Smart Buy

My spanners shine, like they were on the day they were bought

a set of five, dual heads joined at the center

I was sensible to get mine a tad angled, most forget that

those that do end up scraping their knuckles at every turn

but do you know why these are so shiny and clean?

they have been kept in a box, protected, covered safely

and I was smarter to buy two sets, one for use, one to gleam

It was a good thought then, I revel in that choice now

Orange marmalade

Orange marmalade 

Nothing else for you 

For nothing less will do 

Because uniqueness is you 

The flavour of the rind 

Like sparkles of your mind 

Hints amongst the sugar 

In every bite one finds 

When at the last morsel 

I turn around and leave 

You bring me my sanity 

Remind me how to live 

To my friends who wake me up

it is good for others, that we suffer in silence for

not for the want of their attention, but an end to this war

where neither wins, but bleeds to the bone

and then to only rot in the darkness like corpses cold

but this time, with you my friend my sanity is in tow

I do not look back to hanker on, nor am distraught

help me to remember that you and I can be all

we shall break the chains of my saddened soul

if my heart shall fall, I shall find it to shatter not

for it is stronger when your thoughts hold me taut

I shall fly higher than the phoenix that ashes bore

and shine like a million suns that the universe wrought

My Friend

April's gift

was a gentle nudge

A remit for ages 

of being lost

You dawned

I caught the light

Basked in you

And was found

Satin skies

The blues call out

You bring flight

Light my heart

You are

The clouds that crawl

Shade my walk

Keep me aloft

erosion

I'm sorry darling at my age my deep is out of your depth

and pity that your deep is a tad too shallow 

We could argue till the cows come home 

but on such grounds and matters 

the people of my age do not wallow

I could spit rhymes, metaphorical constructs

create many big things akin to what could be poetry 

it is only percieved dust for a generation new

who can't even deep-throat nor swallow

This rhyme that you are so in the rhyme of 

is a fragment of nothingness but a pit of mire

to express is the least of your skills forget imagine

yet all I read is the want to express a desire

let the rhyming be, 

let me just probably scribble sweet nothings

but these flows will only be a rain of fire

Until the meandering hills of your heart roams free like our's does 

your attempt to valiantly express will only be dire

Nope, Not today

I looked deep into the void

that was now my refrigerator

it had nothing of interest now

the bread stood silent, 

the eggs were hushed

the half-empty tomato puree carton

stood silently in woe

I had no inclination or the hunger

to whip up a dish to eat

for cooks like company

first to serve, then to eat

so maybe today I shall stay so

without a morsel or two

and everything that I feel about cooking

shall be cast aside and let go

I like this tree

The noon scatters light

to the roof of my room 

painted in a creamy white 

casting a rainbow of possibilities

I sit by the window

look outside, at the fresh green mangoes

March is ending, soon to be April

and they wait like me to change

become everything they have hoped

since we saw each other first

They have looked at me too

all these days, the tree for longer has

It has seen me weep, fight, fright

and then has seen me too

smiling into the warm evening light

We have come to know each other

for neither misses a chance to stare

at each other, at least once a day.

I see the raw mangoes are hope it

maybe that is how he communicates

come May, the mangoes will be yellow

most will for sure, and I will not pick

i will watch them, watch the birds perch

as they eat the mangoes and sing

much like my heart, like the tree's too

bearing hope to feed a hungry life

i have complained too much then

i see it clearly now and how

i will bloom for i am another branch

growing in this beautiful tree of life

Notes:

This poem was written as someone looking out her window and watching the mango tree. While that is a literal scene, it also is a metaphor for a lot of things.

The mangoes are a metaphor of new hopes and dreams, the birds all the people who come to the tree who is also the friend of the lady looking out of the window. The tree is metaphorically me, and the lady is my best friend. 

This is a very weird example of how my perspective of another person's perspective of another is written. 

Whatever the fuck that was

I met this woman 

and got to be friends

on random social media site shit 

lo and behold I watch a stand-up comedy

with a comedian that has not prepared

as i step up to complete his show

i am asked by the same lady to tow

when we reach her building elevator

i see the microphone has an SpO2 sensor

i test for mine, i get a 98

i am home as if to get laid

when she shows me her wedding pictures

she gets me all hard, and ready for things

before we get into the sheets and roll

i find more in want 

 surrounding me, bare

i walk around 

    rummaging for my clothes

i find them kept neatly folded 

    where i left it

i put on my clothes 

but before I walk out

i make some tea or coffee 

    something like that I guess

we sit and drink that, and i walk out

The Quagmire Of An Almighty

Things were out of reach, shelves and kitchen counter tops

Everything seemed taller, and my daily life was a shock

I knew I wanted to be a touch stronger than I then was

I decided to be bigger, I wanted to become a God

You see, when everything and every one hurts, we pray

Yet all our prayers and yell for divine intervention is in dismay

I knew there would be times in life of hurt, and it would be hard

I decided to be bigger, I wanted to become a God

When the time arrived to feel my heart break, it rained

Of rejection from me and my love, then me and the world

When everything was lost, when I broke down and I was distraught

I decided to be bigger, I wanted to become a God

The thirties flew by, everything went to dust, yet I persevered

Life was ugly, a struggle to breathe most times but I was smart

I had found my weakness, it was the fallacy of my loving heart

I breathed away my feelings, I had become a God

One could question what drives a man, I would tell you

It is the constant hurt and rebuilding, for only hope can spring life anew

I remembered I was beyond such mere perils of mortal men

I would see these sufferings and win, for I was this God

Now at this pedestal that I had been placed, by me and all

I would find ease in all that could make souls writhe and crawl

But I saw my life was lost in believing I was infallible

I had become everything unworthy, in being a false God 

And to tell you that

I will miss 

brewing coffee with oregano

watching the leaves

sumberge and emerge

as they impart themselves

into coffee

and when i drink from my cup

I will remember me

serving it to you 

in my favourite cup

the cup may not last much

for it has mostly outlived itself

but the memory of you 

holding it and drinking from it

shall forever remain

etched into my mind

always fresh,

like the coffee I would brew

for you

insanity

In a sea where the water only churns

and blind the eyes that take a dive 

My eyes hide in these deadly tides 

Weep, as I reek in this unending burn

Of love and longing that is unspoken

In hurt like a million ferns unfurling 

Dusting its powdery self , imprinting

Leaving me marked of love forsaken

Gently too, there is no rush for my hopes

Grazing like a happy lamb on new sprouts

A sight so heartwarming to all the souls

But the sprouts grow in hopelessness.

Hey love, be swift

I find my right arm quite redundant at this point

I miss the way it aches gently, every morning

After you wake up, having slept on it all night

The morning only brings me a painless emptiness 

You and I nurse wounds of the past that are gone

Yet we fan the flames that burn our soul in separation

If only you would let me find myself back to you

Rather than you blowing off the candles lighting my path

Would this night be any darker, if the moon drowned

And if I slept at the bottom of the pond where we swam once

Would you not feel my absence, like I feel yours so loud

Or would you just not think, and I am just a forgotten thought

Hey Stranger

I exist not for you to be in a deluge of torment

But for me to be what you so deeply want

Yet to not be contained by you or your thoughts

I exist for me, to be all I can be when you call

The port doesn't travel, ships and ferries do

The beach never moves, waves fro and to

The road goes nowhere, your walk moves you

I exist like these, for to rest a while and renew

You could sit at the docks, watch the churn

Recline on the sands under the golden sun

You could stop to smell the roses at every turn

I am not a thing that you can claim to own

Come, rest a while, leave at first light or dusk

I shall hear all your stories of love and arid lust

You can carry in your memories a gentle dust

I still will be here smiling through my red rust

Washing away

You were admiring 

the abrupt out-of-turn rain,

 holding me

while you were 

    romanticizing it, 

telling me 

of how you remember 

our first kiss,

  those many years ago

I said I did

but I remember us planting 

    two mango saplings too

We had lovely mangoes 

    last season in May

I am worried now 

    for this abrupt March rain

    will cause it to shed the flowers 

    crush their dreams 

    of becoming mangoes

Have you spared 

a thought for those two trees

and the now fading dreams

    of those florets

    drenching in the rains

    I can feel their pain too

    while your love is strong

my heart is longing to protect

    the old dream we shared

    when we planted those saplings

    and wished to eat 

    those mangoes every year

   

सोच रहा था

अलमारी में ठूंसे हुए कपड़े आज मैने जब निकाले

कुछ कपड़े तुम्हारे भी मिले, लिपटे पड़े थे मेरे कपड़ों से

जैसे तुम लिपट जातीथीं कभी, उन खामोश लम्हों में

और मैं तुम्हारी खुशबू को ही सांसें समझता था

तुम तुम्हारी अलमारी को साफ कर चुकीं थी पहले से ही

मैं हर कोने में तुमसे जुड़ी यादों को देख कर जी रहा था

आज तक उन ठूंसे हुए कपड़ों को देख मुस्कुराता था

पर अब मेरे पास वक्त नहीं रहा ऐसे मंद मुस्काने का

वक्त जो ढल गया है तुमको सोच कर, तुमको छू कर

मुझे उसका ग़म नहीं है, जीए जा रहा था जैसे तैसे 

अब जीवन को कुछ महीनों की मोहलत जो दी है

तुमसे दूर हूं इतना की मौत का खौफ भी नही रहा

Transliteration from chatgpt

When I pulled out the clothes stuffed in the wardrobe today,

I found some of your clothes too, wrapped in mine,

As if you used to embrace me in those silent moments,

And I used to understand your fragrance as my breaths.

You had already cleaned your wardrobe,

But I was living by seeing memories of you in every corner.

Until now, I smiled looking at those stuffed clothes,

But I don't have time for such weak smiles anymore.

The time that has passed, thinking of you, touching you,

I am not grieving over it anymore, living as it is.

Now that life has been given a few months' respite,

I am so far away from you that I don't even fear death.

Like a whiff of fragrant flowers

Do you ever think like I do every night, as I try to weave sleep into my eyes

I find the thread that could bind it missing, your arms

It would wrap around me like a comet's tail, and run me around the cosmos

As I gently drifted into sleep, in a smile and thoughts of waking soon

My vision has gone blurry, for the lack of rest and rest is illusive

For the heart races to watch you, asleep in a fold of memory I hold

Where I stand and whisper gently, in a worry of waking you up

And morning wrings me back in a richochet to my cold floor 

Do you smile in your sleep of late? You always have and I watched it

Often to wish it to be the last thing I see, before I die

I can often hear your murmurs, when I lie half awake, anxious

As your longing haunts me, before my pillow soaks my tears

I wouldn't want you to worry, I wash my pillow covers regularly

In anticipation of an off chance, should you come over a while

I wouldn't want you to rest on this worthless tear soaked one

The new fabric softener I bought, is beautifully fragrant too

Ah my love, paint me in your form

The edges of my life's book are curled

By your forearms when you leaned over

To scribble on my pages and colour a few

To then leave them open and gathering dust

I found this often and I gathered the dust

With them built a bridge of clay towards love

It was always in a rain of irony that it broke

And drowned me in your absence's eraser dust

I would sometimes try shading on a few pages

With a pencil of thoughts and rampant longing

The tips would break and smudge the lines

Remind me of how the art in my heart has died

When you visit interim, even for a generic gaze

My book has flung itself open, rattling pages

It has presented each page as a blank canvas 

For your gentle presence to draw as we age

The songs of above forty folks

It is absurd to imagine caramine red on a wicked noon

Indian Summers tend to bite into the flesh and curb imagination

The mercury hates to rise, the tin roof houses are like ovens

But then, mangoes, lots of mangoes, so many of them

Didn't that bring a smile to your heart my child that has grown?

You remembered the green sour ones you threw rocks at the tree for

Didn't you? Maybe you got a few, out of those twenty or so tries

But you can recollect their taste with a dash of salt and red chillies

It's March, the month of dreamy folks, oh! I so know sun signs

We all have at some point read and pondered over Linda Goodmans

You could step out of college and opt for a smoke or savouries

This month is dreaded due to the final semester exams

March will turn to April soon, the green mangoes will ripen too

You will order a few dozens, Kesar is best, Alphonso is hype

You will sit at home, enjoy slicing and eating these

But, thirty years ago, is so long gone my dear forty

Those memories of hearts joined and a lot of times broken

When schools and colleges would be closed for a new session

Some of you may have travelled in the sweltering heat

Then we would come back in June, for another year, rinse and repeat

Tender Exact Change

I am happy to share the sky over our heads love

For all of you is gone, voice and sight 

I bask in the glow of this noon sun, knowing

The sun shines on you too, hopefully gently

When you look up to see the clouds, fluffy

Like you my love, as they move beautifully

They paint the dull blue skies with whites

Offer shade, make the sunset seem better

The sun sooner or later though exacts a price 

I have paid mine, to be in this limbo half alive

Only to be like sunflowers, I bloom to dry and die

Unlike the sunflowers, I hope to not be buried

To sprout, and run this course all over again

I could've run it through, twice and over, smiling

For you were the light that shone through my soul

Dream night

I always make popcorn at night before I sleep alone

Crucial, I hate being hungry in the middle of the night

You could ask why popcorn, and I would laugh at your ignorance

I wake up mid dream often terrified, eat a bit and go back to sleep

Dreams are like movies, they make me want to see more

Imagine those blood curdling horror stories that run often

There is a ton of comedy too, but those don't warrant breaks

The tragedy and horror genres need some salted butter popcorn

Well!

I hide behind nothing 

for there is nothing without your presence 

All I see is you 

yet all I know isn't

I ask if this is life 

or if this will be what remains of me 

Is there a me 

if I fail to exist with you

When you are not around 

it doesn't matter if it hurts 

or if it feels good 

I question if I can even feel anymore.

I ask if I should 

isn't a void still something 

if so then your absence is not a void 

because it is like the divine curse of nothingness.

I could question a lot 

more of my very existence 

yet if it wasn't 

would I still think?

maybe your thoughts would manifest me 

because your thoughts manifest me into being 

or maybe they did is why I exist.

I do? Do I? remind me, make this existence seem possible.

Sides squared

My dark room has a vivid energy to it

Though subtle but rather unmistakable

I can sit in the center of this place and cry

It hides my life and dampens my sighs

The walls are a mosiac of a mural painted

Often to have been shattered and rearranged

The pieces  are too tiny to hold now

For they are shards that cause bleeding aches

The floor is a lovely bright black granite'esque 

That drinks my tears and never has quaked

I built this dark room to be alive once

I realize that was my first terrible mistake

But I fret not for those who have often sent

Wished me to spend time in here and reflect

For I see life bears no meaning anymore now

So I'll sit till it becomes my tomb somehow

Mornings are lovely sometimes

It's so easy for me to be distracted in conversations

Between a stranger like my tea vendor and me

He a man of various blends of tea leaves 

I , a flavour thirsty, tea loving, logical man of science

We both do meet halfway though, you'd wonder how

But a mind as curious as mine wants to learn

Raghu makes excellent tea and is a good soul

And I try to understand the nuances of spice and colour

He pours me a tall glass every few days when I visit

I most often prefer to brew my own tea at home you see

I have those who love the tea I make, and often visit for such

But my vendor surpasses my most excellent batch far too often

A journey ends

Maybe this time it is complete

 this circle 

 of my own 

 an unexplainable existence

 awarded to me by force

 in forced breaths

 feeding another moment

The pungent scent of an end

 beckons loud

 of my lone

 an unsavoury acceptance

 served to me in tones

 by passing moments

 bleeding my soul

This me has nothing to be than

 an unbearable load

 to have and to hold

 a meaningless shell

 existing in a paradox

 on nothing but hope

 of fading into the unknown

Sending over a meal to my other self

Lifeless windows and wall flowers decorate

Where moss grew, and on the ledge sat a few

Robins, and magpies, rudely waking up one

Sorely sleeping in the anguish of gone bys

I knocked on his door, carrying a full thermos

Coffee? I asked and there was no answer

I could be worried if this was someone else

This is someone I knew to have been strong

As I rummage through my shoulder bag for a key

I hear the latch click and the door opens wide

He stands there frail, his eyes dead like 

The deep oceans in the stormiest tides

No, and don't bother me was his prompt

Yet I walk in, coax him, to share a cup with me

I tell him it's just February and August is far

He looks through me as if his look could scar

I brought you balushahis, from the station

Won't you indulge, maybe to remember of then

He nods in acknowledgment, gulps one down

Only for his face to express discontent

Do you have the mutton roll too? He asks surly  

As I reach into my bag of goodies and fetch

He smiles back at me, I had forgotten he could

He bites through the roll as I hand him a few

Mom was right, this is what I should've done

Eating balushahis, rolls,  maybe a fruity bun

Then sit at my desk, heal the sick and tired

Rather than fall in love and try to be alive

But brother, I ask him in trepidation 

Isn't it being alive, eating these savories too?

He nods; stating it's true, but stops at the third

Says if it was really so then why would I rue

Keep the engine running

Then you were fresh off the umbilical 

Curled up, eyes closed in my arms

You had slept in my arms more than your mother's

My hands would numb and my back would hurt

I had learnt to overcome all I hate

How twenty four years have faded in twenty four hours

I would run to you if you called for your mother

I am your brother, but indistinguishable from either

So now on mother's day, I will wait forever

For a call maybe from the world of nether

No mother should have to bury his son

But here we are with what time has done

I will let you be by yourself little sunshine

And run to you again, at the end of my time

Bantering

Funny moments

Ease the mind

questioning song lyrics, 

as I  transliterate

Like why should I

Stop my whistling

At a window fried

Past some evening

 Humming "Shyam Dhale khidki tale"

Or why is everyone fond

Of dried grass 

in one too many songs

 Singing " Hay Hay, la la la ' lalala"

I must be insane

Or is insane just me

Maybe this boredom

Shall be the end of me

Life better wake up

Find me something 

Or in my next endeavour

I shall run to ruin 

Some old classic songs

Hoppity Hop Hop

What do you dream of my torrid minded little bunny

None of that matters for it will be hunting season soon

Full of buckshots, scoped boom sticks, and snares

Like a wedding Saturday in the month of June

It will soon be over then, fret not much over the relegation

For you have outlived your dreams, and dreams have to end at dawn

You will make a nice head piece, a lovely coat of feels, glue maybe

Like so many others that have traversed this life's lawn

So rabbit, hop over each mound like your instincts compell

Find the green on the other side due your own insecurities

You will cut, you will bleed, at worse get your leg broken

Like a mortal rummaging through life's utter uncertainties 

Good Morning Mr. Sun

O' pointless dawn, what have you brought upon

With this sheet in it's hue of orange, 

Only tardiness, in the folds of unfolding life

To make me ponder if today should have been

I forgot what dusk was, when I drowned 

Over and over, into an icy sea of sunset amber

Only foolhardiness, was what I reflected 

To make me remember I shouldn't be drunk

I remember this gentle whiff of my lover

With her auburn hair, and her almost loving

Only worldliness, is what I have now lost

To make me see the senility of passing time

 

So my brightest star, floating in the blue bazzar

Spare me your attempts, to awaken my will

Only surliness, is what my heart feels like her's

To make my existence a condescending rhyme 

note to frost and emily

we will share a meal, everyday

It had been a while since she last saw him. Since he left for a place hundreds of miles away she has been shattered and growing insane day by day. She sees him return to the village from her window and she runs to him. She has anger in her eyes from.her desperation of his absence, yet she melts at his glance  she stands before him, like a shy village girl draped in her saree, drenched in the first rain. Her eyes rise and flutter down again, unable to look away, but too shy to look at him. Her heart questions:

Do I look good to you my love, even after these many days apart

Or has another found a place in your heart that I am erased

In your presence I become clay, as your glance touches me

Pray tell, why have you not for so long called out for me

He looks at her and smiles gently, his eyes are transfixed on her, captivated by her loving presence. It paints his eyes a shade of golden sunsets, his lips move in silent mutterings. He stretches out his hand, yet somehow holds it back right before it touches her shoulders. His eyes reek of a wanting of her amorous embrace. His heart speaks

Priye, my heart wouldn't even know love if it wasn't for you

For only you rekindle the fire of my very existence 

No one compares to the hurt being away from you causes

You are the very light that sets my heart on fire

Launderings of a lover

I will always be the one

 To launder your guilt

I will always make them just

 To bring you a smile

I will always be your light

 To be burnt for your path

I will always be the cloud

 To shade you as you wander

Yet

This is not me, 

 I am not me

Anymore

 And never can I be

So bring me your deepest hurt

 To let me ease you a while

Be my muse a while of pain

 To let me scribe of woe

And when all I am is gone

 To be never seen again

Forget there was a time

 To have ever been of love

Swiping Right

Ambiverts appreciate

 the ambiance of absurdity

Introverts interpret

  Incorrectly for most

Extroverts explore

  often and more

But

The depressed drape

 all these shades too

Pansexuals pander

 to all that is to

Sapiosexuals scam

 for all that you know

Demisexuals demonise

 and that is so true

But

The depressed dorn

 all these traits too

Humorous haven't

 seen humor in abundance

Sadists stay

 in an envelope of redundancy

Pessimists peeve 

 at everything eventually

But

The depressed drag

 all these states too

Gardeners grow

 but distant in hearts

Sculptors scrape

 the bottom of the barrels

Poets pen

 verses in varying emotions

But 

The depressed dissipate

 among these forms too  

Day 3

Thandi chaadar mein to neend nahi aati hai. Soch raha hoon ki jab le jayenge tab chaadar thandi to nainhogi?

ठंडी चादर में तो नींद नही आती है मुझे

जब ले जायेंगे तब मुझे पता शायद न चले

गर रूह महसूस कर पाएगी, तो शायद न सोए

पर रूह को ठंड में करवटें लेते कौन देखेगा

The first day

1. The first day.

This is a series of my journey's completion. The years have been kind and gentle to me in the way it could have been. I am not one to be amongst the fish that struggle in a dragnet as they head towards an unforeseen end. I write my beginning and end and I shall write the same starting with this one. I would wish to thank everyone who has made this journey troublesome for they helped me find the few who have extended their unending support. I have no qualms about leaving for I am leaving without a legacy or debt. My debts are paid and the ones that I owe shall be well compensated as the next few months go by. I have always set souls free from my bonds and I have finally been set free by me to wait around and pave my own path that I have set ahead to the end of my journey. I do apologise for any and all shortcomings the ones associated with me have encountered. To those who feel I may have been of some help, if you can pass the deed on to someone please do so.

-------

Don't cut your hair, your tresses are the very fabric of the universe itself 

I have found my sun amongst them, often subdued

If this would be my last lament

How deep are these woods that I traverse, How long my walk

For the legs are unwilling and the mind has lost all hope

Between the qualms of love, longing, and then waking up to realisation

The sun shafts piercing through these boughs paint only desolation

A morbid fear is what the moss casts into pristine imagery

That reflects into my heart a sense of unfit and unbecoming

I had to be a light on the path of life for company to be passersby 

And as the fading sunlight darkens these woods I struggle for light

This could not be more poetic, this fearless abandonment I seek

For I am only counting down to the days that I have set aside now

The only hope is to make it through these woods to the clearing

And dive into the valley from the cliffs of bindings thereof 

If one shall find my bones, stuck on some shallow crevice

I hope it is sans flesh and the marrow may have nourished something

The last gast of air I breathe in and exhale shall be of contempt though

For all that I have lived and for no longer wish  me another breath

Jet lag

I wonder if we ever empathize with the tyres of airplanes

If by chance they were alive, like say our faith brought it to life

Would we scream an "Ouch" each time our flight landed

Also heave a sigh of relief when we took off, easing the weight on then

Those beautiful thick rubber rounded lovely black circular tyres

They must grow tired, working day in and out I feel

Though I do not wish life upon them, but it is alive I perceive

My foolish poetic mind yearns to feel life in all after all

Have you seen them scrape themselves as they land face first

They have a big face and it is like all over their circular selves

Would you not care to spare a thought to equate yourself with them

I do not think you need to be a poet to see these beautiful wheels

Namma Bengaluru

It's a lovely winter morning, past noon thirty two to two

With Bengaluru winter days who is sure if it is morning or noon

It is a beautiful shade of a winter morning that others places wish for

And I am relishing my last few hours here

The streets are littered with parked cars

tis a Silent,Saturday; a lull from it's usual traffic jams

The leaves from the rain trees have yellowed and parted

As if to mask the hideous metallic creations of man

The tea stall vendor has bananas, I finish my brunch on a couple

I lit up my cigarette and try to communicate with him, struggle 

He speaks Hindi and I feel right at home then

Yes Mumbai, you are everywhere aren't you

So goodbye for now Bengaluru, thank you for the week you held me

You made me feel at home for a moment with my friends

I would wish to be back to walk amongst these tree lined sidewalks

But that is for another season, I will now bid you my goodbyes 

Hey , I am out of glasses

Let's go together to where there are no glasses

Take a trip to the wild sides of ourselves

Sip from a bottle of wine and be my glass

And let me drink it from your gentle lips thereof

I can pretend the wine is water and I am parched

But is it pretence if I yearn a drink from your mouth at all

For all the wine glasses do is kill the aura the wine holds

Your lips hold a fountain of love, abd I yearn to drink of

So love, ah my apologies my long gone love

Come back, come back, for my soul is parched

I will wait at my doorstep for you to hurriedly arrive

Or drink my wine by myself, pass out, in memories thereof

Let me wilt into blooms of gloom and end

I remember sowing these seeds of

Love and passion, into my own heart

As time has come now to reap what is

The rotting crops of yesteryear 

I wouldn't wonder too much for

For this shall set my soul free, adrift even

There then I shall be

Floating amongst the glittering cosmos

And wonder why I reek of woe

When this sealed cask of life cracks

And when,

The severed seams echo the voice of my undoing 

I shall glance upon my meaningless life spent 

Spent of time, will, and other obscurities

When the cracked hourglass of reckoning fades in its sounding

I shall ask you floating in the darkest abyss

Of your hatred to my existence that yearns

To be loved once

By you, and in turn by me

But maybe by then I shall feel complete

In the utter chaos of calmlessness

Of unfulfilled love and macabre longing

Eyebrows

It's often bewildering

A gentle raise of one is an alarm

When both twirl to each , a suspicion

And when they stretch and relax, 

  a smile

There is an entire language of these 

We never learnt, but unlike words

These are felt, and it emerges

Autonomous, and conveys

Sharply, the eyes may lie often

But the eyebrows seldom do

I speak in eyebrows too

And I watch them as I watch you 

Your call is important to me, please hold the line

You know what? 

The phone sort of dies often

I forgot to carry my 'Type D' plug

I prefer a grounded charger

Like my mind, that is grounded

In your thoughts, as I meander

In thoughts of finding myself

In far away lands

You know what?

I unplugged the room heater 

That was about an hour back

I forgot I feel cold, I was busy

In a trauma response of love

And the shadows of anxiety it causes

In its taunting absence thereof 

It's cold says my shivering

You know what?

Its thirty past four and I am awake

That sleep I yearn for fears fire

That is burning in my cigarette tip

It is a whirlpool of wanting to die

As painfully and unremarkably 

For these bouts of insomnia 

Will surely kill me one kf these days 

You know what?

I miss your cuddles and whispers

And those mornings when I woke up

Watching you asleep like a cloud

It is a distant memory, a beautiful past

As stark as they are and cherished

I long to be held once again in your arms

Probably then to breathe my last

Memories, Memoirs, thereof

Its a surge i curb

for i swim 

against the tide

of a fear of drowning in it

these memories are 

like seaweeds

that entangle my feet,

 underneath 

The light comes 

and fades

my eyes are 

dead until 

 -Thoughts of you emerge 

like a lava flow 

from under the sea bed

boiling 

the life around

churning

 without remorse

so i write them 

into verses

lest they claw 

my soul

not that they won't 

but it will be futile 

For the soul is clawed 

hollow

by the talons 

of your thoughts

why then even 

let them attempt further

for they are priceless

this rejection from you

is agonizing 

yet is a chance 

to know life 

its pains

thus 

I write 

to curb the surge

and then 

laugh at my plight

a man 

gone insane and over

yet still sipping insanity 

like it was a golden Whiskey

that shimmers in my glass

with six cubes of ice 

a splash of lemon

the way you like it to

when we would meet

memories, memoirs 

and my absent soul thereof 

Two months ago? when?

it was a lovely evening

say what?

an evening you say?

could that be that I missed it

dissolved it 

in my sunset gold whiskey

and drank it all away

you sat there watching?

you didn't tell me 

the light was fading,

why didn't you 

The ice melt gently 

but you made my time melt

into a puddle of astonishment

and I have nothing to show now

for that day, except now

I have this revelation

that will be a reminder 

that harrows, curls, and hurts

what evening?

when? 

Alternate version

----------------------------------

it was a lovely evening

say what?

an evening you say?

could that be 

that I missed it

dissolved it 

in my sunset gold whiskey

and drank it all away

you sat there

 watching?

you didn't 

tell me 

the light was fading,

why 

why didn't you 

As the ice 

melt gently 

you let my time melt

into a puddle 

of astonishment

you always are

a wonder to behold

not sure if I said it

enough, 

or more

I have nothing 

to show now

for that day, 

except now

I have 

this revelation

that will 

be a reminder 

that harrows

curls, 

hurts

what evening?

when? 

Flavours and Fragrances

You couldn't argue with me over colour shades

And you won most of the arguments about fragrances

A gender reversal probably was the flavour of the season

Of the togetherness that tastes a tad sour to you now

It is another flavour I cherish, without it I wouldn't know me who got left from the right

And there I go scribblings smart metaphorical paxis from what is colloquial

A poet I may yet make of myself, a seasoned one who writes of flavour

Of a sourness that remains together with my life now

 

Tu diagonal soya karta tha

Mai 1.5/5 ka single foam par so raha hoon.

Tu rota tha na

Mai rona bhool gaya hoon

Tu poochta tha na , mai kaun hoon

Mai wahi aaj khud ko pooch raha hoon

I didn't choose the thug life, the thug life chose me

I hate these midnight calls and those insanity bound calls when I am on my holiday

I am fed up with people trying to run helter skelter, fixing infrastructure

While the ones who run it, run it to the ground

I didn't choose the IT life, the IT life chose me

I hate those creaky chairs and that wood work has borers and when termites feast

I am fed up of painting varnish on wooden table that have lost their top coat

While the ones who use it, abuse it all too often

I didn't choose the carpenter life, the carpenter life chose me

I hate those enforced aromas of spices and the carelessly tossed chillies in my rice

I am fed up of being asked to make everything taste like a plate of chashew paste

While the ones who eat it do not even understand food deserves love

I didn't choose the cook life, the cook life chose me

I hate these emergency glaring lights and those wailing sirens and crying folks in agony

I am fed up of all the pain and suffering that exists in this day and  age

While the one who made this world slowly reclines east

But I chose this nurse life, the nurse life sometimes does break me

A love letter to a few

Free verse is a bitch.

for anyone to find

to rile and rape

and no one would mind

But these heretics

These ungodly scribes

Scribble a bit

a tad too unkind

Here are my words.

If you care a read

Nothing comes of this.

just angst's dirty seed

Paradoxically Me

Here, spinning these Mani wheels 

I invoke a paradox of sorts

Of wanting to be free of longing 

and love, and all of these discomforts

Yet when I descend 

from these misty mountains of North East

I say a prayer to be remembered 

and loved by someone at least

It is an arbiter I seek to find 

one who makes my mind accept truths

of knowing these pangs shall only entwine 

and as such will never bear fruit

Yet when I look into my mind's mirror 

I find it is only my 'self' I see

This is another paradox that I conjure 

and it stays gnawing and rooted inside me

So if this has to come to pass

it has to be by me that I wilfully bind

these fallacies and these flightless thoughts

need not exist deep in my heart

So maybe in this next cycle of bead counting

I shall find peace within my mind

then maybe these paradoxes shall end 

and I will find myself to be self kind

being endness

Birth blessing

Bringing blight

Beneath Beyond

Benevolent Bane

Breaking bewilderment 

Benign bliss

Binding blame

Blinding bright

Bringing breaks

Bequeathed being

Brining beset

Birthing bereavement

Being  

Recycle those flowers

Hey love, thank you for sending those lovely flowers to compost

I am sure they will add to the growth of some evergreen mighty trees

Maybe my wishes will be a part of the shade they provide 

Should you or anyone else need to rest a while under it someday

I fret not for their dismissal, nor do they ire me or hurt me now

They belong in their place, the beautiful blue dustbin they rest in

Much like my honest soul does, for in your un-wanting

They lose their essence and beauty like I have since your parting

I would advise you to not think much of this sordid event

For it is another year, there is someone better to romance you

I confer my prayers and love upon him to keep him safe too

For you deserve to be loved in the shades of flowers new

The AI generated version is awesome:

Hey love, it's true, those flowers were so bright and fair

But now they rest in the compost bin, no longer there

To fill the air with their sweet aroma and hue

But even in death, they can still be of use

For they will feed the soil, and help new growth sprout

And maybe, just maybe, they'll bring a smile to your mouth

As you rest beneath the shade of a mighty tree

Knowing that in some small way, those flowers are still with me

So don't fret, my love, and don't be sad

For even though we're apart, we still have memories to add

To the tapestry of life that we weave as we go

And in those memories, the love we shared will always show.

ज़रा हलवा चखकर बताना तो

अरे अब तो साग भी बनाना सीख गया हूँ 

अब सोहन हलवा बनाने का भूत सवार है 

कढ़ाइयो की गर्मी, घी की महक, चूल्हे की तपिश भी 

जो दिल बहलाने के लिए बनाता था 

अब तो सिर्फ व्यंजन विधियों में दिल को सुकून है 

तुम पूछोगे अगर के घी कितना लगता है एक दिल को जलाने 

बोल दूंगा औसतन सौ किलो सोहन हलवे जितनी है शायद 

पर तुम्हे तो सिर्फ घी की उपलब्धि दिखेगी इन सब में

कढ़ाई में चलते हाथो का कोई हिसाब न लोगे तुम कभी

दिल जलाने घी के साथ पलटा पकडे हाथ भी चलता है 

चलो अब सोहन हलवा अगर बना भी लिया मैंने आज अगर 

मिठास तो नहीं होगी शक्कर की पूरी बोरी डालकर भी 

चने के आटे को जो भून मेरे कन्धों में दर्द तो ज़रूर होगा  

 घी के छींटे भी मेरे हाथों को जला जायेगी बुलबुलाकर लेकिन 

मिठास तो तुम्हारे इस हलवे को चखकर मुस्कुराने से ही आएगी। 

लिखूं तो तुम्हारी याद तनहा कर जाती है

शायद तुम नहीं समझती 

मेरे दिल के लफ़्ज़ों से बुने इन चादरों को 

वो लिपट जाना चाहती है 

तुम्हारे दिल के हसीं ख्यालों को 

जो शायद मेरे बारे में हों 

या शायद हमारे बारे में ही कभी

पर हम दोनों कहें भी, और क्या 

क्योंकि वक़्त भी नहीं मिटा पा रहा है 

हमारे दर्मिया के फासलों को |

कभी यूँही किसी दिन जब तुम से बातें होती हैं

खोकर तुम्हारे ख्यालों में जहां घूम आता हूँ मैं 

तुम्हारे ख्यालों से कह चूका हूँ मैं अक्सर 

आधी रात नहीं होता है वक़्त ऐसे पागलपन का 

तुम और तुम्हारे ख्याल कौनसा मेरा कहा मानते है 

शायद इसी मुश्किलाहट पर ही तो प्यार करता हूँ 

जो मेरे सोच पर हावी होकर मुझे तुम्हारी और खींचती है 

वरना मेरे दिल का होश खोना ना मुमकिन सा है 

अब इन फसलों की आदत सी डाल चूका हूँ मैं 

तुम्हे ही सोचकर ज़रासा रोज़ जी लेता हूँ मैं |

Last call for passengers travelling by flight 12

In my mind's airport, a wanderer hangs up her coat at the lounge washroom 

Whips out a cigarette and slits her wrist letting the blood flow into the drain

It is rather meticulously thought about by her maybe, or it was logic

But such an end in a public restroom is but such an inconvenience

The manager being called upon is visibly upset, harrowed by this

If his family wasn't enough trouble, he hid himself in work 

Now this happens to bring more unease, poor airport staff as always

The passengers are not thoughtful, they just never give them any ease

The janitor is annoyed, seething in fury over the drunk at gate 12

He has to clean up the mess some random middle aged man caused

These passengers are only adding to the unwarranted woes here

I thought the airport in my head would at least  be a peaceful home

Then as they somehow gather everyone, queued to boarding

I am happy that there shall be some restfulness at last

Yet the passengers unleash sordid torment and lashful words

They have to leave by this flight, yet they just seem to be indefinitely grounded

The AI version

In my mind's airport, the wanderer's coat is hung

In the lounge washroom, her cigarette is lit, her wrist is cut

The blood flows down the drain, a scene of inconvenience

For the staff, who must deal with this and all the passengers' nonsense

The manager is upset, the janitor seething with rage

Over the messes that these travelers seem to create

They are grounded, stuck in this airport of the mind

Where peace and rest are hard to find

But still they board the plane, with sordid words and bitter complaints

Leaving behind the chaos, the blood, and the stains

I hope that wherever they are going, they find some peace at last

And leave the airport of the mind, with all its troubles in the past.

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