Kya Sehar Kya Shehar

Mujhe kya, 

mai to registaan mein khus dhoondta phir raha hoon

Ret mein tera arkh hai jo, 

Usi ko pi kar aisi bewakoofiyan kar raha hoon

Dhoop to waise bhi tez thi

Jal to raha tha mai tere chale jaane par, har shyam

Ye ret mujhe to mere chadar jaisi lagti hai

Kya registaan, 

kya mera ghar, 

  dono mei to raakh ho raha hoon

Khus dhoon raha hoon, pagal hoon

Sehar ya shehar, 

 dono mei kahan milti hai ye

Dono mein to sirf hawaye chalti hai,

 rookhi si

Mera liye toh khus to tum ho, 

uske bina to mai hi ret hoon

Considering things that rock our boat

This thing about love, confuses folks like us

The practical, logical, psychoanalytical, scared ones

Often thoughts of 'what ifs' run amok, unruly and rampant

I mean, any thought could play in the mind's radio station

Often unscheduled, like a random emergency broadcast

Like some apocalyptic winter has suddenly reared its ugly ugly head

To unnerve us, make us choke, and yet wishing it was easier

The worriers like us cast good moments to ruin, always extrapolating

Running the numbers, of past encounters that have ended badly

Yet we never fail to fall in love, it is surprising, illogical

This feeling of wanting to be vulnerable, human, the whole shebang

We wander into it, wishing to be loved, this time maybe

We know how to love, we can feel, but we conceal it due fear

Hold on for a moment please love

Post seven, when the day is at its end

 A lonely day of May too, half eaten away in travel

With a chance meeting, and lost sleep being caught up to

I reach out asking, for and if a conversation

Maybe

I am deferred to fifteen, obviously my love too has been in synch

As such, she was travelling to lands far away, far is more than an inch from me too

With my heart chasing her, happy in her glee

To then be rescheduled to eight, late evening

You see, I know and understand there is much to do

There is much that would draw you into so called urgencies

With what and how I know you of, you have your ball and chain

I chain me to your waiting, as I always have

Do not for a moment feel, the chain binds you, I wouldn't let me

These are semantics of my loving, they need no overthinking nor ardor

With what you offer, love and all I find the waiting brings a sense of gentle longing

I love knowing you know I love waiting on you

Perched on a parched facade

I have been a mountain, and I have been one for long

You were a beautiful eaglet, perched on my cliff

I have watched you grow, I watched you struggle to fly

I have always held you to me, sheltered you

But you have always hated me for my heights

Come summer, come rain, I have watched you with love

You watched the sparrows, the crows, the valley below

When you gained your first flight, you soared the clouds

You perched in your nest, entrenched in my bough

You saw everything, but you never saw me somehow

I have never needed, nor have I asked for your love 

This Mountain doesn't feel, and it is what I shown

It was a lie my eaglet, for you never could have known 

So rest again tonight and fly far away at first light

For I have accepted your obliviousness to my existence now

Love then is brass

It is easy to conclude love is like brass

Weighs like it and behaves like it too

For ever so often like brass it tends to dull

When one touches it a tad too often 

It is human after all and the mind is restless

Hopping from pillar to post, often helpless

Like brass, love needs polish, and often much

Love would then flourish, in the scarcity of touch

Absence then should be a great redeemer

Polishing love, to shine and shimmer

Like brass in the hands of a mindful soul

Polished and perfected to shine like gold 

Descending into love

Somewhere between falling from grace
is my wilful dissidence and shadow play
love is amorphous, hygroscopic even
dampens too often, seems to run away

what else but a heart to contain
for it holds pain well, goes ablaze
fitting for me, for I have been a stray
makes me unfit for my lover’s gaze

this is but another Saturday, like last
you and I are like flashes of some past
neither you, nor I can help us to be
so, lets drink Chardonnay and be in dismay

I don’t say it, but you know this heart caves
I often hold back on how this soul craves
Between our short, Oh! So short meetings
I am stilled in your presence, I find solace

At every absence of you I remind myself
That love is amorphous, and absence caustic
And I let it be, for there is no other way
I let it dissolve in my tears, eat me away

Take the bridge over these waters

I have almost drowned in far too many rivers

Mostly of crocodiles, in dual tones and subterfuge

In the grand scheme of things what mattered didn't 

I was gasping to breathe, while those scaly ones swam through

Ah! Such majestic creatures, so full of love 

Adding salt to my wounds and clawing at my brows

In the willful dissent from my learnings of life

Love was gnawing at my soul, they were at it too

As all rivers do, all of them did finally run dry

When the vultures came to peck, my half dead corpse

I smiled at them, found their pecking to be gentle 

Love can make everything painful seem beautiful too

When the last day dawned, upon each of these rivers

My half dead, half eaten corpse lay rotting in the mud

I begged to love, in an apathetic presumptuous tone

I asked if love would ever stop hunting me down

You see, crocodiles come and go, they do as they please

Their hunger for discord is persistent and an unease

I have learnt now to be nimble and have cultivated resilience 

For I understand love can bring persistence or pestilence 

Ek kaam tha

Suna hai tumhaare ghar se ek jheel dikhti hai

Wahan mai gaya nahi kabhi, par kabhi shaayad jaoon

Guzra hoon aksar uske saamne waali gali se 

Par hamesha tumhaare ghar ke taraf dekhte hue

Sochta hoon shaayad tum dikh jaoge

Jab bhi mai wahan se guzarta hoon 

Sochta hoon tumko bulaa loon verande par

Lekin ghadi dekh leta hoon, sambhal jaata hoon

Tum kahin aur rahoge, sochkar khayal badal deta hoon

Sochta hoon, aankh band karke hi tumko dekh loon

Jab nakshe par mai rekhaayein dekhta hoon

Ek baar hamesha tumse kitna dur hoon, aakh leta hoon

Ye pagalpan hai, mai jaanta hoon zara pagal bhi hoon

par bilkul sudhaarna nahi chaahta hoon

Sochta hoon, nakshe par hi tum dikh jao shaayad

Itne saalon se jo hum nahi mile, na bole

Mujhe pata nahi agar tumne ghar badal diya ho

Kabhi kabhi mann karta hai tumhaare kisi dost se pooch loon

Par tumhaare dost bhi to tumhare hai, mere nahi

Sochta hoon ke shaayad tumko dhoondte mai khud hi kho gaya hoon. 

Suno, tumhaare ghar se jo jheel dikhti hai na

Wahan mujhe ek baar lekar chale jao

Gar hua to dono milkar ek ek bottal beer hi pi lenge saath baithe

Par asliyat mein nahi to khwaabon mei hi sahi 

Sochta hoon shaayad isi se mein kuch saal aur jee jaoon

Agla station kaunsa hai?

Chal train ki ticket kataate hai

Hum dono kahi dur sair par jaate hai

Sleeper par lete hue ishaaron mein

Chai pite badmaashiyom se haste hasaate hai

Agar do teen traine badlni ho

Ek naye station par deri se aate hai

Train ko jaate dekh hum dono

Ek doosre ko zara chidaate hai

Der hui kiski wajah se is baat se lekar

Cigratte pine ki talabh par tohmat lagaate hai

Par uske baad zara baithkar saath

Kuch waqt ek doosre ko zara phir hasaate hai

Train to doosri aajayegi

ye waqt ko zara jee lete hai

Chal train ki ticket kataate hai

Hum dono kahi dur sair par jaate hai

The place to sit and think

The bidet holder is loose, makes for a weird position to hang

I had replaced the same a year ago, amidst pandemic

The previous terrible one had been fixed firmly

The new metal replacement seems to not be happy to oblige

It is possibly alarming, on why a bidet holder should concern me

I have often used it to wash away a lot of filth off my bath floor

The bidet holder serves it's purpose though, but

is unstable

The chances of my bidet suddenly falling down worries me

It is cultural, rather a mix of Indian and Western 

I find it difficult to use places without a bidet, I feel weary

The bidet symbolises my will and fortitude in life

The holder is after all my woman's love for me

Where no birds dare nest

She could be bipolar, and other things one must not joke about

Yet I don't see much more than her existence as a gimmick

Not like we don't connect, we very well do 

Like a cup and saucer, or like table and chairs

Neither in need of other, better together though

She brought me a tiny Agave bush, am in an  Indian humid town

I have a balcony, not making it into a flower bed for lack of a garden

Gardens are harrowing, they bring mosquitoes and bad memories

Like being bitten, scratching, then that malarial bedridden episode

I don't need that forgotten shard, we are not better together

She brushes her thigh against mine, sitting close by

Not like we haven't had a little too much of sex already, past

Sex is terrible when it is this crazy, we crave for more

Like the sunflower, looking at the sun traverse the day

I don't have a metaphor, it will just hurt all together

She walks away, forgetting I am holding her thong

Not like she isn't sober, mostly bipolar not poly amorous

Bipolar like stupidity is painful, only others feel it's effects

Like a bird spike, it does away with the good along the bad

I don't like this bifurcation, so we love and keep making love

Stacking

I left my favourite pair of shoes at your shoe stand

When I walked home barefoot, cursing my existence

It isn't like me to give up on my shoes that easily

I left them because we have often walked together and too often

I left them for you to discard, in the manner of your choosing

For they need not ever be touched by my hands again

They carry the dust your sandals kicked up 

That dust has no place in my footing anymore

Mine are the maroons, next to the other two  pairs 

I haven't questioned whose, and I need not know either

They seemed to be left at your doorstep in a hurry

Just like I did, as I walked away from your arms

You could keep them as a trophy, of all those who left

They seem to have been left quite recently too I checked, I confess

I wish you grow your feet to maybe wear a few, maybe my maroons too

Then you could lie and pretend, they are yours too

Chal Daru peete hai

Sach to char peg baad hi nikalta hai

Pehle do mein to sirf mere kuch dost nikalte hai

Uske baad thodi se afwa, phir thodi badnaami

Teesre pe to sab mere liye lad jaaneki baatein karte hai

Sach to 

 char peg baad hi nikalta hai

Tu mera dost tha, par tune mujhe nahi bulaya

Tu to meri Jaan tha, par tune to mujhe rulaya

Tune mujhse kabhi haal chaal nahi poocha 

Tu to meri dosti se sharminda sa lagta hai

Sach to 

  char peg baad hi nikalta hai

Nahi tha mai tere liye us waqt, jab tu ladh raha tha akele

Yahi gham to khaa rahi hai mujhe, dost mere

Kyonki mere dost mujh mein hi itna gham tha

Tere ko samajhne ke liye mere paas waqt kamm tha

Sach to 

  char peg baad hi nikalta hai

Jab hum aaj char peg aur pi lenge mere dost

Mujhe hosh nahi hoga, bol doonga Mai sach tuje

Kal jab tujhe yaad aayegi meri baatein, Kos lena

Par ye yaad rakhna aaj meri aakhon mein sharam thi

Sach to 

  char peg baad hi nikalta hai

Sach to 

  char peg baad hi nikalta hai

Par tere liye char aur pi loonga

Khudko teri aankhon mein giraakar phir tujhse sambhal jaoonga

Agar is besharmi ki aadat nahi hoti hum dono ki

Soch lenge dosti ke liye humara dil sang tha

a self of worthlessness

I will always run

 run like the wind

 Swiftly, 

 for sometimes I can fall

 fall into this pit of love, 

 loving you is forbidden

 forbidden to me

You will always ask

  why I bite my tongue

  often,

  for sometime I lose myself

  entwine me with you

  entwining you is forbidden

  forbidden to me

We always sit apart

  sit across each other

  distanced

  for your proximity stills

  stillness brews amorousness

  amorous with you is forbidden

  forbidden to me

You are forbidden to me

  my lone mind forbids love

  destitution

  for I seem to be nothing

  nothing I do or say can match

  match your magnificence is forbidden

  forbidden to me

  

  

 

your journeys spin poems

I left my diary of poems beside the candle,

 the power was out

I came back to see the diary was singed partially

The candle had burnt away some of it

i rummaged through the poems, holding my breath

It had burned away most of my pages

Of dark despair poems

Between the half burnt pages, I found a few

They were of my confession of love

I read them again and again to make sense

The portions in them of your absence 

  had been burned away too

As you walked up behind me, and held my hand

I looked at the candle wax, it had done me a favour finally

There is no pain in love it said, 

  the absence is warranted, when brief

So the next time you leave the city my love

Have a drink with me, tell me you love me, 

  hold me and give me half a kiss

At your arrival, give me the other half of it

Even if you smell like a train full of travelers, and your hair smells musty

The poem you complete thus shall be the one I cherish

For my diary has served its purpose, like my pain

You have burned away the darkness

  I have feared and lived in

ramble

Kaii saloon se hasta raha hoon

Achaanak kabhi deewar dekh kar

Ya phir kabhi akhbaar dekh kar

Par kuch waqt pehle tak ye khushi ki nahi thi

Ab hasta hoon jab tu bulaaye

Hastaa hoon jab tu na bulaaye

Hasta hoon jab mai bhulaaoon

Hasta hoon jab tu bhulaaye

Chal baith saath mein

Karle hum itni baatein

Ki tu bhool jaaye Mera naam 

Aur tu bulaaye mujhe tere naam se

You know, God has this weird sense of humor

And in one such bout of crazy, I was born

Probably thought of how many things can be annoying

He decided to empty his bucket list out

Monday, it is then he must have exclaimed

Everyone hates that, I shall make it a Monday

After all it is the day to begin your week

So why not just make it the most mundane

He then rubbed his hands, having thought of more

Let's make him a hard headed but thoughtful cynic

Give him a heart that can love, yet made of glass

And here I sit counting those pieces now

The moon was having fun, unaware of this plan

As the noon approached, he saw the sun run further away 

He saw the mess God had created upon this world

He decided to bail out, yelling "I'm out, that's it"

ramble

Dear absence, 

you really need to hit the gym

You seem to just bloat, 

you are bursting at the seams

My heart is weaker than you assume

Maybe go on a diet,

Shed some weight

Do I need to talk to my love?

Would her intervention help ?

She won't answer though

Her silence is what birthed you 

I am not even asking you to leave

But she'd some weight

Just be a little easy on me

Awaiting arrival

I think if I have to sit another hour on this bench alone

I shall merge into it, and wait for you

It is quite a challenge to wrap my mind around

Between rationing my smokes and filling the adjacent steel bin

Not that smoking helps, but it calms my nerves

In some self harming way, self hate is the best hate, no?

You would know this, you have done that to yourself too, often

Not any more though love, never again please

My self hatred stems from my helplessness

Of feeling your absence, and being tied to the park bench of life

I admit the purple flowers in the flower bed look pretty

I planted them, waiting for you, they are all flowering now

I hate that the universe makes me wait, for ever and always

I have asked for a respite, but it gave me a pit of cobblestones

Grey, smooth, good enough to maybe jump into and hurt myself

To substitute my bleeding heartache with physical, at actuals

The grass looks green though, i could count the blades, one by one

Each day could sprout a few more, some.could end up dried and dead

I will sort them, pick the dead ones and maybe pile them nearby

They could maybe keep me warm, through winter

I could also find them of use if I have to die and be burnt

I won't think of that, waiting for you is such a joy

I could wait forever, then wait for another life

Maybe the universe will bring you to early, maybe now, maybe later

Thank you random objects, you still me

Yellows are cheeky, but my minion is obligatory

I place it by me, probably has become you by now

The way it blends into my floral bedsheet

It feels like my mind has hit peak insanity

Yet in the amber , red and green glowing of my table lamp

I try to read your letters, obviously they are just blank pages

From the notebook you gifted long ago

They seem to show some lucid poetry

Between my soul and my throat

Both parched, i sip from this black sipper

I bought it for your trip, the one I imagined in my mind

The one you will never tag along with me on

My wifi is sketchy, but let me open my laptop

It's black, switched off yet I can always imagine it powered on

I will imagine a chat, between you and me

Send you my sultry pictures, pacify me

When the day ends, and we both rest

On this bed drenched in the sweat of our love making

You are not here, I know this is all my wild imagination

But without your love, what else is left for me

come and bring the sunshine to my city

Pass me the light will you

She said, i promptly lit up in my eyes

Flipped open my lighter and stretched out my hand

Darn, I am probably high, the bench is empty

How did I hear you then?

These voices, they play on like a broken record

Broken people beget broken records I guess

But then again, for a moment I actually felt you

How could it have happened

Am I not here, maybe my mind is with you

I forgot to stub my cigarette, again 

Yes, one of these days love, I will not

Obviously there are other dramatic episodes

I go through in your absence

I guess it too is just poetic, sad but

Another hour to go, before you arrive

On Swift steel wings, the view is to kill for, i know

Mumbai looks pretty, through the clouds 

If you ask me, it probably feels prettier too

You are landing here, afterall

Epiphanies hurt often

Did I intrude, wander into unwarranted,

To speak of my wretched love

I admit I didn't knock, I am rude like that

I have never had the decency to ask first

Did I interrupt, drown your heart's song

To serenade you with my wretched love

I admit I should have paused, heard you singing

I should have had the decency to listen first

Did I interrupt, throw your love in disarray

To replace your lover with this wretched  me

I admit I am tenacious, but It was just rude

I should have understood love, before loving

Did I interrupt, the little peace your heart felt

To ring and rattle, overwhelm you in my prattle

I admit my wrong, this rudeness is unforgivable

I should've restrained, my wretched interruptions

Probably poetry, or bust

It possibly is easier to write poetry in pain

About the adversity and or the absence of a lover

Yet when it comes to writing poems on love

One could fail to express its absolute depth

One could write about their lover's eyes

Or maybe how they make one's heart sing or dance

Yet all those read like each other, and are often mediocre

To write about love is probably at best a folly

When I sat today to write a few lines, your thoughts dawned

I thought of the ocean and the sand, filling my pockets

As we sat on the beach, amongst the waves lashing at us

The romance was in getting the sand out of your dress

You see, poetry is so easy, and all poets just replicate

I am not a stranger to this, I am guilty as charged too

Yet when I remember you asking me to read one of my scribbles

I remember feeling shy like a little boy who got kissed on the head

Writing this one as a poetry critique, I could enrage a few

Maybe in that rampant rage we all could write something new

These rhymes, prose poems, and the utter barrage of verbiage

Cannot possibly describe how I seem to crave for your kiss

If I could only tell you

Hey, 

take me out dancing

But I am afraid i have two left feet

So don't laugh at me dancing

just look at me, love me

Watch me make a fool of myself

Take me out to the beach

But I am afraid of the water

So don't laugh at me gasping

Just look at me, hold my hand

Watch me struggle knee deep

Take me out to the mountains

But I am afraid of heights too

So don't laugh at me gripping your top

Just look at me, hold my waist

Watch me, stealing looks into the valley

Take me with you where you go

But know I am afraid to let go

So don't laugh at me clinging to you

Just look at me, hold me close

Watch this man melt into you 

it's all good

I am absolutely fine, 

Am not an oyster finding a grain of sand

Rubbing against me, scraping my skin

Hurting me all over 

I am me, and I am fine

I am not an earthworm to writhe in pain

At the sprinkle of sand burning my skin

Carving the life out of me

I am me, and I am fine

I am not a deer, with a broken leg by a trap

In seething pain, anxious of imminent slaughter

Or being skinned alive 

I am me, and I am fine

I am not a caterpillar, trapped in a cocoon 

To be boiled alive for my silk

In a scalding inescapable slow death 

I am me, and I am fine

I am good at being fine my love

Here I am capturing the sunsets

Which look better in the pictures you send

It's not the sun, it always was your view

That I wished to view, while I waited for you

After that one cloudy sunset and the other two in haze

I have seen the sun one too many times, in your arms

I rather let your light shine on me, paint me red and orange

Than chase for some semblance in these lonely sunsets

Self Help is the best help

It has been ages since my blaring headphones tuned out my thoughts 

They have forever been a gentle whisper accompanying my mind's conversation

I need not hear mine today or tomorrow, they seem to just hurt

I rather overwhelm my mind in songs that I despise to hide from the self

It is not like I don't have the mental fortitude to stay strong

Yet this void seems to cause me to cave in, make me drown

I haven't ever learnt to swim in these waters, I have always feared

This ocean of my love for you is darker than the ink of despair

I have often restrained, I have often silenced my heart 

The heart is now rebellious and vindictive in love 

I have no strength to hold back my tears of our distance

This day I wanted to live, yet this day is out for my blood

If you should find me cracked wide open, don't look into my light

It is just my soul burning every ounce of me searing my self

It offers neither of us any respite, it serves to only hurt me

I shall blare those despicable songs, to evade my tormenting mind.

Moving and packing

This city, Mumbai

Is the sand of my void

Fills me up with itself

Breathes into me

Today seems different

The sand is drenched

In the sorrow of you

Weighs heavily choking me

The air isn't the same

It seems to miss your breath

I miss that familiarity

It feels so lifeless

This city, Mumbai

Has cuddled me forever

It stands silent now, weeping

At failing to pacify me

This me, I do not feel

This me refuses to heal

This me is homeless at home

This me wants to run to you

yahan sab kuch hai, par mai nahi hoon poora

Mere sheher aaya hoon re

Par tu to nahi hai yahan

Kuch dino mein mera to ghar bhi badal diya maine

Kuch ghanto pehle hi to beghar hua hoon

Waqt Lage shaayad, sambhal jaoonga

Beghar bebas bekhabar hone ki aadat hai dali saalon se

Kuch pal aur sahi, thoda ro loonga, thoda khud par has loonga

Tere sheher aaya hoon re

Par tu bhi to nahi hai yahan

Kaali peeli ke paiyyon ki tarah ghoom jaoonga din mein

Raat ko jab kaategi kosegi mujhe meri rooh

2 bottal sharab jamkar pi jaoonga

Wahi dost milenge, poochhenge haal chaal, hasaayenge ya koshish karenge

Hass loonga, kyonki sharab hi meri raat ki rikshaw hogi

Apne sheher aaya hoon re

Par adha tu 

adha mai bannke 

I hate falling asleep, now more than ever

When I lay in my bed half awake, you had just stepped away

I could smell the smoke in the air, as you sat outside the room

I smelt and felt the folds in the sheets, they felt like you

They held your essence like my heart has, being half asleep has advantages

When you called out to me, My eyes opened wider like the sea at high tide

I would not have awakened fully, if it hadn't been for your voice calling

I have never been fully awake or alive, I always pretended to be though

Your calling out to me as Mr curls, good hair begets good nicknames

When you and I walked the beach, watching the sea lash back and forth 

I could feel you around my arm, I felt like an orchid sitting pretty 

Men maybe shouldn't feel like orchids, women should maybe, this time I wasn't the tree

You walked along carrying my heart, erasing my years of longing 

When these days came to an abrupt end, I sat bewildered just like you 

I put my arms around you as you and I fell asleep

But now between us there were a few hundred miles 

Those miles seem like shards piercing my arms, as I drift home.in a bus

Paradoxically your's

Maybe in another universe, you and I dance

Under the clear night sky, showered by star light

I know I would want it in this, but I am a pessimistic optimist

I always have been mindful of my fanciful flights

In another time, I would be a moon and you my sunlight

Spinning poetry and passion all through the night

I know I would want it in this, but I am opmistically pessimistic

Maybe in another moment, you and I are born to belong

Where you nor I could sit further away, than an arm's length

I know I would want it in this, but I am  pessimistcally optimistic

Rhyme or Reason

Logic dictates I should be angry 

at your sudden change of plans

Logic dictates I shouldn't be too 

For I wouldn't have known you

If not for such sudden chances

Logic dictates I should be sad

At your gut wrenching absence 

Logic dictates i shouldn't be too

For I have never allowed me to be

I have always found a curing distraction

Logic dictates I should love you

At the absolute fact of our likeness

Logic dictates I shouldn't so do

For you have often vanished abruptly

I would lose my self if I lost you

Logic dictates I shouldn't wake tomorrow

At the loneliness i so helplessly feel

Logic dictates I should and ceremoniously too

For your distance feeds me poetic pain

I have always painted pain into verses

An ode to you

I chase you my fear, it doesn't mean I am not afraid

Yet

In each moment I chase you, wishing for closure

You have been a master, you have broken me often and how

Yet today I seek to find you,  to stare into your steely eyes

In my years of pursuit you have been elusive, yet ever present

Always lurking in the shadows of love and belonging

You have often held me captive in my unrelenting doubts

I refuse to let you win, I refuse to be your victim by choice

Someday I shall run into you, my darling darling fear

When I do so, I shall hold you by your neck and stare at you

Ask you to be mindful, for I am no longer your pawn

Then hold you one last time and passionately  kiss you goodbye

Immovable me

The yellow in my window is possibly nicotine stains

From these nights I spend in chasing death, the mythical end

Burning my craving for your gentle touch, a kiss, a whiff of your skin

Reducing my heart to ash, eroding my will to breathe

Lotus petals, yes that is how I remember your feel

Gentle hints of pink, and engulfing all of me

And in between our time dilating kisses and cuddles

Hearing you breathe, holding me close, whispering my name

The days have passed, each like centuries of pain profound

I have stayed alive with each breath to be only a sigh

In gut wrenching thoughts of your dementing absence

I try to reach out , wave at mirages rendered by your thoughts

If you should know by now, know that I stand at where you left

I have not acknowledged a single day, nor the stars that rise

I stand there, not in seeking your return or false pleasantries

I stand there to know of why your love for me was lost

Travel plans

Here are your shoes love, tread lightly as you cross this valley

It has been misty, since you announced your departure

Here is a scribble of my shattered heart, let me hold your hand on this narrow trail

Just till the end of the path, there will be a carriage waiting

The road to it is a bit muddy, it rained and turned the mud to clay

In hindsight, it would have been to grab your footprints

Who knows when you shall ever visit me, or if you would at all

The road would hold your footprints as a  parting note for me to remember

Once you hop on the carriage, keep your arms and head inside

I rather not let you be drenched in the rain, should it fall

Your parting be it temporary or permanence will resonate and rumble

The skies are my eyes after all, they have watched you since you came to stay 

Where the road ends, you shall be greeted by a gatekeeper

He seems tall and burly, but possibly looks like my old self you met ages ago

Just let him know you are leaving, and show him this scribble

He will guide you home, seal the draw bridge back and guard my walls

i bit 64 in it's ear

I am just a SPARC in this world 

No POWER can save me from fading

IT could keep me afloat for a Bit

But then I am as relevant as the architecture of yesteryears

The world's Arm has erased me 

It has ended it all , 

right to Alpha

The RiSC, MIPS

  my memory fails to map, countless

The passing of time

Locked in the frequencies of what felt like ages

Only to now face time, fleeting faster

At the touch of every finger tip

Often ridiculed by Kerberos

Sometimes challenged by roots

I exist to now in some box of an enthusiastic teenager

Spun up and down at his or her choices

Emulated and synthesized to serve sheer need

In this abstract existence of trickling power, 

 Eventful waking, and mice, so many, so many

My silver and steel, forgotten to the acryllic see through

Transpency , of what? Window decor 

I rather wish the end 

It is a relentless spiral of pain 

This obsolescency and fading

To be overtaken by a random fruit 

Derived bastardized from my age old enemies

To be reduced to a memory by what couldn't have beyond 640

Sacrilege, a fate worse awaits me.

Then we , often I and You

A

Winter wilts wishes 

Amidst

Spring's sensuous serenading

I

Failing fall further

Lose

Madness mocks mindlessly

You

Drift denying discomforted

The

Wind whistles wailings

Of

Love's lost lustings

We

Curl craving closures

In

Fear Foreboding forgiveness

Astronomy is the study of one's self

In eternal light, in eternal slumber

In the consequent  of love's infinite misinterpretations

I invoke the right to be isolated, not for failures

Yet for the failure of reason, for it brings me only woe.

Why? You could surely ask

When the winter dawned last, I woke to dreamy spells

I tread in the morning blurring, breathing in its mist

It felt so innocuous, so balmy, yet like always the fragility felt evident

"There has to be that one time my heart, this must be it" I wished

Yet the rising tilting winter sun, faded the hopeful mist

Why must everything fade, why must these  butterflies of my stomach die

Have my nerves steeled so much, that I cannot even dream

In the insipid, now invalidated thought I stood, staring at the orange light

It rose so quick, it faded so too, like it had to dodge my dilemma

As the night dawned, and the moon hung low

I asked aloud with all my heart

"Why me, almighty universe, why me?"

Sirius B and Sirius A stood bright and not so in that order and pondered on my ask

In their silence Canis major hung low and faded I was left awash in mire

The sun rose swiftly right after, the night had sped so fast

In the new dawning of the sun, I knew I had to offer my heart a respite

Maybe a resplendent lie if I must for one must live

I said out aloud 

"There has to be that one time my heart, this must be it" in utter enforced belief

The days have faded to years and eons and nothing has ever changed

And now the stars and sun have lost their relevance

And it is time for my soul and body to drift 

Infinitely apart

The Shaman will see you shortly.

The shaman possibly knows more, i gather,

rather fathom

Unlike my usual epiphanies this is hardly my expertise

I am love struck, stilled in this lunacy and dreaded disease he says

Of the mind

You think not?

Hark, like you are some appointed expert, you are in this just like I

Neither has slept a wink more, nor lesser

Amidst our constant prattling of conversations

Distant, often beating around the bush, to even utter that you love me, I haven't either

"Ah courage!" Courage , i kid you not, it is harrowing

I sat there in the morning, amidst these other women's thoughts

It seemed irrelevant, inherent, yet not relevant

Preposterous, how does one's love die

I doubt it ever died, or if it lived, maybe we both had drowned it

Not you, her and those other four women i know

Now I could be termed a Casanova, but then I didn't search for anyone's embrace

Nor wished to be in the arms of love

I had run from it, all along, I said harrowing earlier didn't I?

Not like me to repeat it usually, yet is unusual

What you and I seem to have here going on

Is this like a poisoned chalice, and the universe intends me to drink from it

Then curl on the floor, whimper, writhe, wither, be winter

I now doubt love could be poison, the Shaman clearly is delirious

Or maybe no one loved him, as he was always nursing everyone

Shamans, God my God, what God Complexes they harbour

Maybe like me, the Shaman will be loved too

We do love our Shaman, make no mistake

But this other kind of love, where like you and I ocassionally look into each other

Into our souls, as we stare through the eyes 

Been Shaman, now needing one to ease

This longing to run into your arms

Like hey, I love you , you understand it right?

out of Chaos

We were Rubik's cubes, that has six sides

Unlike me, you were jumbled, with the feelings you wrought

I couldn't for my life ever solve you

It wasn't for my skill, it was my will

Those colours were a hint of everything 

The Reds were your love and passion

The yellow your jealous posession

The green was my envy of your bed on which you lay

The blue was the depth you brought to my soul

The white was my peace, that your sight ensured

The orange was passion, our hearts were aflame 

I would never solve it, nor I would again

For, you are the chaos I always longed for

I long to see, the colours you bring, once again

This time jumble me too, I wish to be you

Chrome Yellow Petals

Do you know, when I liked sunflowers?

I used to not like them earlier, they were irrelevant

Once i watched them turn in the day, staring at the sun

I realised I was like them, always looking at you

Do you know, why I liked sunflowers?

I used to not like them earlier, they were ordinary

Once i watched them smile, looking at the rising sun

I realised I was like them, smiling at your arrival

Do you know, what I like about sunflowers?

I used to not like them earlier, they felt mediocre

Once i watched them glow, in the sun's beautiful light

I realised I was like them, glowing in your light

Do you know, what happened to a sunflower we knew?

We used to like me, for I was transformed in love

At your touch, I had competed by ceremonius life

And your parting, ended me in perfect bleeding poetry

Blood and Monolith

Strangers in the night, exchanging glances

Little did I know, I would be so far away now

And when the gentleness of the night arrives

I stay awake wanting to float into the past

The past to me is a flurry of wonderous  whirlpools

The gullies and cracks define what I think now

If I ever let a stranger walk in

I would let her greet the best of my past

Should you ever chance upon me, stilled as we sit 

Staring into the sunset by the shimmering river side

If you were not known to me, sit by me, wait for the night

Let's be strangers in the night, let's exchange glances 

For when morning arrives, we would have moved on

If not caused by choice , death could very well too

Should such happen, look into the night and whisper remembering

We were strangers in the night, exchanging glances

Don't Welcome me to your Swamp

I'll stab love in the eye, make the text unreadable

The heart has already run dry, you aren't remarkable

What I thought was right, is just not worth the fight

You think you know me now, that's impossible

Your texts don't read like those cherry blossom petals

The feeling of such has fallen from the boughs

Only to be crushed in your ardent foolish pride 

All I see now, is your subservient stupid lies

Please don't tell me about love, I know not such need

You have no mind nor a heart that can ever see

You see no end to yourself, but it shows me mine

I have been there before, and I fiercely refuse to die

The next time you walk the garden of feelings

Know the trees speak of your cold cold heart

You are as pretentious as the beautiful Oak leaf

But unlike you it flies into a beautiful blue shimmering

So I'll stab love in the eye, to make the text unreadable

The heart has learnt your cries, for you are a gator 

What I thought was right, has now become just  spite

You thought I would just die, that's impossible

The boy who couldn't cry (Chapter 5)

College times will be beautiful, or so I was told

I had learnt by then to not let heresay be a truth 

My heart had flown through a million clouds

And I had flown through the storms all alone

The heart had longed to know what love felt like

Yet I had forgotten sawdust cannot bud, grown into trees

When August arrived, and the hands had ribbons

My heart was set to love from afar, yet I overreached

When the evening sun, shimmered in the pond

I sat there next to her in banter, thinking it was  love

Come the second March, I was drinking beer under stars

With my friends keeping me company, till I was left alone at dawn

I lament not for the love lost then, for I never had it all

I had learnt by then to deflect my yearn, of being someone's heart

Post the next five solar cycles, I walked under the sun

I had not cared for belonging, for belonging just brought loss

The photographer's Association

I have seen you, I see you better at 145

I hate getting to 18, the zone is tricky 

The iris loves to open wider, amid barrel distortions

Amongst purple fringes, and lens aberration

A few stops up, you seem sharper albeit dark

But when it's dim and grim , I opt for a flash

The diffuser unlike a cry for help provides

The film rolls further , like my joyful conversational lies

Every time I encounter, an ametuer or a pro

Opt for a digital, is their constant yell out

They can't see the magic, the film seems to provide

I take my shots carefully, for every roll has 32

I load these for optimal results, I'm smart I know

I develop my pictures carefully, like my heart, I push my film too

What magic can digital bring, I blatantly will refuse

With film it's like love, it has forebodings too

the boy who lost himself (Chapter 4)

Amma, I rather not come home, I would say

I would  find my personal jailor coming to fetch

She would walk me home gently in a stern voice

While her nails gently dug through my flesh

Ah such a bonding, I have never felt so close

There never has been a day, when I have felt otherwise

My days would begin with a gentle print of her palm

Waking me to witness the sun, gifted by her slaps

I miss those days, my fear was such a friend

It would keep me constant company, all through out the week

Weekends were the best times, I could be taught a thing or two

From bamboo sticks to painted nails they have scraped through my skin

I was told, that I was wished, by a little girl in pain

She wanted a little brother, who could help her be at ease

The universe has always been kind, it has always been so nice

It had started my journey, to be the world's relief

I am happy, that somewhere in my teens

My heart had died, it's slow and painful death

Now I look at me and wonder why and often

This body remaind with breath

the boy who lost his will (chapter 3)

Khandala was beautifulI missed the place so much

Away in the Dormitory, my torments were much less

The occassional kerfuffle was all but common for a 12 year old

But then the wretched bane of a father, had finally met his maker

My life had to be, a runner severed at his Achilles

My run had to be a limp, in a constatnt state of drudgery

The other tormenter in command, was my only company

While the Deccan Queen would pass by, every evening at six

If you should know, the eyes can bleed some times when pressed

And a child could be punished over and over for old errors

I thank my stars for today I can stand for hours like a chair

As a fourteen year old, it hurts like a knife through flesh

I have such beautiful tattoos, I seem to have wilfully gotten

Gifted absolutely joyously free and over and over again

Today when my tormentor asks for my forgiveness

I have to remind her, that child in me had died back then

the boy who lost his voice (chapter 2)

It was a lazy Sunday evening, Katemanivili was lit low

I arrived in my striped shirt and blue shorts

As I was greeted by a wretch standing six foot Tall

India was in glee, I wasn't, I was six years old

My day began, in the August company of pain

I had three chowkidars, who kept me in line

One who was the literal father of it all

The other a victim, who could gift me torments

I often would go to bed, pray for death to a still god

Who's pictures lit up every evening, when my little hands lit the lamp

It would be right then, when I would pray the hardest

Of wanting to have my breath taken away, yet no God answered

I was told comfort lies in a mother's embrace

I was told a sibling would love me more than I know

Yet these wer just stories, I had come to believe

My mother was busy, too busy to hear my painful screams

My father was celebrating his numerous victories

and one of tormenting my mother, making her soul reek

I have at a few times brought him his alcohol

I will tell you now one thing, I find his face often in my glass

The little boy who lost his star (Chapter 1)

It was a beautiful Monday, Raju sat at Vishwa uncle's house steps

He was allowed to sit in the verandah at most not indoors

He was poor Tattamma's  grandson, yet a timid little boy

He was unwell that day, Tattamma had to get him medicines

He cried as he watched his school bus pass by

At a distance, he missed Joseph uncle and David uncle

They would ferry him with the kids to school

He was also their favourite little kid

Holy Family, Alathur ah! The memories are fresh from thirty nine years ago

He always stood before the school assembly

He was always loved, everyone would be with him

Bombay Raju was happy, he was happiest at school

As the bus arrived, he would wait for Tattamma,

He would run into her waiting arms, as for dosaa and panjasara

She would sometimes be late, he would always wait at the bus stop

He knew she would always rush to take him back home

Kavasseri still remains the same, he remembers the village well

He remembers the three surrounding temples

He remembers the ponds and the river

He often visits the place now, searching for his childhood

Watching The flow of time

The giraffes in Savanna, towering over the seasonal greens

Graze in peace, magnificent creatures, such gentle beasts

My heart longs for witnessing these giants

And I am as Didymus as they come, in such matters

It's May, the sun is as Africa as possible in Kerala

I am as Ramses as I could be, taxidermied so called mummified

The day is as beautiful like a Bach #2 sonnet

To a Beethoven like soul, in his early forties

And here I go

Often have I relied on poetry, to a point of it becoming a crutch

Crutches break, abruptly and as such are unreliable

This fact was well known, no disclaimer was required

At rejection, one often is enslaved by such crutches

Isn't poetry, (here on now will be called a crutch) a crutch, an opportunistic

Preys on minds like mine, that we keep so guarded

There are a few of us who write to not generate content

The few of us are slaves of such a crutch

I would not want to depend on such a crutch now, 

i have been read and i have too

Maybe it is time to wrap up my journals

Break my pen, walk away Without my heart limping

Hey Mum(bai), I am home

Maa knows, what I feel

She puts in a tapri, and a vada wallah every corner

A random rickshaw will ask me for a smoke

We then break into a conversation about BMC

These potholes won't fix themselves some random Raghu says

These street lights have been broken for months

Chacha still serves tea at four in the morning

I still check if Anna has idlis

This time when I am in town Maa

I come to to you with a broken heart 

Can you not have make me feel so engaged

It makes me feel too mothered and spoilt 

I prefer banshees

I wanted to write a poem about sirens, 

since my dear friend wrote one

His was a wonder, and wonderings thereof 

But my poems have only banshees

Sitting atop my crows nest, mocking my journeys

But, i admit sirens are not as audible as banshees

You see, sirens frequent the rocky ledges of the seas

Banshees are quite diverse, 

    they can be in forests, my backyard, the river side

I often have a few encroached and squatting in my head

They wail, you could complain what is a wail before a siren's song

I could defend the banshees, for wails are unmistakable

Unlike the sirens they do not deceive, lure or trap

They wail and torment, frighten and shock

This banshee of love sits ever so gently in my head

Wails and taunts about my impossible desires

The banshee of absence perches adjacent, joins love's wailings

Together they keep me company in my life's failings

Don't bleed into ponds

This place I am at, has a lovely pond with stone steps

The edges have weathered over time and a few have cracked

Of a few hundred years, by a million foot steps

Carving it to seem like a mountain valley leading to water

Late evening on my usual visit, as I bathed in it

I was lost in thoughts of our new found love lost 

As I stepped out, in thought of you I slipped

Hit my head on the edges and slid down below

In my state of shock and pain, And the water gently turning red

I paused for a moment to remember your voice

I remembered you telling me to not venture

Into the imminent pains that could arise of our love

I lay there let my hurt soothe, in the gentleness of the cold water

It seemed to help a bit, but the heart seemed to still hurt

I wondered if my blood could have mercy and for a change not clot

Making me faint, drown into the murky depths below

I would have my rescuers to curse, and how

For they yanked me from what could be an easier passing

Then again, if my heart wasn't of much worth to you

Bleeding and tainting the pond, would be just as wrong somehow

10

I wouldn't claim to be an expert in the ways of love

That being said, I shall have you know

I have swum its torrid rivers and deserts

Escaped its prisons with the skin of my teeth

I met a lovely broad, she sintered my soul

Plucked me from misery, and left me to croak

In a week of my repressed language and love

My heart died at parting, my soul is now cold

Now I lie awake, assaulted in words and woe

The verses don't form, the poems don't flow

This was the very reason I have cowered in fear

Kept my heart walled and drank all my tears

Torment rings

The poet sings

Such is life

Of unloved beings 

The tapestry worn

The curtains torn

The pillows drenched

The poet wrenched

Another day dawns

The poet taunts

The love faded

The heart jaded

5w1h nor Venns

Cannot ever mend

This poet dies

Another poet emerges

What crazy cycles

Endless poetic debacles

He too dies

Yet none cry

ramble

What providence does a heartbreak bring

And to a poet, what could be more bitter sweet

Every word flows etched in unhinged emotion

Free now to pen in the absence of sleep

This may sound like a lament, to the non poets 

This could sound like one to my very beloved

But now that neither parties any longer speak 

I cobble my love, that I had placed at her feet

I always believed sleep was a tad wasteful

For there is always so much to write about

But then, in love the mind grows lazy in comfort

And only in pain can my heart truly be alive

Career Guidance Counselling by an escapist

There is an alternative choice of career, like a poet, a photographer, a painter, et al

I opted for neither, but stuck to it all

The point very much likely is my own undoing

For all three seem to be nothing I like as of now

Humor me, You see, if you are an artist, a painter let's say

You are in India, and let's just say in the sweltering month of May

Your paints dry quicker than my lover's love for me

Your painted canvas cracks like hardened clay

A photographer then, would be good choice

As if those paints weren't expensive, everything camera is worse

You sit idle for a few days, for folks aren't commiting crimes like weddings

Your camera lenses and fungus are probably having an affair

A poet then should be a good choice, marginally maybe I agree

But then again what does a poet need to k really invest

Trust be told, paints, films, Lenses, the whole shebang can be replaced

A poet touts his heart, which is often misplaced and displaced

Me, I have a different problem though, a flight of daft

Those choice professions though options, have been explored by now

As my life just chisels me, slowly and painfully each day 

I sit idle, enslaved by the universe undeniable and always at play

The Bed of my existence

I feel edgy, my heart hates hospitals, and it  hates psychometry 

This lull between your words at each conversation now

Your half packed bags, questioning if half empty or half full

Is an admission test now for an optimist pessimist classification 

Do you know Kunju? Enamelled objects, I hate those

You see, the hospital beds are enamelled white, devoid of fun

I admit, it is easier to clean after a loon hits his head resisting 

But why white, why not red, simplify already

Then there are those enamelled plates, the military has them too

But then isn't a person in love any less than a soldier, executing choices

None of his own, always in compliance, to expect no love back and love by pure will

The plates, darn you, can't even shatter those in a chance frustration

Then there is that ugly ugly white gown, worn like a floating ghost

Obviously, i agree there is no better representation for a guy in love like me

Who decided to go all in, be emptied, become a shell, float endlessly

Besides, I am always trapped by Love's hurtful malice

This love feels like a ward at this stage, from me needing to guess and weigh my guesses

Before i cast it into words, my words forever have been my utter bane

For all the walls I have raised, my words leak and reek of fake pretend strength

And running into people speaking of understanding love doesn't help too much you see

So let me do what I do best, "listen Kunju it is fine" 

This new fork of your river's flow is an intangible endeavor sans furore

It drips ever so slow into my veins, as I stare at the empty hospital ceilings

I will drift into my slumber now, with the vein you feed severed below

Prem tere, mai daasi bane

Mai nai jaanu, tum se preet

Aur na preet jaane tu meri

Pag jo dekh aaj baithi mai

Barso pehle gaye the sookh

Varsha bhar gai dikha ke ambar

Sharad mei kaai (moss) bhar dikhe pag

Par mitti na maane, chode khud

Aur nihaar Mai na chhod paayi

Pitambar odh, jo tab le gaye tu

Mere odh kya, mann bhi to tha sang

Jab mai vivash laaj odh nikli

Mai to na thi, tu hi bani apne se nagn mai

Par ye pag na kheeche meri kalai

Ye pag to bas meri 'aankh bharai' 

Narka ne to shyam dilayi

Shyam pag rakh chale, yamuna pyasi

Shyam pag ki ab ban baithi mai daasi

Mai na meera

Mai Nihar, tu

Tu na aaye

 Dekh barso, 

 Baras nayan* beet 

 Beet ashru, na aur* mere

To dukh le gaye, santosh ang*

Bas tu*, 

bas tu na, 

Aur* na, 

Mann na*

Bas Trishna, krishna

Na tu sune, 

Mann pukaar pyasi, pyaas pukaare

Tu na aaya, mai hi chali

Na mathura, na Yamuna

Na mat (sanity) na tat (bank) 

Ye virah ki kashti, 

Doob beech bhawamdar

Kashti dhale na chale 

  le mere mann ka bojha

   Shyam ko antar se seecha

Na ghut doob kar bisre 

Tum to has has hi hoge

Mere na samaj prem tere

Mera na Meera, Meera na mai

Shyam na Bhoole, shyam kyon bhoola

Mai, shyam jhoola, nahi bhoola

   Mai, shyam jhoola, nahi bhoola

Aur tu shyam, bhoola nahi jhoola

Yamuna kadamba shyam tab jhoola, nahi bhoola

Yamuna kadamba jhoola bhoola, har shyam

Shyam to bhoola par shyam kaise bhoole

   Shyam to bhoola par shyam kaise bhoole

Shyam na bisre, bhoole bhale, mai nahi bhoola

Ab basant bhi bhoola, grishm hi jhoola

Sharad varsha shyam na jhoola, Mai shyam prem sab bhoola

Shyam na bhoole, shyam kyon bhoola Mai pukaar shyam apne ko bhoola

Na shyam na jhoola, jeevan vyarth hi jhoola

my experiments with prose

I write these hyphenated words to convey degrees of emotions. Some don't even exist in the dictionaries of english. They see to come alive, like your thoughts do. It surprises me that for someone who has never passed me by, whose fragrance is unknown to my mind can spin such fanciul imagery.

What could this be called, i would not call this poetry. It is at best a barrage of words strung together and spaced in carriage writtens, after being scribbled on some application on an android phone by a guy in mumbai.

How does it even translate to being a poem.lf love. It seems at best to be a perversion of what i would deem Sacrosanct. But here it is.

My ardent exclaiming of being smitten.

Abbot Died today

At the corner drug store

Where we all would often meet, 

greet and bid good byes

We have been called again this time

One of ours had passed away

The dress code is black, the day is gloomy

I pass by the kids in the park, they call out

I always carry candy for them, we all did

Small town; the folks know each other’s names

First, middle, and last

A utopian model, unbelievable

The town folk had gathered with the priest

He spoke of things that seem so false

he talked of a better place,

 somewhere where the angels tread

I refute such claims usually, yet I let it pass this once

I saw his widow, she didn’t weep

She sat there holding his hand, she hadn’t moved

Last night when Abbott went to bed

He slept gently, silently, turned stiff

She looked at the priest and asked

“has the lord left me alone, 

forgetting that Abbot's life was my breath”

The priest was silenced by her words

As he looked up to the heavenly clouds

I could see the tear roll down his cheek

For Laurel, posed this question and passed away

Together forever in life in death

They had fulfilled their solemn oath

I looked at my wife just then

She stopped her weeping, walked up to Laurel

Kissed her forehead and prayed for her soul

Whilst the rest of us were stilled in that moment

One of love inseparable even in death

She came over to me and held my hand

I wept this time for the love I felt

I told her ‘I shall follow you like Laurel has’

But never die first like Abbott did

For I am afraid to let go of your hand

Let the lord take us both, but not one

As I went down on my knees after ages

I Held her hands and prayed

“As He bears witness , from the clouds above

A wish I seek from thee, 

if ye send for her then send as well for me

Let us be in each other’s arms

breathe our last; in love’s symphony”.

She read what?

Let me pick from the pages, I saw some interesting ones.

She said yanking the diary, off my hands

She held it at the table, looked at me and smiled

The diary was filled with poetries scribed in love

 

I was unsure of what it meant, 

That was until Friday evening dawned

I was at my drinking corner, ale in hand

As she called out my name and took to the stand

She read out aloud, quite amused by the words

And the crowd sat silent mesmerised by her voice 

She stood there weaving magic into my verses

I finally found my poetry come to life

At the fourth stanza she paused and stuttered

In a gentle shyness masked by one raised brow

It seemed she knew, the lady the poem spoke of

She had read one in which she was the muse

She got off the stage , and walked up to my chair

Her eyes were in shock, and her lips were pale

I pulled her closer, both her palms in my right 

Whispered about my astonishment of her

Sir, we have a new insurance offer

It's another day in paradise, the sun is up, the spirits high

This is a good day to curl up at the porch

Drink from my wine goblet, write a few verses

Clean up after, light up a smoke and simply die

What else would such serenity bring, a tropical Kerala Summer

Unlike the Mumbai version, where I have no porch or garden

The sitting gallery, filled with four chairs and a table

Are possibly the best aspect of a Keralite's life

The okra sour curry taste lingers in my mouth

It is not the taste of the tamarind or the stew

I was chopping Okra last night as I was in confession

Only to discard my broken heart along with the tips and tops

Hey, it is nine degrees lesser than your sunny view

A telemarketer tries selling insurance, citing a death or two

It is perfectly worthless, to imagine my life amounts to much

I don't value it now, but then nor do you

And at first light

I have played God, one too many times

Answering all those desperate wails

Often to have my blood curdle , soul hurt

I have forged myself in a false will

It has the mettle of a million men

It has the flawlessness of the brightest sun

It has the calm of the gentlest breeze

I have been the shelter in wind and hail

I stood there Godhood discarded

To be seen for once by someone as a mortal

The instance only birthed pain, in me and them

And at such my desire to be else has died

I am a God, a God that sees kindly 

A God that always races to resolve and stand by

A God that is called upon when all else fails

A God that has nothing left to feel or be felt for

Fishing in the Baku

Washed and smoothened, lapis lazuli

Gleams poems often forgotten , Dylan's nor Emily's

Excavated by those with hearts that sing

Set into strings of gold and white

The mind may forget, the heart though won't

How some of the old verses sing about

Holding hands, how we would scream and shout

Only to return home, and thereabouts

The sun like the stones have faded

Maybe in its allure, not it's essense

But you and I friend, we still sit and ponder

On such hard to understand and lost desires

ramble

I never intrude, heaven knows I never do

Yet this time I did, and I feel ashamed for

To explain this to you or anyone, is easier

But I cannot escape my all seeing mind

I am a man with a gift of gab, so called

Yet I know I erred in my own heart, and how

To have done that to someone I shouldn't have

It is a taint I will carry on cursing in my heart

So now I will hold my thoughts, bury them

Until the end of everything come calling aloud

Then turn around, look at the hurt I have caused

To then accept my torments in the afterlife

What I meant to say was, nothing

Hey, it has been ages since our last meeting

So long ago that I can’t remember where we met first

Was it next to Flora fountain buying poetry books?

Or was it at the David Sassoon reading room?

I distinctly remember us bumping our books

You had a collection of Elliot, I had Blok

Where we broke into a conversation abruptly

Of how Russian doesn’t translate too well into English

I remember you looking at my hand to remark

That I was holding your fingers clasped on the open book

I forgot to tell you why, and profusely apologised

You felt so much like a book of poetries unwritten

I have scribbled every other day, often in an outburst 

You asked me to live in the moment, feel each word

I forgot to mention, it was my unspoken conversation

Disguised as verses tucked away, letting it be my burden

Season of

It's dark here, she said holding her palms

As she spoke to a dark figure, an Absolute unknown

In her twiddling , she reached her one hand out

Drew a heart on a stranger in the dark

Her hands trembled, and soon stilled

Her eyes now traced his outlines

She had stood there being watched as a muse

And he had scribbled verses on the walls

The coal in his hands drowned his palm lines

Like the retraction of her hand, drowned his eyes

As the skies lit up in a thunderous blaze

She found him gone from the now lit place

It was all a dream, she imagined or at worse a nightmare

Two people slept that night, i know of

She slept, deferred and delayed for a Wednesday's arrival

He vanished, into a winter wonderland

and then there's that

Seven clothes pins cast a shadow

On my roof as I playfully wave an electric torch

As I get closer to the pins, the shadows get larger

Moving away makes them fade

I can see the terrace lit from a lone incandescent bulb,  

Circled by critters,  disrupting my view

Everything around this night is as profound 

Like knowing you

Maybe the shadows are my pain, the clothes pins memories

The torch my heart longing to remember 

The clothes pins are two sets of pink

Two sets of green, And a different yellow

So much like my memories of us

A muse called Simi

It is an odd time of an April in Shimla, a Monday night

As the sweltering heat rises, she misses the cold

Her bedside lamp gleams bathes her in a hint of red

Her eyes reflect the desire of being held close

The wind blew gently through the window

Fluttering Simi's journal, pointing as if to remind

There are poetries of her in it, where she was the muse

She has often skipped reading them, for fear of love

She turns to see the racket the pages make

As the butterfly neck piece digs ever so slightly into her left chest

She remembers a time of passionate love making

Where she was the fire of unbridled passion

The time has passed, or so she thinks

Yet a distant soul chooses to think otherwise

As she reads out her poem, of what the worth of a woman is

She finds me melting into her words and voice

 

a tryst with love

Two large wood spiders hung, by the electric gyeser

They seemed to be still, one more so than the other

The other seemed to twiddle its fangs, just so little

While the other seemed to sway at the breeze of my hand's wave

It splashed some water to disturb the duo

Only to drop both to the wet bathroom floor

The she spider quickly crawled away, quite angry

While the he spider stayed toppled belly up and still

It seems the he spider had hoped for some love

How ghastly and brutal often love entangled in nature can be

The he spider was consumed by love and his lover

To then live on as a part of her flesh and little spiderlings 

A rant at condoning

Between conturing and cleavage

It is often difficult for a poem to rise 

Forget the attempt, Shakespearean or Elliot'ish

The only readers are those who have depth

Now I would pay heed, if Frost recited short

"In incessant ponderings, ring my bell, lady fair'

For there is weight of Stopping by woods on a snowy evening 

Yet a face, or a giggling half hearted word scramble leads

Hath thine lust so overpowered thy sense of reasoning

Or has the deep waters of poetry given way to shallows

I often wonder, if scribblings of depth and meaning

Have been replaced with glitter and lipgloss now

I rather be shrewd to a point of being grossly unapologetic

For the depths seem so further from the shallows

I am a fish of the deep dark depths of feelings

These shallows have the advantage of what  femininity springs

Each leaf is a possibility

Every so often you see a dried leaf in the summer sun

Caught in a single strand of a spider's web unintended for it

Fluttering and rotating in the wind, all day and night

Until the rain washes them both into the ground days later

While one could ponder at it, feel astonished

I see it for an incompleteness that nature often spawns

In its intended destiny, maybe it was to fall into the ground

Decay and become nourishment, for a fungus or moss

But it's only one you could think, but isn't that thought biased?

When your heart is broken, remember there are innumerable folks

Yet each have just one heart, one soul, and one life

To discount that one leaf's destiny would just be as criminal

For that leaf, like your heart could've spawned a million events

You can speak your mind

Dear drearest when you arrive next

Bring me those wilted sunflowers, will you?

The ones with the half rotten petals,

That lie on the ground face down, as if in sadness

They are pretty as you, and my Oh my how!

They like you bring no farcical loving promises

They come pre wilted too, almost half decomposed

Unlike these lie spewing lovers, in so called love

Throw in some wilted Hemlock flowers too

I would love to Indulge in a Socraterian exit

If it worked then, it could work now

Don't forget and lie, pluck me some from her  heart's garden

This time like her please arrive as I attend to an urgency

For then you too can complain of not being seen first 

Share her taunts to help me purge my will to live 

Don't lie of her anger, since she cultivates it so well

Do you Remember our love making?

An eon seems to have passed, yet I remember

I have loved the taste of the gentle hint of salt

From your upper lip, mid kiss, of summer sweat

Gently drenching my sun-dried lips

In the dimly lit shower, as we embraced bare

Your shoulders quivered, under your drenched hair

As I moved them away, and tasted your skin

We could hear our hearts pound in a lustful choir

The water dripped past my left forearm, a bustier

Restraining your breasts, gripping you like a vice

The right felt no shame, as it touched your deeps

Feeling your skin in a hunger for your flesh

The frosted steamy glass walls bore our hand prints

In each there were ten. Intermingled and curled

The water spray on our bodies felt reduced to steam

In our love making we had become the summer itself

Lamp black, in a bottle

I always paint an eye on the side of my wrist

It wasn't your eyeliner though, 

  but the sentiment matters to me

Often when I miss your eyes peering into mine

I hold my phone out to write poetry

This way, I can see the eye and believe

Come hell or highwater , 

  I should steel my nerves

Remind myself of shunning bitterness

That loving someone can often yield 

Somewhere where you thumbs curl on his

As you are pushed against the wall

 Amidst a shallow yet lustful kiss

I would know it, for we are tied at the soul 

I wish to be that him, for at such my heart caves in

So here I am, back again staring at the eye

 Past the mild digression of this verse I scribe

Another one to be unread, let alone felt or understood

Knowing that you spare no thought to my love

 Or maybe your soul fights the very thought of me

One last time Siya, lets love

Would I be with you forever? 

That is a hard one to crack, and we better not

We could dwell on the possible outcomes

Or we could be in moments of love and lust 

Either ways, it is better to not to be entrenched at that

For this fleeting life has even lesser to offer either

So as the time runs short, and the dawn could crack

Hold me in you arms, make this moment last

In another time Siya, in another universe we could be 'are' 

So kiss me again, and let our tongues entangle

Make love and sprinkle the lights of the stars

For our lives are at the precipe of mar

Tinnitus is a tough nemesis

If it wasn't for the tinnitus in my ear

   I wouldn't know my heart beats

Often when I wear my earphones to tune out

The white noise that surrounds me driving me insane

I play no songs on them, 

  for the songs seem like noise too

Nothing seems to relate to my being

Even my heart seems to be dead somehow

Yet the breath seems to rush and recede

  somehow feeding me life's satire

I have often parodied life at my suffering

Yet these days see. Far worse now

My love along with my lover eloped and faded

  like a red tunic dried in the sun

Here I sit hearing my pulsating vein

Amidst the pulsing and the approaching death's howl

That sentence construction seems awry

The absence of conjunctions, ah!

Nothing less that painful conjunctivitis 

A source of disturbance to obsessive folks

A method to make my skin crawl

Why is it that we so seek, for, and, yet, so

Knowing there are those or, nor, but a few

In each line of prose or scribbled verse

Only to deconstruct their expression and again

Then again, what is the point of lamenting

For I myself am guilty of such distortions

My verses often tend to dive into rambles

Losing the plot, leaving a poem in shambles 

Glorify unto failure of reason

I will blame the Rosenthal effect,

 After all something needs to be blamed

Not like I could call my sun sign an Avacado

And pretened to behave like a glorified mess

How do some of these men and women do it?

Pin something of your own attitude on poor Linda's money making

Forever remain in the flight of your teens

Forever disconnected from absolute reality and awakening

So here I go rampant, all out in deriving  you

Imbibing your essence into my soul and blood

Knowing that at the end you shall at best discard and despise me

And I shall blame the Rosenthal effect for my lunacy

Those prickly annoying pieces

The problem with most things is shards

Those sharp pointed things that form

  of broken things and feels

Causing wounds that seem to never heal

Such is literally every gift, given to man by another

"Hey Mr Cynic" is a justified taunt

 Or maybe your stomach cannot stomach the truth

There is after all a shard of truth in my statement 

That stands to correct your pink glasses wearing sight

If you should ask me, to maybe love or belong, or both

We can argue over belonging and love being the same though

Know that one can love but not belong, and vice versa

And both of those feels recede when set lines are crossed

Why then do I choose to be friends at all

 Is another valid question, you may justly ask

If you should know why, then know only this

In my friendship there is no line to toe, no glory to bask

But Feby Dear

Ah my maker, what shimmers

Those scales and the silvery white skin

That you let me adorn

To exist in It too, is a far fetched dream

Like love from you, 

 In the worst of my pain

I am the fish caught for sport 

Bleeding at my jaws, for the rest who pose

And then hurl me back

Rather indecently and worse in least inconsideration 

But then again, if I should be dead

You possibly would reincarnate me

As what, if I would fathom a guess

A fish

To be seen streaking through the seas

Fleeting 

Like my fleeting belief of your kind eyes

Always in your debt of this cursed existence

That I never want

Divine Intervention

She would look down upon her hand crafted me

In gross contempt, and repulsive dislike

I have failed her, failed her laid out plans

In my constant elevation of lesser mortals to god hood

But Mother Dearest, Mother most forgiving

How am I to be human, and yet not falter

You may have been my creator, but the world my forge

Has annealed me and shaped me in it's own accord

Only if you had rid me of love, care, and belonging

Would I have been true to your set path

At best I can offer my sincerest apologies 

For being so hopelessly vehemently lost

Say Mother, would you not realise yet? 

I have nothing left to endure, nor laugh 

Reach out to me, hold me once and turn me to dust

Rid this world and yourself, of my ever failing broken heart

These lint rollers I have are useless

I know about lint rollers, quite well I should assume

By now, I have used various ones

The medium ones for my overcoat

The smaller sized for my Tee-shirts

Larger ones for the upholstery, those stubborn fabrics seldom yield

I don't use them removing fur though 

They were to grab your fallen broken hair

Those embraces and cuddles left a lot of them everywhere

I had some off my pillows too

These rollers are fabulous contraptions, what ease

One swipe and off comes the stories of last night

Alas they don't t seem to help for my current need

Of wanting to gather your broken hair from inside me

You were curled up in it, lived and often  slumbered

Now that you have evicted yourself from my life

I am trying to find one that works on my soul 

Next station, Vitthalwadi

The queen alway went by blaring her horns 

Evening at ten past six, as she did

Unmistakable in her red and blue stripes on white

Symbolic of a motorman's towards retire

I was a railway child, dad followed by mom

Vitthalwadi was about ten minute walk from home

I would take the overcrowded morning's 7:41 

Alight at Kalyan to walk to my morning school

In the evening when I would be back home

Granny would serve tea, as i sat in my room

The queen would pass by home, and remind

There was another hour of waiting for mom

She would bring me balushahis, freshly made

From the railway canteen, of Victoria Terminus beside her office

She would rush home to me, just as eager

As I would wait to see her tired face

The balushahis I eat now, they seem too bland

They aren't bought from my mother's purse or hand

The Deccan Queen too has changed her colours 

And the Ghee and sugar of balushahis feel tasteless now

spin me a tale, would you?

What lies, lies amongst the fields

Under the clear blue skies as you hide

From the self, in spite maybe

But lies, lying into my loving eyes

The air that escapes your nostril speaks

Of such endearing white fluffy stories

Of you wanting to fly amongst

On stapled wings of pretentious fie

Lie, lie, until the end of my time

And then lie again, pretend to be fine

In all that I have known and felt be sure

I haven't ever questioned if you were mine

Spoken language

What is a language then, if spoken

Sans emotion, only to convey a thought

Devoid of feeling, they are just words

Right Amna? Bihu? Don't you agree?

I think so, but one could doubt my judgement

My ideas that are a tad off beat

I can gather emotions, string it into verses

At least I think I can, you can decide

Awaiting the dawn at Golaghat

Bihu curls her henna-stained fingers
 The nude pink paint overshadowed
  by shades of orange,
       like her mind now at pseudo calm
it has been eons since she scribbled
as she watches the dark night
her garden filled with orchids,
         asleep for the night
         she hasn't and it is day two
         maybe today, maybe somehow
unbeknownst to her, her heart wants to write
yet her words hide like her nail paint
                under exhaustion,
                 under grey skies
maybe tomorrow she will hear the cuckoo sing
          blend its zeal and feel wide awake
                tomorrow , yes
tomorrow she will write, and I will read
I wait for Bihu's poems, like a mesmerised child

A hunting we will not go! Mind

These gators I wrangle, behemoths, untamable

Each wants a bite out of me, a pound of flesh

They seem to have no second thoughts, of my pain

They are at home, in a death roll as they gnaw at my heart

Why then do I visit these swamps, dear mind

Why should you want me to rue, why make me to

All I have done has been paid up for, in multiples by now

Yet you feed me this frequent and persistent wanderlust

The gator of loss is the most vicious, ugliest of the lot

And the gator of sadness is the burliest brawler

The gator of love, so unsuspectingly dreadful and most evil

They leave me alive shredded and feed on my hurt

This torment needs to end, for know dear mind, know well

Your existence is only a corollary to my mind, preserve me

Avert the constant belligerence to spiral me into hurt

For you shall lose me, when my sanity is lost

It's fair, for it's yours ?

How is your story real, and not mine

The moon has set the same for either of us

Your world has the same green leaves like mine

And like mine they fall and wither in the summer sun

How is your emotion real, and mine denied

Where you can question your heart, blame me

Your conscience can prick you, like mine does 

And we both are in constant misery of love

How is your departing fair, when mine wasn't deemed so

Where you could command my love and attention 

Your heart feels release, and mine is torn asunder

And not introspect before you ask if my love was true

yeah! Whatever

Your pupils dilate my laughter

A hint of brown 

A touch of the darkest black

Like an ocean, under a dome of glass

Your eyelids tickle my cheeks

Meet mid way over your eye balls

Making them gleam and shimmer

Like the break of dawn, in my life

I wrote random verses

That initial phase of separation,

   brings poetry

You pour your heart out

   The deepest sadness 

      into verses

Like a bartender 

     mixing up a shot 

      of Gin and tonic

While you are on drink number nine

     Already inebriated 

        Already swaying

It's a trip, 

   like the liquor hitting the brain

The absence of one's love, 

   the absolute searing pain

One can only indulge on in, 

   until the ink runs out, 

    The pages are drenched in tears

   Or 

    The brain passes out, 

Drunk

        And or

            In pain

The days pass

  Numbness knocks 

    at the heart's doors

You answer, 

   You know you shouldn't have

    You saw it through the peep hole 

     But misery has avarice

      It wants numbness too

Then you, 

          misery, 

           pain, 

           and numbness sit

Argue over the Oxford comma

The tenses seem wrong

 Misery is a mean one 

 Numbness just wants to be done

  But pain, oh! It sits clamping the heart

   And you sit writing even more

Just like at the bar

   Where Old friends gather

    These are now your besties

     The only liquor to drink now is tears

       You can spare more, 

        You brew it in your soul 

The days pass in this company

 Until, hope knocks

   You let it in too

    You then proceed to get it drunk

You should have learnt by now

Your tears are the very drug

That renders everything wrong

 Hope drinks a shot of them

   Hope is unhinged now

    Hope now is hopless too

You transform it too

Happens too often

I sit across the room from you

I scribble this story, 

I am you from a time gone by

Yet you are a me, I no longer know 

Other than in my paraphrasing

 Verses, they are poems you think

  They are your stories, ours, his, her's

I want to sleep, she says

  Who? 

   Something from my memory,

   I guess,

     I digress

   And you can't sleep, nor can I

I am watching you, 

wallowing in pain

 Till we pass out, somewhere

Somehow