp, the hand, and the heart

A hurt,

     What a surprise that is not even one, I love my hair

        I love my hair, I love my hair, I love my hair

         I love my hair because you love my hair too

          Then I think, if you are not here, what is it here to

            All it does is taunt me of wanting to entangle in yours

             All I have is that exact thing missing from my life 

               So a hurt is quite the need to eradicate all beauty

A shower,

       So the scalp can hurt when it's shaved, quite often by the self

          I advise no one should undertake this sordid deed

            The water can help you mask the tears of this undoing 

               Yet the mirror will taunt you and reflect the redness of your eyes

                  you can take as long as you want, standing in the water

                    unless someone you know, like I do reprimands you in memories

 A mirror,

         A mirror is vital we all agree, it is self-explanatory 

           You can't always guide you hands on something so sensitive as a scalp blind

             Besides it helps you to remind you of all that your worth is, for you, for them

               And for being rid of something so precious as my own hair, it's a force

A regret,

       That could be subjective, not to me though for I am pragmatic

         Nothing stirs the mind's cauldron like a ladle of regret and loss

            And mine was thankfulness to my genes while I curse my fate 

             For in my life, to love and forever fail is the only permanence.

A wail from my dark confinement

It isn't just you, 

  trust me when I proclaim

You and me both have tried

  To be rid of me, 

    You have been able to

I have failed though

For I have been searching

 For the me I hope to be rid of

  It is no where to be found

I have searched ways

  In my profound pragmatism

  In my insolent breaths

The me is not to be found 

The curse I bear is to be alive

 Devoid of me

Or is the me that I seek already dead

  In the search of your loving words

Maybe it is and I like you will never know

For it feels like a dead existence

 To be in the absence of you

And when I was told of love

 Was I deaf to my soul's fears

 I was and this is me now

In search of a me so long gone

Weeping in silent tears 

 And

Wanting to wail

Wishing to wilt as I sleep tonight

Wishing the universe be kind for once

 To grant me this only wish somehow

Kaash tum thoda aur ruk jaate

Diwali khatm hone tak to ruk jaate 

Haan par uske baad mai kehta Janamdin aa raha hai

Par yeh bhi sahi hai ki jab tumhe jaana tha

To tumhaare kadmon ko hum kaise rukaa paate

Ye maana ki lakhon galtiya kar li hai maine 

Ye saari to tumko pataa thi na

Par yeh bhi sahi hai ki tumhe teherna nahi tha

To tumhaare dil ko hum apni aur kaise manaa laate

Tumhaare dil ko hum kaise jeet paayenge

Jab tumhe mere dil se hi shikayat hai

Par yeh bhi sahi hai ki shikayat ke sivaa tha hi kya

To tumhara haat hum kaise pakkad lete

Ab Diwali umad kar goonj rahi hai dil ke taano mein

Ye virah to mujhe ab daraati hai

Par yeh bhi sahi hai ki mai chirag aur tum lauh thi

To tumhaare saath ye diwali bhi roshan kar jaate

Speaking about me, I rather pretend

Between me and you, there is the storm

Of a billion drops of my soul's sad tears

They will drown and drench my garden flowers

And vanish again at dawn like your intermittence 

I have flogged my mind to become tone deaf

For it has often been at war with my heart

Yet this deaf speaks in muted tones too

And this tone deaf mind still calls out to you

What good is a path that leads nowhere

Its just sand, gravel and cobblestones

Pretty to the eye, momentary musing for a heart

We walk on this path, tearing each other apart

I have now come to forage the shards of my heart

I have some glue, made from the lids of my eyes

They don't need to exist anymore and why so

For my eyes have now died as I silently hope to