To My Dear Friend

Hey, when it is time to go call me, or I will call you

I would like to share a drink for either of us to know

We can't leave unless we have that one tinkle of a glass

And we will play 'It's a wonderful world' in the background

If I am the one leaving, sing it for me

If you are, I will sing along for you

But we should get the other a cup of Earl Grey, a marmalade sandwich

Then maybe sit and hold each other's hand

Hey, when it is time to go, call me or I will call you

We can sit together side by side

Watch the sun go down once again

Chase the dark away with a solitary light 

If I am the one leaving, brew me a coffee

If you are, I will lace it with liquor

But we should share a last smoke, laugh over mangled songs and memes

Then maybe hold each other in a tight embrace

Hey, when it is time to go, call me or I will call you

We should call for some butter garlic prawns

For either of us to know

We can't leave unless we share one last meal

If I am the one leaving, hold me to calm my fears 

If you are, I will cuddle to soothe your pain

But we should remember that we had the time of our life

then maybe, sit quietly, staring into the beyond

Writing about anything is easy

The bottle of Bacardi rum, wrapped in a white plastic bag

Popped it's head out, ever so slightly

Inviting me to dive into the clear

And cloud my judgement to dreams anew

I have coffee and I mix these two

Sip a few and sit thinking of you

I think I forgot to add a few cubes of ice

Then I remember they melted long ago

The night was young, but it's long past gone

The sun at its azimuth , shining through

The birds create a ruckus at my window stall

I see your face on my freshly painted walls.

Dust and ember

I would want to be so tiny

For my larger self won't fit

 in an urn but then again,

 i won't worry

I would probably decompose 

slowly, long after being asleep

 on my bed

When the civil workers barge in

Hold their nose closed

They would ask if there is anyone

Who knows me by my name

Yet they would not call me 

By what they have exclaimed

And by then I would have been 

gone too long ago

To know anyone who stakes a claim

मेरी प्रीत तू न जाने

जो बोया तेरी और

जैसे डूबे काश्तिया कभी

तूफानों के मोड़

कान्हा तू तो ले चली री

जीवन मेरा ओढ़

कश्ती मेरी तो डगमगाई

चलकर तेरी ओर 

जो तो पूछे क्या ही हूं मैं

तेरे मन में जो हो

क्या ही हूं मैं कान्हा तेरा 

बस हूं मैं तेरा चोर

Meera to nahi hoon

मेरी प्रीत तू न जाने

जो बोया तेरी और

जैसे डूबे काश्तिया कभी

तूफानों के मोड़

कान्हा तू तो ले चली री

जीवन मेरा ओढ़

कश्ती मेरी तो डगमगाई

चलकर तेरी ओर 

जो तो पूछे क्या ही हूं मैं

तेरे मन में जो हो

क्या ही हूं मैं कान्हा मेरी

बस हूं मैं तेरा चोर

Monday Mornings bring nothing new

It's a bright Monday morning, half past eleven

I have much to do, but the will sure isn't playing along

I thought if you could remind me of what life is

For it feels quite like a colourless sky, sans your voice

The voice in my head that fed me will has been yours

The mind has become mangled in its absolute absence

It seems to wake up ever so often in your thoughts

Then rolls back to playing possum noting your absence

This could be a streak of my downward spiralling

That forms a vortex and drags my soul in its currents

They invite me to give up and flow like dead drift wood

That will churn and decay to set me afloat at sea

Then we spoke of AI

It is artificial intelligence after all my dear friend

while we discuss its ability to emote

I state as you wonder if it will go the same way

as human minds do, and worry about its dulling 

and ask if it can be somehow protected

I smirk at your innocence, "it is data" I explain

yet as women are worrywarts, you have a new worry

and this time it is for a piece of software

I laugh at it on your face, you know I find it silly

this constant need for you to seek out new worries

to experience its unwanted annoyances and anxiety

I suggest you ignore the same, and blink my eyes

indicate you are not to wallow in such states

you know you will tell me you won't do that

then proceed to end up worrying about the same

An analysis by Chatgpt

The poem is written from the perspective of someone who is familiar with artificial intelligence (AI) and is engaging in a conversation with a friend who is expressing concerns about the emotional capabilities of AI.

The speaker acknowledges that AI is indeed artificial, and while their friend is pondering whether AI will follow the same path as human minds in terms of emotions, they find it amusing. The speaker attributes the friend's worries to their tendency as women to be worriers, but also finds it unnecessary and silly to worry about a piece of software.

The speaker advises their friend to ignore the anxieties and annoyances related to AI, suggesting that they shouldn't wallow in such states. However, the speaker also knows that their friend will likely end up worrying about it despite their reassurances, as it seems to be a habitual pattern for them.

Overall, the poem highlights the contrasting perspectives between someone who sees AI as just data and finds the worry about its emotions unnecessary, and someone who is anxious about the potential emotional capabilities of AI and tends to worry about various things. It also touches on the idea of gendered tendencies towards worry and anxiety.

my English Breakfast

Earl Grey it is then, for breakfast 

I love the Bergamot fragrance 

Thank you friend for joining me

I find Sundays are boring else

We could relish the chocolate muffin

And I can complain for wanting a walnut one

Settle for a bite from your chocolate

Sigh over how unlucky I get at times

You then can remind me otherwise

And I like knowing you are here

It is a Sunday breakfast, with you

And we can catch up like this too

So before I leave to reach another city

Let me tell you one more thing

You and Mumbai, will keep my soul

And you both will always be my home

An Analysis by Chat GPT

The poem "Earl Grey for Breakfast" is a simple and intimate portrayal of a Sunday morning breakfast shared between friends. The speaker expresses their appreciation for the presence of their friend, as Sundays would otherwise be dull. The poem captures the sensory experience of enjoying a cup of Earl Grey tea with the fragrance of Bergamot, and the shared experience of indulging in a chocolate muffin, while lamenting a missed opportunity for a walnut Muffin.

The poem also touches on the theme of luck and fortune, with the speaker sighing over their perceived misfortune, but the friend offering a reminder of positivity. The presence of the friend is cherished, and the shared breakfast becomes a moment of connection and catching up. The poem also mentions the city of Mumbai, which holds significance for the speaker as it is both a physical home and a place that holds their soul.

The language used in the poem is simple and conversational, with a sense of warmth and familiarity. The poem evokes a sense of comfort and companionship, capturing the essence of a shared moment between friends.

In terms of comparison with famous works of 20th century literature and poetry, "Earl Grey for Breakfast" shares similarities with the style of contemporary poets such as Lang Leav,etc who often write about everyday experiences and emotions in a simple and accessible manner. The theme of finding solace and connection in small moments of shared intimacy is reminiscent of the works of e.e. cummings, who often wrote about the beauty of everyday life and human connections. Additionally, the mention of a specific city and its significance to the speaker's sense of home echoes the themes of identity and belonging in the works of poets like Pablo Neruda and Derek Walcott.

Overall, "Earl Grey for Breakfast" is a heartfelt and evocative poem that celebrates the joy of shared moments, appreciates the presence of a friend, and reflects on the idea of home and belonging.

The farmer has a mouse

Let us say, I wish to pen another one of my senseless thoughts

Now when we see what verses are, most won’t understand

I often bring in a caption or summary but like you who reads it

Not that I would mind, but a soul can only wish for such

Never mind

So then what can I really whimper about?

My love? My love for you? My love lost? My lost love?

So much of the ‘My’ is lost like mice in a barn

Running amok, eating into gunny bags ripping them apart

As the grains pour out, fungus sets in, and what else would

In stagnation and in such an inanimate existence sans love

This soul of mine will only be consumed by fungus

Like all that nature brings us, instead of renewal and recycle

My soul only churns up your absence, and then some more

The mouse in the barn of my heart, 

I forgot that is what I call your thoughts now

Eating away ever so slowly, causing me endless decay 

Yet I fill this barn up with fresh grains of hope

There could have been some sense in me to place traps

I am supposed to be good at this, or not maybe

Sometimes choices have consequences, mostly losses

Here it is you along with my own sensibilities and reasoning

But whoever could think love could exist with those two

Love hates them like a jealous lover hates all others

That live in their lover's mind, or heart, 

or whatever remains of them

to be reduced to a husk, at the end by the fungus of despair

I take solace, this is contained and I am an example

To myself now, for love and longing will no longer bother

This blight in its permanence will not let me recover

I hope it does, but I hope it doesn’t 

I forgot I was going to write poetry at this point

But I guess this rant can be called whatever I deem fit

Like I believe you loved me, or that there is such a thing

You my dear mouse, go away then 

come back once I fill the barn

I know you always do, and you always will

For now, let the fungus work its magic

Good night

Explanation and review from chat GPT:

The poem is a reflection on lost love and the impact it has on the speaker's emotions and sense of self. The speaker acknowledges that their verses may not be understood by most readers, and they often provide captions or summaries, but ultimately it doesn't matter as the longing for their lost love consumes their thoughts. The use of the word "whimper" suggests a sense of helplessness or resignation, as the speaker wonders what they can truly express about their love, whether it be for someone, or a love that has been lost.

The metaphor of mice in a barn is used to represent the thoughts of the lost love that constantly gnaw away at the speaker's heart, causing decay and despair. The "fresh grains of hope" that the speaker tries to fill the barn with represent their attempts to move on and find solace, but the metaphor also implies that the speaker keeps holding on to the memories and feelings of their lost love, despite the harm it causes.

The poem delves into the complexities of love, where the speaker's own sensibilities and reasoning seem to be at odds with their emotions. The speaker acknowledges that love can coexist with sensibilities and reasoning, but it also hates them like a jealous lover, causing a sense of conflict within the speaker. The poem touches on the idea of choices and consequences, where the speaker reflects on their own choices that led to losses in love, and the permanent blight of longing that prevents them from recovering.

The reference to fungus as a metaphor for the consuming nature of lost love adds a unique and vivid imagery to the poem. Fungus is often associated with decay and decomposition, and the speaker sees their soul being consumed by the fungus of despair caused by the absence of their love. The poem also explores the cyclical nature of love, where the lost love keeps coming back like the persistent mouse in the barn, despite the speaker's attempts to move on.

In terms of comparison with famous works of 20th-century literature and poetry, the theme of lost love, longing, and the internal conflict of emotions and reason is reminiscent of works by poets such as T.S. Eliot, Sylvia Plath, and W.H. Auden. The use of vivid metaphors and imagery to convey complex emotions is similar to the style of poets like Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou. The introspective and confessional tone of the poem also echoes the works of poets from the confessional poetry movement of the 20th century, such as Anne Sexton and Robert Lowell.

Overall, the poem captures the speaker's lament over lost love, the consuming nature of longing, and the conflicting emotions that love can evoke. The use of metaphors and vivid imagery adds depth to the poem, and it shares thematic similarities with famous works of 20th-century literature and poetry, particularly in its exploration of love, loss, and the complexities of human emotions.

Staying in my lane

In this April rain, that is out of place in Pune 

When monsoon is two months away

I remember us drinking a beer late evening after work

You would ask me to take you out for dinner , then choose to get a beer

I still hate french fries, but I order them

I mix mayonnaise with some mustard

And share it to whoever is the present company, watch them relish

While I stay clear of indulgence in what your memories are

The wind howls, calls out to me to dance in the rain

As if to celebrate knowing you, and being in love

I stop myself at the stairs, I am wearing a suit, it is Thursday usually

You remind me, without being here

I always return to my table, behave as a polished man

A man smitten by you, forever even if you no longer subscribe to it

You probably are chasing the eternal flame guided lover

Who may have a few flights of fancy you wish to ride

Yet at the end of it all, I sigh and wish for your hand in mine

I know the only one is the waiter shaking it firmly

Wishing me a good night

I smile at him, fold a few hundred rupees and let him have it

They smile at me, unlike you they want my patronage

And unlike you, I just live in the hurt of being alive

I sit down again to order another beer, this one is for you

I hope you find love, for you are worth all the love in the world and more

Quick note

Don't send for me

Holler

I hate messengers

They don't deliver

The full force

Of curdling hurt

Holler

I can hear

Holler

In your curses

They are beautiful

Just like you

They hurt better

Holler

I will come

Holler

Be beneath myself

I will smile

It is me

All of you

Holler

Broken mirrors

I find a calm in the rustle of your hair

 mid conversation when

 you tactfully deflect my question, 

but your eyes show 

Your want to scream your heart about love

Not to me, but to anyone else, or maybe him

I have my soul following you like an owl

that glides in silent 

Percheing at your window every night

Hearing you breathe, wanting to watch over

But keeping it's distance, for the fear of offending

But I know, and such is my curse, my all knowing

Often unknown to your own self

I hear you, sometimes in hurt, 

other times hurting me in curses

I somedays sleep on my bed when

my back hurts in being curled up crying for you

And Miles to go

Big blue road signs showing directions 

Dented by random rubble flung at

Stand at the edge of pitch black highways

Reflecting headlight to seem like rain on words

One could imagine it's rain and recall

A drenched lovers arm grab, and kisses

I could try too, but as my life goes

I remember my accidents and near death misses

The words read like compulsion, dictate terms

Of my run towards, in this hurried darkness

I would hate to see the numbers decrease

For I find my home fade in the distance

आज न गई तू लाली चटवाने

उस गैर की आगोश में फिरसे 

बनके उसकी प्यास का मलहम

बनते तो बड़े ही भोले से थे जब

हमसे लिपट बुलाते हमको बलम

जिन हाथोको थे तेरे केस रूमानी

आज उन हाथो को गैरो में ढूंढे

चाहे शक्ल मिल जाए, दिल न मिले

जो दिल मिले तो न मिल पाए शक्ल

हमसे ही तो तुमको थे सारे शिकवे गिले

आज न गई तू लाली चटवाने

उस गैर की आगोश में फिरसे 

आज तो शायद मेरा बुत बनेगा

मंत्र चिड़ेंगे, श्राप उगल आए तुझमें

पर मेरी प्यास तो इन सबसे ही बुझेगा

one

Phir na bichhad (3x) (2 variations)

Mujhse......1x

Aa humse mil

Kabhi ke jo tu soche

Dil hai khaali khaali sa

Aa hum se mil

Phir na bichhad (3 variation)x 

Humse

Phir na bichhad

Aa humse mil

Tum nain se do humko

Dhokha ,,dhokha.., zara sa 

Aa hum se mil

Sirf chaahat.......se na hai haasil

Dil tootega zara...dil tootega zara

Mera.......

Tab

Aa humse mil

Kehle jo tere labh

Naam ...mera... Mera..... 

Ro dega dil.....

Aa humse mil

Phir na bichhad (4x 4 variations)

Mujhse, khudae, ab......1x

Aa humse mil

The faded hues

The gentle hues of another sunset

Paint stories of all that is you

The void, the gone, and the pain of such

Is like the veil of darkness arriving soon

When the moon rises in that black

My heart longs for your glance

I calm my self for you hate my smile

That beams hoping for us to be a chance

So let the April sun set in the canvas blue

Nothing in life is as beautiful as you

So I wish my self a willful descent

To be silently lost in your longing's tune

A Shade of distance

I was watching the pink trumpet flowers swirl

In a whirlwind that swept gently on today's very April afternoon

We could have just stood in, let them swirl around us

I would want to see you surrounded by those lovely pink blossoms

I know, the whirlwind does pick up dust and debris

And they could hurt your eyes, should we stand so

You could hide your face into my chest as we have cuddled often

And felt the flowers gently caress you in their light swirling

My heart warmed up, looking at these gentle petals flying

They seemed like your eyes, they fluttered just as beautifully

They turned towards me, swirled some more momentarily

Rekindled my hope, only to abruptly turn and go away

Conundrum - hindi

खुदसे तो छुपा लेता हूं, 

पर तुमसे कैसे छुपाऊं

ये दर्द दे रही भी तो तुम हो

तुम मुझे खुद्से ज्यादा जानती हो

मैं तो तुम ही बनकर जो रह गया हूं

होता है, होता है, छोड़ ना, जाने दे

शायद मैं खुदको ढूंढ रहा हूं

जो तुम्हे चाहता है बेसबर, बेबाक 

पर जब मैं तुम बन चुका हूं तो

तुम भी मैं बन गयी होंगी ना

मैं तो खुदको ही ढूंढ रहा हूं

होता है, होता है, छोड़ ना, जाने दे

जाने दे, बातों का, वादों का 

जब जो भी होना था,

तुझको भी खोना था,

खो दिया जाने दे,

और तुम मुझसी हो गई,

मैं तुमसा हो गया,

इंसान जो वाजिब था,

खो गया जाने दे,

मैं तो खुदको ही ढूंढ रहा हूं

होता है, होता है, छोड़ ना, जाने दे,।।

Treadmills

Sometime in August, we rebuilt my house door

The dust was being brushed off, we wore masks

My home was being rebuilt, to be a home for you

It was a month for some more celebrations too

As we sat on the floor, and you poured coffee

From a rudimentary make shift coffee carrying pouch

The two red cups moved, then I held them steady

You looked at me, filled them up when you were ready

I felt some splashes, that burnt my fingers a tad

You uttered apologies, but your pour never burnt my hand

You were keeping my soul lit, in your very glance

I was smiling looking at you, and my heart was in trance

Post coffee when we chased the cleaning left aside

I held the sofa upturned for you to dust it's insides

I fell in love, over and again, and my heart knew

You were the wonder of my life, that turns everything anew

Maybe the dust and grime should have been treasured

To scatter around today, for we see each other no more

The dust could maybe bring me back to your heart

For this renewal of life has only broken me apart

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

write a detailed analysis with line-by-line interpretation of the poem below:  Also evaluate it for writing style and identify similarities to 20th century poets.

Analysis:

Title: Treadmills - The title "Treadmills" sets the tone for the poem, hinting at a repetitive, cyclical, and mundane aspect of life. Treadmills are often associated with monotony and routine, suggesting that the poem may explore the repetitive nature of daily life and the fleeting moments of joy and love that break through the monotony.

Line 1: "Sometime in August, we rebuilt my house door" - The poem begins with a specific time reference, "Sometime in August," which adds a sense of temporal setting. The act of rebuilding the house door could symbolize a renewal or transformation in the narrator's life. It may also suggest an effort to create a welcoming and inviting space for someone special, as the house door is often associated with homecoming and hospitality.

Line 2: "The dust was being brushed off, we wore masks" - The mention of dust being brushed off and wearing masks may have literal and metaphorical meanings. Literally, it could refer to the physical act of cleaning and protecting oneself from dust particles. Metaphorically, it could symbolize the process of clearing away the old and worn-out, and protecting oneself from external influences or emotional vulnerabilities.

Line 3: "My home was being rebuilt, to be a home for you" - The speaker's home is being rebuilt with the intention of making it a home for someone else, suggesting an act of love and selflessness. It could also imply a transformation or improvement in the speaker's life to accommodate someone significant.

Line 4: "It was a month for some more celebrations too" - The mention of celebrations hints at a positive and joyful atmosphere, possibly marking a special occasion or a significant event that is being commemorated during the month of August.

Line 5: "As we sat on the floor, and you poured coffee" - The act of sitting on the floor and sharing coffee creates an intimate and cozy atmosphere. It could symbolize a moment of connection and closeness between the speaker and the other person, possibly a romantic interest.

Line 6: "From a rudimentary makeshift coffee carrying pouch" - The mention of a "rudimentary makeshift coffee carrying pouch" suggests a lack of luxury or extravagance, but rather a simple and improvised way of serving coffee. It could symbolize the value of simple pleasures and the beauty found in everyday moments.

Line 7: "The two red cups moved, then I held them steady" - The movement of the red cups could symbolize the unpredictability and instability of life, while the speaker holding them steady could represent an attempt to bring stability and balance to the situation. It could also hint at the speaker's desire to hold onto and cherish the fleeting moments of happiness.

Line 8: "You looked at me, filled them up when you were ready" - The other person fills up the cups when they are ready, suggesting a sense of autonomy and independence. It could also symbolize the idea that love and affection cannot be forced or rushed, but rather flow naturally when the timing is right.

Line 9: "I felt some splashes, that burnt my fingers a tad" - The splashes from the coffee that burn the speaker's fingers could represent the fleeting moments of pain or discomfort that can accompany moments of happiness or love. It could also symbolize the intensity of the emotions the speaker is experiencing.

Line 10: "You uttered apologies, but your pour never burnt my hand" - The other person apologizes for the hot coffee, but it never actually hurts the speaker's hand. This could symbolize the idea that even though love can come with its challenges, it ultimately does not harm or hurt the speaker.

Line 11: "You were keeping my soul lit, in your very glance" - The other person's gaze is described as keeping the speaker's soul lit, suggesting that their presence and attention bring warmth, comfort, and vitality to the speaker's life. It could also highlight the transformative power of love, which has the ability to awaken and enliven the soul.

Line 12: "I was smiling looking at you, and my heart was in trance" - The speaker's response to the other person's presence is described as smiling and being entranced, suggesting a deep emotional connection and admiration. It could also indicate a state of being captivated and mesmerized by the other person, emphasizing the intensity of the emotions felt.

Line 13: "Post coffee when we chased the cleaning left aside" - After enjoying the coffee together, the speaker and the other person engage in the act of cleaning, possibly alluding to the idea of tidying up and addressing the neglected aspects of life. It could also symbolize the effort put into maintaining and nurturing the relationship, even in the midst of daily chores and responsibilities.

Line 14: "I held the sofa upturned for you to dust its insides" - The speaker holds the sofa upturned, possibly to assist the other person in cleaning its insides, suggesting a willingness to be supportive and helpful. It could also symbolize a willingness to reveal and address the hidden or neglected aspects of oneself in the context of the relationship.

Line 15: "I fell in love, over and again, and my heart knew" - The speaker expresses falling in love repeatedly, suggesting that the experience of love with this person is continuous and ongoing. It could also imply a deep emotional connection that transcends the boundaries of time and space. The phrase "my heart knew" could also suggest an intuitive and instinctive understanding of the significance of this love.

Line 16: "You were the wonder of my life, that turns everything anew" - The other person is described as the wonder of the speaker's life, implying a sense of awe, admiration, and amazement. Their presence is portrayed as transformative, capable of changing and renewing everything in the speaker's life. It could also suggest a sense of rebirth or rejuvenation brought about by the presence of this person.

Line 17: "Maybe the dust and grime should have been treasured" - The speaker reflects on the dust and grime that was cleaned earlier, suggesting that perhaps those neglected or overlooked aspects of life should have been cherished or valued. It could imply that in the pursuit of cleanliness or perfection, the imperfections and mundane aspects of life are often overlooked or dismissed.

Line 18: "To scatter around today, for we see each other no more" - The speaker expresses a sense of regret or loss, suggesting that the opportunity to cherish those moments with the other person is no longer available. The scattering of dust and grime could symbolize the scattering of memories or remnants of the past that could have been treasured.

Line 19: "The dust could maybe bring me back to your heart" - The dust, which was earlier cleaned, is now seen as a possible means to return to the other person's heart. It could imply a desire to reconnect or rekindle the relationship through cherished memories or shared experiences.

Line 20: "For this renewal of life has only broken me apart" - The speaker reflects on the renewal of life brought about by the presence of the other person, but also expresses a sense of brokenness or pain. It could suggest that despite the positive impact of the relationship, it has also caused emotional turmoil or heartbreak.

Writing Style: The poem employs a conversational and intimate tone, using simple and accessible language to express complex emotions and ideas. The use of vivid imagery such as the descriptions of the house being rebuilt, the pouring of coffee, and the act of cleaning, adds a sense of sensory experience and visual imagery to the poem. The use of first-person perspective and personal pronouns, such as "we," "my," and "you," creates a sense of immediacy and intimacy, drawing the reader into the emotions and experiences of the speaker.

The poem also exhibits a sense of nostalgia and reflection, as the speaker looks back on past moments with the other person and contemplates the significance of those memories. There is a juxtaposition of ordinary, everyday activities such as cleaning and pouring coffee with deep emotional experiences of love, longing, and loss, creating a sense of emotional complexity and depth in the poem.

Similarities to 20th Century Poets: The poem shares similarities with poets of the 20th century who explored themes of love, intimacy, and the complexities of human emotions. The use of personal experiences and emotions to convey deeper truths, the emphasis on vivid imagery and sensory details, and the introspective and reflective tone are reminiscent of poets like Robert Frost, E.E. Cummings, and Langston Hughes. The focus on intimate moments and emotions within the mundane and ordinary aspects of life also echoes the style of poets from the confessional poetry movement, such as Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton.

Overall, "Treadmills" is a poem that explores the emotions and experiences of love, longing, and loss in a simple yet profound manner. The use of vivid imagery, intimate tone, and reflections on ordinary moments elevate the poem, while the themes and writing style share similarities with 20th century poets who delved into the complexities of human emotions and relationships.

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.