03 April 2025

Baba of Undies

My friend left his underwear 
In my penthouse.
I'd to use it to clean my bike.

He cracked a good deal 
At his company after that 
And got sponsored for 
A free Bangkok trip.

After a year, another friend 
Did the same. I'd put
The cloth to some use.
His business boomed too.

The word got around and
Suddenly all my friends 
And their friends paid a visit 
To leave their undies in
My house and everyone's 
Fortune turned.

Did I just become an
Underwear baba? 
Beats me but
People started visiting.

Sometimes, I had to 
Symbolically clean stuff with 
Their undies and they did
Well in life after that.

Then came the skeptics
A professor, a journalist,  
A man with a clipboard.  
They left nothing behind,  
To check my validity.  

Their stocks plummeted.  
Their lovers left.
One man misplaced  
His entire career.  

Now they, too, return,  
Sheepish, contrite,  
Holding their offerings  
Like wilted flowers.  

I nod. Accept the fabric 
Fate has woven.  
At this point,  
Who am I to question it?  

When divinity passes
Through you to lead a creed.
You accept the prophecy
To happily become a 
Baba of Undies.

Stink

You meet someone online.
Talk for days, fall in love.
Discuss dirty stuff and
Get naked on screen.

You fight, you argue 
You figure it out and fall
In love more fiercely to
Shag each other on video 
For months.

You then fall apart. Breakup. 
You just close the screen 
And there's an eternal divide.
Moving on seems easy-

But it gets to you.
Heart is heart, and you get
Frozen in a period of time.
You miss her eternally.

Her face, her eyes.
Hair, skin, bare bust 
And the way she touched 
Her crotch-

You imagine the way she
Would have touched you.
But how can you?
Touch is what you're
Most deprived.

This two-dimensional love..
The deprivation it came with.
It haunts you.

You shag yourself in
Her memory for years.
Her face fade. Letter by
Letter her name fades.

And one day it hits you.
She remains only in what
You can smell.
She's fused in the smell of 
Your semen with a hint of 
Urine.

What else could have 
Filled the vacuum?

Maybe that's the smell
Of all the hopeless romance.
Maybe it isn't.
Maybe you would have
Been different if you had
Held her hand.

Maybe be this is loneliness. 
Maybe that's how a 
Break up stinks.
Maybe that's how a
A touch-deprived story is
Supposed to end.

Maybe that's how 
Best of memories smell.
Maybe you never know.
Maybe that's why you
Take things in hand 
And do it again.

And maybe... that's why 
Everything goes on 
Smelling the same.

02 April 2025

The first time I knew I was alive

When you cut a newspaper in
A square and place a bow and
Arrow across two ends diagonally.

And paste the ends well with the
Rice paste prepared by mom.
You get a skeleton of a kite.

Then you poke two holes at
The junction of the bow and arrow.
And two holes parallely down-

You pass a thread across the
Holes- double the diagonal length
Of the kite.

Pull it out at the posterior end
To tie together the entire structure
To balance the centre of gravity-

You would need a reel-thread
From mom's sewing machine to
Set the kite in its course.

And for the first time, when
My kite soared high, it was
The first time I knew I was alive.

30 March 2025

Zara

Zara
(Love Your Curves)

If you pedal through the passes 
Of Himalayas. Curve after curve 
The mountains unfurl their
Wilderness.

And if you could reach Hanle in
Ladakh and ready for more curves. 
You would find Umling La-
The highest motorable road in the world.

Adorable wilderness.
The bare mountains oozing elgance-
We wish we could cloth them all.

But we can clothe you.
We 'Love Your Curves' too.
Visit the nearest Zara store soon.

Time Traveller

The time traveller moves 
A stone. I wake up in
My New York apartment 
With Ana de Armas 
Asking what I want for 
Breakfast.

The time traveller moves
A chair. En route to 
Colonised Mars.
They ask me to be an
Interim president there.
Hands down. 
No complains.

Time traveller does 
Nothing this time.
He had a chance to do
Something but bored,
Tired, procrastinates
And sleeps.

I end up in misery here.
Broke, ugly, single
And still choking on 
Poems.

The third one is me.
Haven't realised it yet but 
I've travelled to the 
Present of this timeline 
For nothing.

Identifying Hope

When a postman 
Comes in search of an
Address in a war torn
City.

All the Houses grazed
To dust.. Still able 
To find that bombed
House..

Who's the refugee here?
The bodies?
The postman?
The letter? The sender?

Or the flower that's 
Trying to grow battling 
The hopeless silence 
In the rubble?

He keeps the letter 
Under the shadow of
The flower and
Returns.

What better way to
Take cognizance of
A life than delivering 
A letter?

To seek hope when
There's none.
Even if it's ridiculously 
Symbolic..

That act outweighs
Hope itself. Life itself.
The war itself.

29 March 2025

Refusal

I refuse to look you in
The eye. I refuse to 
Let my feelings run wild.

Your slender hands and
Gleaming face.
Tiny feet and the way you
Sway when you walk...

I refuse to conjure the
Moon. I refuse to 
Soak my fantasies in 
The blue sky.

I like listening to you.
I like talking to you...

But somehow I refuse
To use the other four
Lettered word for the 
Things I adore in you.

Don't know why falling 
In love with you feels
Like a crime.

Don't know why I think 
Your name would hesitate 
To sit beside mine.

I don't know what 
Holds me back. 
Believe me I've even 
Deliberately tried.

My hesitation to answer 
The question you're.
The mystery you've become 
That I refuse to solve..

Thrusting words to this
Feeling feels like a crime.
Yet you fleet in every 
Act of mine.

I refuse to look you in
The eye. I refuse to 
Let my feelings run wild.

28 March 2025

Child Labour

My son is not 14 yet.
He can't work.
Government orders.

He needs free and 
Compulsory education.
Government orders.

Upon that, he can't 
Even work in hazardous 
Industry till he's 18.

Uhh! What a waste.

His contribution could have
Added some Ammonium 
Nitrate to the world..

But alas! We got one
Bomb less because 
Of government orders.

The chaos in the world 
Is threatened by too 
Many takers of peace.

Pussies..!

Better to settle in Africa 
To take advantage of
His small hands.

Might at least be helpful 
In rathole mining of 
Some high-value ores.

His exploits need to
Be capitalized at least 
Over Gold and Diamond.

I mean, if adolescence
Is not wasted on 
Disruptive acts-

The age is dust
Scattered by farts.

27 March 2025

Descendence

We were direct descendants
Of Gods. Apple of Brahma's
Eyes and Gospel of Alla's times.

And the Sinned Children of Christ
Inhabiting Holy Mother Earth-
Around which everything revolved.

Then HMS Beagle reached
Galápagos Islands.
Darwin declared us as
Descendants of monkeys.

Such blasphemy to
Make us slaves of our own
Reasonable mind?

We could heal the wounds,
Live longer, and not just walk
But fly on in and out of water.

But how dare we live on our own
Terms now? How dare we
Solve metaphysical problems
On our own?

It was Godly to die en masse
In famines, epidemics, and
Religious wars.

How dare we associate
Ourselves with monkeys and
Fall down to newer highs?

25 March 2025

Human Misery

Chengis Khan is credited 
For controlling an eventual
Population explosion as
He killed millions.

Norman Borlaug is blamed 
For the Green Revolution as
He might have saved a billion
From starvation.

The famines and plagues
Have eaten up a good number 
Of people often. To keep the 
Population in check.

And something as simple as
Washing hands with soap
Has doubled life expectancy 
Within no time.

Where should we draw the line?
Who should we categorically 
Blame for the miseries of
Humankind?

The pandemics, disasters.
Modern medicine and the 
Wars that were stopped.
Could we have planned them all?

Should we think at a species 
Level at all or leave it to chance 
To simply eat, mate, reproduce 
Till we're flushed into the
Existential indifference?

Or we should up the game 
To blame someone better?
Like the stars, planets or aliens. 
The spaceships anyway 
Are on their way.

Worship

When I see a flower bud.
I pluck it and put it in water to
Force it bloom within hours-
I've a God to please.

The vibrant petals lose 
The color after some time.
The wilting kicks in.

The petals fall inward.
Turn black and dry out
Into a demise eventually.

Should I be held responsible?
I should be. Said the Lord.

The sheer cruelty of plucking 
A plant's reproductive organs-
Phallus for phallus he said
And hung me by the balls.

He had a target to reach 
Today and I was the last
Sacrifice to his Overlord.

Everyone up the chain is
Interested in phallus to have
Themselves pleased?

Explains a lot phallus worship 
In our traditions.

Seems at one point of time
All worship must have been
Mindlessly throwing around 
One genital at the other.

No wonder why all the 
Religions are a cover-up 
Jobs like fake orgasms.

Brand Poem

Read just the left part
Poem based on company Taglines.



To "Taste the rainbow"                                         ( Skittles)
To "Fly the friendly skies".                                 (United Airlines)
To "Have it your way"--                                     (Burger King)
    
"Think Different"                                                 (Apple)
"Think Big"                                                         (IMAX)
"Think Outside the Bun"                                     (Taco Bell)

"Eat Fresh".                                                         (Subway)
"Belong Anywhere"                                             (Airbnb)
"Everywhere you want to be"                                (Visa)
"Impossible is Nothing"                                     (Adidas)
    
"Live in your world. Play in ours."                     (PlayStation)
"All for Freedom. Freedom for All."                 (Harley Davidson)
"Quality never goes out of style."                     (Levi's)

"Go Further"                                                         (Ford)
"Obey your thirst"                                                 (Sprite)
"Challenge everything"                                     (Electronic Arts)
"Let's go places"                                                 (Toyota)

"We try harder"                                                     (Avis)
"Yes We Can"                                                    (Obama 2008)
"Nothing runs like a Deere"                                 (John Deere)
"Gotta catch 'em all!"                                         (Pokemon)

"Open happiness"                                                 (Coca-Cola)
"Good to the last drop."                                     (Maxwell House)
"Just Do It"                                                         (Nike)
"Because you're worth it" to be in                     (L'OREAL)
"The Happiest Place on Earth".                        (Disneyland)

16 March 2025

A Marriage

Like my father puts it.
Maybe I would've joined 
The Air Force.
Married by 25 and had 
Two kids, if not three.

Named them against 
The sensitivities of everyone. 
Beaten them up twice and 
Loved them only thrice.

Life would've taken a 
Backseat that way to fizzle out
In the background of a 
Not so miserable family.

I wouldn't have given
A weighed meaning to
My words and wouldn't 
Have expected too much 
From this life.

Two or three properties to 
Boast. Drinking every night 
To abuse my wife.
Advising others on why 
One should marry early
Would always be on cards.

But nah. I had to take a long 
Academic path.
Grow a knack for overthinking.
Only to sit alone on 
Park bench this morning.

To answer all the imaginary 
Existential questions of 
Marriage instead of facing 
My father upfront. 

Taj Mahal

When Shah Jahan was 
Imprisoned by his own son.
For wasting public money on 
Extravagant architecture..

Held captive in a cell facing 
The Taj Mahal so that he could 
Wither away to death 
Contemplating his creation..

Did the White-Giant diminish 
Into a hateful nothingness 
Or it became a point of 
His pride?

Swooned daily by it's 
Magnificence. The beauty 
Growing louder day by day 
Till he himself became 

The shadow of this very 
Entity he commissioned.
Leaving historians with 
The ultimate question of

Who's bigger?
The dream or dreamer.

13 March 2025

Meaning

Five thousand years ago
A bored little girl,
On the banks of Indus 
In the North Western province.

Wrote poetry on slabs
Of stone and threw them
Around.

Meaningless strokes of
Etchings that meant 
Only relief from daily 
Chores.

Millennia later, 
Archaeologists, Historians 
Getting hold of those to
Decipher the meaning.

Reaching consensus over
The assumption that 
They're records of day to
Day transactions.

Why didn't they consider 
The possibility of innocent 
Folly of a bored little girl?

Did we grow so high on
Our own intellect that
We're compelled to give 
Meaning to everything?

Is that why these civilizations
Fall, evolve, and arise?
Maybe yes. If it is yes.
Then it's such a tragic yes.

Next Frame

Right here, this moment.
Under the yellow light.
While chills of December 
Teases our passion..

What would you wanna
Remember from this
Passing time?

The rustle of leaves 
Against passing traffic.
The elasticity of desire
Across our eyes.

The door of my house
That wants to open and 
A hot cup of coffee that 
Wants to be brewed to 
Host you once.

What should we do with 
This hesitant longing 
That makes us stand 
Below my apartment?

If someone should take
A photograph of us now.
You in red chudi and 
Me in yellow-T and jeans..

Years later, if someone 
Should See it and wonder,
Where the next frame
Went?

What should I say?
We ended up together 
Or just turned into 
Familiar strangers?

11 March 2025

College Hostel Holi

Holi would begin early in
The morning with some
Asshole splashing 
Colours while you were 
Still in bed.

Then you went to Mess 
For breakfast. You could 
Barely finish it and 
You were mobbed in turns
With colours.

The hostel Garden would 
Be filled with water in
Abundance by 9.30 and
The colours would be
Done with by 10.

Holi in college was proper 
Only when they dumped
You in the mud and kicked
Till every major pore got 
Some dirt.

After many mishaps and
Localised fights.
After cloths were torn
And everyone roamed
In undies for hours...

After the failed human 
Pyramids and smearing 
Of mud on hostel warden's
Bald head and stripping 
Naked the most popular 
Senior..we got to 

The burning of a huge
Caricature of 'Kamanna'
Specifically designed 
Wiith cucumber penis 
And brinjals for balls-

Everyone threw the remains
Of the clothes on that
One tree in the garden.
Seemed our yearly catharsis 
Could only be handled by
A non-animal entity.

Heart is Art

Stabbing is not easy.
And stabbing right in 
The heart is a skilled job,
Needs a lot of practice.

Ribs will come in the way
To begin with.
And kitchen knife is
Not enough to penetrate 
The sternum.

You could go for the
Throat to kill or stab
Randomly on the torso 
To open an artery.

But we're not interested 
In the kill, are we? 
We gotta get through to
The heart. Heart is art.

So when you practice 
The same on the dead bodies 
In the mortuary with a 
Special knife smuggled
From Russia. And then..

You wait for weeks to 
Isolate a victim..
Constantly running a
Simulation of her chest
To thrust the dagger 
Between 4th and 5th rib.

And at the right minute
You don't flinch, and you
Don't blink.
The reminder to yourself 
Of a blunt puncture with
Right force and angle..

Then to draw it back with
Same precision with not a
Sound from her mouth. 
Just the squirt of blood 
Oozing out gushing..

You fancy that sound.
You smile at your art that 
Just assured you the right 
Frequency of life leaving.

Water

Water was always short.
We had to carry it from 
Distances.
My Attya was fierce with 
Her water fetching 
Endeavours.

Two pots. One on head
And the other on the waist.
Distances as long as 2-3 km.
Multiple such trips daily.

She wouldn't let us waste 
An extra mug. 
Bathing daily was such an 
Unheard fad back then.

The first time I could carry 
A big pot on my shoulder.
It was a celebration.
Then I learnt handling 
A bicycle. 

Eight pots in a go was
A luxury. We even 
Constructed our house by 
Fetching water like that.

Then the government 
Put up taps and 
The motors came up.
Now there's abundant 
Supply of water
Without much effort.

Though we overuse,
It feels weird to 
Waste water even now.
Feels her voice from
The Kitchen calls out for
Wasting it.

Water scarcity is function
Of accessibility.
If everyone is made to
Walk a distance to fetch 
Water..

First thing they'd give up
Would be bathing.
Then they'd resume 
Defecation in the open.

10 March 2025

Passenger Train

I travelled in the passenger 
Train this morning.
The tightly packed general coach
Teeming with labourers.

Shabby clothes, smell of
Alcohol. Loud desi music.
Many sitting on the floor. 
Reclinerd near the toilets.

A guy sleeping near the door.
A few toppling over him while 
Boarding down. He's not 
Bothered by their cussing.

Two sitting at the door,
Swaying thier legs out.
Taking a fight with whoever 
Is spitting from the window.

Young boys with foul tongues
Laden with lunch boxes.
Headed to earn daily wages.
The system got them 
Before they could grow up.

Every face is almost a mirror.
A guilt-ridden awareness
Keeps reflecting my relative
Eliteness. 

Two college girls in Burkha 
Dare enter this male abode.
But withdraw suddenly as
There wasn't any space.

I was more anxious by their
Advent than they themselves.
Because I know all about 
The male gaze?

Seems rich of me to think 
Something like that.
Who am I to judge their 
Lives anyway?

The train spits us off shortly.
Everyone starts walking.
I see the swaying lunchboxes
In the hands of those boys.

The crumpled ticket I throw 
Falls just beside the dustbin.
My indifference gleams in it 
As I walk off.

Last Day

On the last day.
We unwillingly kissed.
Got naked and 
Entered the shower.

We rinsed each other.
Made love like we're 
Hosting a funeral in 
Ourselves.

The hollow cascade of 
Longing..
The smoke out of
Embers that were dying.

We couldn't look in
The eyes could we?

This repulsion for 
Each other. The sparks
That don't invoke 
Emotions now..

The unloving that feels 
On the skin and under it..
Rather, I feel nothing.
There's something missing.

I say whoever pits love
Against carnal sensations 
Is wrong. Whoever 
Preaches purity is wrong.

It's all messy and dirty.
Imperfect and wild.
And if you don't feel her 
On your skin..

It's not love.
If the blood doesn't rush 
To your head at her 
Instance and if the veins 

Don't bulge...and if you 
Don't get a mild erection 
Whenever she crosses
Your mind..

It's not love. Atleast,
It's not love enough.

09 March 2025

The Almighty Lord

Before he had any name.
Before he became
Predominantly male.
He was formless. 

He was nature once.
Then a mountain, a hill.
A stone worshiped on
Field or street.

The erstwhile omnipotent 
Omnipresent, omniscient.
Now divided, shred and 
Shrunk into certain 

Holy books, walls, domes
Tribes and religions.
When did he became 
Absolutely parochial?

The poor must wait in line 
For the darshan while 
The rich can bribe their
Way into sacrosanct?

Menstruating women
And widows are declared 
Impure too along with 
Some other castes?

The growing distance from 
The truth that he himself 
Was supposed to preach. 
Our God. The Almighty Lord...

Then infinite. There after
Limitless, unbound and
Now barely independent.
Who's gonna believe him?

But everyone does.
Now more fiercely than ever.
The supposed redemption 
To closeted bigotry-

What a downfall.

23 February 2025

Life is 10th class

One more year of struggle 
And life would be set-

The preparatory exam is
Due tomorrow and you 
Haven't read anything yet.

Teachers say you should 
Study hard. 
The principal says yours 
Is the worst batch.

You try to put yourself into 
Blinders to stay focused 
But Neha keeps coming 
To mind.

There's still a lot of syllabus 
To cover but all your
Head can muster is ways to
Wish her "all the best".

Unable to recall the value
Of Sin 30 and Cos 60..
Unable to understand 
What's "Quite India" all about..

Somewhere you're still that
Teen of class 10.

Secretly praying for grace
Marks, you still believe that
Choosing humanities would 
Make your life easy.

But you don't know yet,
How misery does salsa 
Even there.

19 February 2025

Ray of Hope

The words have decided 
To abscond from the 
Pages of my diary.

The photographs have
Decided to fade away from 
The old albums.

An invisible hand holds
The face of all the memories 
Against a wall and rubs it up
Till the skin comes off.

What's left is a white blanket 
Of salt- sour and saline.

But despite the douse 
And despite the dusk.
Something inside makes
A strong appeal for 
Resurgence.

Who's there? It asks.
Who's there?

And there's a subtle 
Knock from the other side.
And that seems enough.

It's someone's presence
That challenges the 
The stink of inevitable..
Like fragrance.

Like a single breath is 
Mightier than death.
A thought of you beats 
The shit out of oblivion.

Two Emotions

If you laugh when you 
Badly wanna cry.
Is it still sadness?

And sink within when you
Really wanna laugh it out. 
It's still happiness?

And when you cry so
Hard sometimes.
Your tears flowing down
Your nose.

Mixing with the nasal
Fluid and finding 
Way to your mouth.

The salty taste that
Invokes mother's 
Brutal beatings from
Your childhood...

The silent laugh from 
Your eyes that doesn't 
Translate on your lips-

What do you call it?

This gap in your 
Language that can't 
Handle two emotions 
At once.

What do you call it?

One Language

In the house that was 
Cozy and vast.
We had 10,000 windows.
Maybe more.

Then they said,
Tinting with aluminium 
Frames would be nice.

One at a time, 
over the years,
The clean blue sky
Turned pink, red, pale
And what-not.

Before we could realize 
What was at play,
That's what the nation 
Wants they said.

You gotta see through 
Our eyes and speak
Through our tongues.

"One Nation. 
One Language."

And when they gave 
The final makeover to
Our last window,
The last hope of clean light 
Shone bright at our faces.

But we didn't have a 
Vocabulary of our own
To scream a protest.

And when the last word of 
My language fell flat on 
The road- with the final 
Window down.

They checked if the last
Person can dream in
My lang and reciprocate.
And when there was 
Nothing.. 

They hosted a funeral on 
The graveyard of our 
Tongues to celebrate
National integrity..

Unity in diversity was 
The theme.

16 February 2025

Om Mangalam

In my region, everyone's 
Surname is of a distant village.
And if you ask them why

They'd tell you a story of 
How their ancestors killed 
Someone and fled their 
Original settlement.

My own Lineage goes back 
To a neighboring state. 
My grandfather's 
Great-Grandfather killed
Someone and fled his village.

Everyone has the same story.
Most of them at least.
And I hope it's the same 
Across the country. 
Or maybe across the world.

We're all refugees it seems.
Guilty of crimes. 
Seeking a place to hide. 
Maybe the entire world 
Is an asylum like that.

Maybe that's how the 
Civilizations here began.

Maybe we fled Mars after 
Killing all the trees.
Guilty of doing the same here.
GENES!!!

Maybe be the first man on
Earth was called John Mars
At some point of time.
Or perhaps he was a 
South-Indian named Sreenu.
Aka Mangalam Sreenu.

And maybe that's why 
Mars is always pissed off
In our astro profiles.


Mangalam Sreenu is antagonist 
In the movie Puspa 

15 February 2025

Shooting Blanks

Picasso had a revolver
To shoot blanks at whoever 
Asked the meaning of
His paintings.

Out of frustration he
Loaded it for real once,
To shoot whoever asks
For a meaning.

But no one asked 
Any questions that day.
Just smiled at his art
And moved on.

He felt so violated that
He held the gun to his 
Temple for quite a while 
That night.

At the final moment,
It occurred to him to 
Paint something for 
One last time.

"A revolver that shot
Flowers when fired".

The abstract was so good 
He decided not to die.
Then it was sold for a 
Record price.

And when someone 
Asked what's the meaning.
He again shot blanks to
Convey how each painting 

Saved his life.

07 February 2025

Her Superlatives

The way they call her a
Juicy meat-
Dogs must be feeling
Her between their teeth.

Someone said she's a
Cute pussy-cat,
Rats must be terrified of
Her presence at night.

Pristine as primordial fire. 
She saves demigods from 
Conditional hypothermia?

Soothing as breeze.
Light as a bird's feather.
Intoxicating like a flower.

Someone even called her
Soft as a baby's butt.
And the way they touch 
Baby bottoms on live TV..

She must feel abused
Everytime there's a 
Diaper-ad.

06 February 2025

Ochre

Ochre-faced dreams haunt me.
I try to remember why I call it 
Ochre but I can't recall.

The quest takes me to an ancient 
Cave. Pitch dark and only a 
Kerosene torch to look ahead.

The smell of soot, cough and 
Ancient cold in tattered clothes. 
I hold the torch to the walls-

The Cave-Paintings in red dye. 
Hunting, Killing, and boiling 
Cauldrons with bodies..

A sudden slam of pale face at me.
It's my History teacher yelling 
"Ochre is Ferrous oxide..
Mineral used in cave paintings."

Ancient piss tightens my bladder.
I wake up. 10th class history paper 
And there's that question.

Occhre I write. A caveman comes
Running and slaps me for the
Spelling mistake I made.

Suddenly I am in a class at
The edge of a mountain.
Writing ochre a hundred times.

Only question in mind.. why is 
English ma'am naked?
The PE sir charges at me with 
Cuss words after that thought.

Seems they're a thing from ancient 
Times. But why the hell he would 
Speak correct English this time?

22 January 2025

Why Not?

We live in poems and die.
We dance sometimes and
Sometimes cry.

There are drums and guitars
In the corner. Knives and
Nooses on the other.

Divine worship and the
Invocation of Satan that
Goes hand in hand..

We're no one's favorite.
Hate can live long enough
Here. Love can readily die.

Romanticism is our kidnaper
And we got Stockholm
Syndrome diagnosed.

Poetry is a spectrum to
Choke on in search of
Meaning of life.

The wormholes placed in
Our words to enter one world
And exit through the other..

The full exploration of
The universe on our platter
May seem sweet.

But it's Salty and Sour.
And toxic at times.

Why so you may ask.
And our reply would
Always be a 'Why Not?'

20 January 2025

Prayers

Give me a heart that can
Bear longing and mind that
Can handle parting.

Give me legs that can endure 
This tread and shoulder 
That can carry intentions 
That are decent.

And when the skies of
Separation cry a light so bright.
Seas of betrayal heave waves
Beyond fathomable heights.

Give me eyes that can't 
Go blind and hands that
Can swim through the 
Turbulent times.

May the tears of yesterday 
Not seep in today and
The lure of promised laugh 
Not hail on the fragility of 
The present.

My wishes are ordinary and
Prayers are simple.

May thou bless with wings 
That can take me high
And an attitude that keeps me
Grounded to remind me
Where I belong.

17 January 2025

Enchantment

What eyes have cast a bad spell 
On me. I do not know. I stand in front 
Of the mirror often and smile.

What shadows have colored
My beliefs. I do not know.
I question myself often and sigh.

There are doodles in the
Last pages of the notebook.
There's a name dancing on my lips-

I don't want to say aloud.
Fresh bloom of roses in my garden.
The lilies are open for an affair.

What witch has unleashed her
Enchanted cats on me,
My head full of rats is on riot.

The resistance inside asks if
It can bell the cat and I almost budge
To the onslaught of demands but

Something tells me to loosen up
A bit. I do not know what makes
Me go crazy these days-

Just wanna throw my hands
In air and artlessly dance.

16 January 2025

bRAINY

Hand lingers more than
It should.
Eyes go beyond whatever
My mind can't interpret.

Where does the wisdom
Lie though? In seeing things
As they are or re-imagining
Them into something more?

The bricks and bones of this
Dilapidated hut with a brain.
What more can this be?
A hand's yearning for another..

A phallus longing to fit into
Desperation of another to
Produce something that
Comes out crying.

The bare act of feeding
Famished Tongues was
Translated into different tastes
And now we sit here asking

Existential questions like
Condoms having flavors.

Other species must feel
Sorry for us for having a
Brain that overthinks.
Mating, eating, shitting in the
Open and not bothering

About a sleep schedule.
By letting us think that
We're the top in the chain-
They seem to be enjoying
A higher order of evolution
Anyday.

Wish we could be friends again

Before I saw rainbows
In your eyes and 
Bloom of roses in 
My heart.

There was an island 
Where we could casually 
Talk, laugh, cuss and
Gossip.

There wasn't anything 
Special about the things 
You did.

Not receiving a call for
Weeks wasn't an issue.
Even talking to you
For hours didn't build up
Any expectations.

Then a fantasy grew.
Things changed.
Our island got infested  
By butterflies.

And when you ask why 
Can't we be friends..
I don't know what to say.

The dangle of earrings, 
Carve of your lips.
God! How your smile is
Enchanting these days..

I wish I can ignore 
The strands of your hair 
Caressing your cheeks.

I wish your persona
In the black attire 
Doesn't hamper my
Heartbeat..

If you can tell me
Convincingly why the 
Hell we can't be a thing..

I'll tell you exactly why
Can't we be friends 
Again.

Till then adios my
To be or not to be 
Friend/lover with an L.

Adulting

Somewhere I'm still a
Confused boy who's
Not yet bothered about
The consequences.

I refuse to be a grown
Adult man.

Still biking around the
Supposed places with
My BFF, still believing
All the fun will be
Permanent..

The urge to become
A shepherd in the
Himalayas doesn't
Subside.

The longing to be a
Monk as an escape to
This reality is still on
Cards.

Somewhere the kid in
Me, running in the
Narrow streets of
My village with a tyre..
Has seen the adult me
Grow wings.

I flap and sour high.
Dive down screaming..
The air rushing to my
Face and tears drying
In the periphery of my
Eyes.

I lock eyes with him
And nod.
He smiles in approval.
Heck of a life.

15 January 2025

Sense of Aestheticism

This friend in school with
Same kind of mad.
After reading a couple of
Same books and going
High on some philosophical
Quotes.

We tried to delve into the
Mysteries of metaphysical
Paradoxes against the
Volatile dance of our
Teenage hormones.

On the last day of school,
We climbed on the roof
Of sixth class to stay there
Till the orange sun
Disappeared below the
Horizon.

The sense of aestheticism
That got to us then-
We've been chasing it
For over a decade and
Half now.

Not tired of the beauty
Or bonhomie.. The things
We've experienced and
The places we've explored..

Just yesterday when we
Biked hard to catch a
Sunset on the beach
In Manipal..

We missed it because
He wanted to change
To his shorts first.
Can you believe that?

Enraged, Disappointed
I lie on the sand.
He too understands what
We missed.

But that's all right.
Good that we know what
We've missed.
Good that we know
What are we gonna miss
If we don't pursue.

That's what keeps you
Going right?
The curiosity that fuels
Possibilities..

How biking in the Himalayas
Can always start with
A feeble admiration for
Sunsets from above a
Classroom.

Homecoming

My boy doesn't seem
To walk on the ground
These days.
He likes to levitate.

Shit-talking about random
Girls has stopped.

Looks at earrings in
Thrift shops than
Window-shopping
Second-hand bikes.

He doesn't stone the
Mating dogs these days.
Talks about the nostalgia
Of Kishore Kumar songs.

Oils his hair and wears
Better bright shirts and
Wonders why his shit
Stinks after he shits.

My boy has become a
'Bwoy' it seems.

The other day he cleaned
His own puke and swore
Upon his mom to give up
Drinking.

He was a good goddamn
Cement-Wall with shards of
Glass to insulate himself
With feminine curses.

But somehow a witch has
Gotten to him bad, like
Periwinkles leaving cracks.

We're taking counter
Measures though..

Confident, his sailed ship's
Gonna capsize in about
Six months. Or maybe less.

We're getting ready on the
Otherside to relish a
Drunk night full of his rants
About her betrayal.

We know he's gonna sing
English songs after the 4th peg.
His homecoming has to
Happen with an orchestra.

So we're busy tuning our
Instruments now.

Book

I haven't read the book
You gifted me on my
21st birthday.

You remember that day?
You came to meet me
From Mumbai. We had
Lunch in a restaurant.

One of my friends had
Insisted me to offer you a
Flower. I did and you
Had accepted it without
Feeling awkward.

I told you about how I
Love to walk to college
All the way from the
City bus stand.

You said you'd love
To walk. And we walked
Some 7-8 km that day
In the sun.
You gifted me that book
Upon reaching college.

I couldn't read it then.
Then things turned
Worse between us.
I decided to read it when
I'd miss you the most
One day.

A decade has passed now
And every excuse not
To read it has come to
An end.

I don't miss you much but
I feel I should read the book
One of these days.

Or should I go back on
The same road to cover
The same distance
Under the August Sun.

Miss a decade of your
Absence at once.
Then sit in the college lawn
To read it.

Perhaps every finished
Page can be used to
Wipe off tears or
Burn them to ashes by
My brain-scalding ire.

13 January 2025

Men In Love

I don't want this night to 
End. I don't want this 
Conversation to run out
Of steam.

The moonlight reflecting 
From your eyes and
The enchantment your
Lips have cast..

There's something about 
Today's sky. 
Something about you in 
This cold-stricken passage 
Of time.

The sways of your hair 
Against your cheeks.
My heart playing tricks 
With my senses..

It's hard to express.

Your persona building a
Nest in me like you're a 
Sparrow and my yearning 
Finding excuses to make
You origami crafts.

Damn this feeling.

Why would anyone 
Stereotype men as 
Strong and haughty?
They clearly haven't seen 
A guy fall in love. 

Smooth like fragrance.
So soft, even a thousand 
Feathers can't match 
The caress.

A man falling in love is
Like a little girl's dream
Translating on her face 
When she's asleep.

You gotta be careful 
To capture it.
It's a momentary lapse
Of reason. 

A little rush and 
He'd be conscious.. 
And you may never see 
That blush again.

Well, till maybe when 
He'd be blessed with a 
Daughter in some 
Imaginary future.

Mom, Gran and..

It's the weight of daily 
Chores or burden of idealism 
Imposed within closed doors?

The cry of babies or the noise 
Of wanna-be boys and men
That weighed her down?

Why is she hesitant when 
Someone asks her name?
Who was she before she
Could be a mom or gran?

The magical mystery, who
Reeks of round rotis and
Balance of a perfect sambar.

Something loud-mouthed
Consumed the syllables of 
Her last name.

Found only in her school 
Certificate maybe. 
But the paths to her school 
Is erased-

Childhood defaced and 
The backstory of how she was 
Before she turned a Misses is 
Fed to the Wolves.

What remains now is an
Ageless face. Her wageless
Labour and hints of onions 
In her expression..

Which doesn't go beyond 
A couple of sulphated tears 
In the kitchen.

Your own Magic

After a while, you get
Handy with seamless
Operation of gears and
Clutch.

It occurs to you, how a
Better braking system is
Not merely for stopping but
Upping the speed.

After a while, you realize
How you spend your days
Is how you spend your Years,
Decades and Lifetime.

And how sometimes
Consequences don't matter.
Putting yourself in a cocoon,
Having yourself an image.
Doesn't matter.

Age can be counted on
Number of places you've
Visited and number of times
You've aimlessly danced.

You realize if you could
Have stretched your hands
A bit more, you could have
Grown a pair of wings.

How if you could have
Eased yourself with life,
Things could have fallen
In a better place.

After a while, when you
Find yourself utterly alone.
You realize, how no Priest
Or God can help you.
Nor a president or PM.

You realize how you
Need to work on yourself
Till the feather of
Luck comes to rest on your
Shoulder like it's a
Whisper of Buddhist bird.

You realise how
Wonderful it is to be
Your own wizard and
Magic.

11 January 2025

Trade Off

We live on a hill.
The rain ruins the lives of
The people below.

We sneak in at night to
Steal shoes of the dead.

We've got a winter to
Get through ahead.

Some of us succumb to
The snow anyhow.

And people from below
Wait for the hints of
Melting snow to steal
Bones of our dead.

They need them to build
Shelters against the next
Rain that's due.

Soot

Fed up, ashamed.
Feeling gross about
What I've written in my
Diaries all these years..

Decided to burn them
Page by Page.

There goes 3rd December
Of 2015 and 28th Feb of
Another leap year of
The past decade.

Faces of people I almost
Recognize along with
The fade of my own.
Words turning into flares..

Erasing them line by line,
Soot rising in the air.
Seemed I was a blank slate
For a while.

Shortly it rains.

Water-soaked char of
Memories clogging drains
And stinking. Seeping in
Dreams and haunting to

Remind me how I can't
Escape the past. How flushed
Memories can turn into ash,
And force you to cough.

26 December 2024

Nost-algia

The tall building on the 
4th street has my book and 
Pencil-- I never gotta 
Go to school.

The villa near the water 
Tank has trophies I 
Never gotta win.

The temple near the Lake 
Has shoes and a uniform 
I never gotta wear.

The High school by
The Panchayat office has 
Memories of my crippled leg. 
Damaged when one of 
The walls fell.

The childhood that's 
Rubbed away by the bricks 
I carried from the kiln-

When I walk these streets,
A streak of nostalgia 
Gets to me-- like I almost 
Met my school crush.

But alas! She too had to 
Carry bricks for the 
New Mall that came up 
In the city nearby.

We can almost hear the 
Sound of the movies.
And the whiff of popcorn 
Popping inside.

Sometimes we sneak in
To get a peek at the other side,
But it seems they always 
Shoo away our kind.

25 December 2024

Grandma's Garden

The marigolds with their 
Yellow for this festival
And jasmines oozing their
Whiteness.

The Periwinkles with subtle 
Pink by the fence that's
Always ignored and 

The roses in full bloom
Dancing on the only sapling
That came up well after 
Years of trying-

The blossoms in Grandma's
Garden was the beginning of
New Year back then.

She made Deities with
Cow-dung for the occasion.
Age-old tradition to pay
Tribute to our ancestors.

Anything that was deemed 
As a weapon was washed 
And worshiped that day.

The first time she had
Asked me for my book and
The pen for the pooja...
How I had felt like a warrior.

Fresh bravery in my bones.
Chased away pigs that day
In the backyard by myself.
I was heck of a Knight.

Wishes

The next time you travel
By bus at night.
May a beautiful girl occupy
The seat beside you.

May you talk all night
And hit it off well.
May she ask your number
Before you could.

Then by next weekend
May she come to meet you
And you two readily
Fall for each other.

May bike-trips happen
To you both. Late night
Convos under the stars.
Music, love, lust, fights.

And worse, a marriage.

May you have a seamless
Happy life. Two kids in a
Big home. One girl
And the other boy.

One afternoon when you
Sleep on the couch.
May one of them throw a
Steel glass at your face.

And when you wake up
Irritated, to the summer of
Power cut. May you curse
The humidity with

The sweetness of what you
Briefly felt in the dream.

24 December 2024

The Picture

Your head rested on my
Right shoulder when we
Sat on the park bench.

A photographer captured
It from behind and gave 
Us the pic saying 

"It's beautiful."
We kissed later that day.
Our first one.

The tendency of that pic
Of turning into innumerable 
Good things-

Travel, food, party, kids.
Sunsets, mountains, beach.
Long walks after fat feasts.

This pic that has no 
Beginning or an end but 
Only possibilities. 

It's a house on lease where 
We no longer live. But I go on
Paying the rent still.

Like a zoned-out writer 
Disappearing in his story.
Drowned and dusted-

Refusing to come back.
Reality fused in fancy,
Your face becoming 

A philosophy, an ideology.
Romanticism edging towards 
A singularity. And the religion 

You've manifested in me-
I'm happy to have become 
A fanatic. 

My bigotry stands stout 
At your service now.
I want a spiritual awakening.

The Hunter

There's a mountain on
Your body and upon it
The weight of a sky.

Then the hungry stomach
And unwavering stability
In the eyes despite all.

It takes patience,
Not the fangs or heavy
Duty arms.

It's the pacing heart's
Focus anchored Against
Titanium locks.

It's clarity in the right
Time. Right pressure
At right points.

A blink of a mistake can
Hail heavy on the stomach,
Even cost your life.

Hunting is not an easy job.
Ready to be steady even
Against impossible odds..

Hunting is a state of mind.
Why do you think a hunt is
Always glorified?

The Hunter doesn't think
About grass despite being
Starved.

Abandonment to Adoption.

My cat died. No, no. 
She was wounded.
Contracted an infection
That didn't subside.
She had to be done
Away with that's why.

Taken to a far-off place.
She was abandoned there
So she can't find her
Way back home.

She was a good fella.
But inevitability.
That's how things are.

The rats in the house
Started having a party.
We could hear their presence
After the lights were off.

So Dad insisted on
Petting one more.
Again, we got one from
A far-off place so it can't
Find its way back.

She meows around in
Feeble tones. She's fed
And taken care of till she
Become stout.

This gap between
Abandonment and adoption.
The mercy in our hearts
That sinks away and reappears
Like we really care.

We're masters of utility.
Aren't we?

If it suits us, we might
Bell our cats and start
Adoring rats by offering them
The fantasy of nine lives.

Then sacrifice cats
To a religious cause to
Appease Lord Ninklim.
And go in singing laurels
Of his relevance even
In these times.

22 December 2024

Secrets

This secret that lingers
In you and bombards
Demanding a safe carrier.
Day by day, gaining weight
And turning into a rock.

How do you find the right
Ears to whisper it to?
The able shoulders to
Unload it onto?

You can't just throw it
At your pillow.
It's already overburdened
With tears and your drool.

Or you can't just scream
It off from a cliff hoping
The wind would carry it
To a place of no return.

If there was a competition
For bearing such a weight
Of a secret.
I wouldn't win it.

Crushed by even hints of
Such secrecy-
Spread, surrendered
And bled out on a paper-

The urge to unburden
Myself readily. The urge
To shed extra-baggage
In order to travel light.

I want to be a feather to
Fly away when the wind blows.
Or turn me into a quill to
Do the same.

17 December 2024

Fart to Spirituality

Big entrance exam day,
Four puris in the morning
Fall heavy on your stomach.
The stomach growls.

What seemed like a harmless
Fart, seems to tease with
A Serendipitous act.
Your denial earlier grows

Thin and you gotta search
For a toilet. But the
College premises didn't
Bother to build any.

You gotta walk searching
For one. But the only hope
You got is Two kilometres away
In the bus stand.

And you walk and walk
Clenching your
Embarrassment in the ass
That wants to cry.

A five-rupee coin in hand
To pay for the toilet and
An old woman on the way
Asks you for alms.

You don't know what to
Do with the idea that
Flutters in your mind but
You gotta prioritize other
Important things in hand.

There's no gratitude
Bigger in life than your legs
Getting you a toilet in time.
And you're thankful-

The relief with which you
Return. You pay that
Old-woman purposefully.
That day you were more

Closer to God that
Anytime ever in life.

16 December 2024

Baggage

Black coffee, no sugar- plain bitter. 
A Memoir of Dharmashala: Club from 1850s
when the British found vacation joys 
In the hills of their enslaved territory. 

'Cozy jazz' - playlist on the music platform, 
Plays endlessly, I'm all in even if it's hours long.

It triggers something in me
I think about this life. This damned life and 
The series of events that brought me
Here again. 

A friend who died
And the bike he left me in his will along with
A lot of vivid memories on it across 
Lands, oceans, and hills.

One or two songs from the playlist 
Or even more, tweaking the slow cinnamon 
Burn of our days from the college..

They take me back to pull my heart out
To the life at it's the barest laughter and 
We staring back at it with the coldest eyes.

Then he goes away. Twenty years have 
Passed and I haven't cried it out yet.

I feel like poking my eyes with this pen
In my to nab down every bit of tear that
Doesn't come out. But no. 
I have to drag this life for him.

I gotta feel un-poured rains for him.
And see the unveiled horizons. And experience 
That nightly starlight across the Himalayas.

And maybe someday at dawn, when the sun
Comes up across a snow-laden mountains
In the village of Zanskar, to bring 
Peace to my years of traveling streak.

I would then order two cups of 
Sea-Buck-Thon tea, to say cheers to an empty seat. 
And slowly drink it to fade away in 
The foggy wisdom the same evening.

Emancipation

I scribble my thoughts in
My notebook.
If something comes off well,
I type it and pin it in 
Google Keep for editing.

After regular rounds of
Mending, bending and 
Restructuring of the tone.
I unpin it before posting 
It in my blog.

It's like granting freedom 
To a prisoner. 
Like, an idea was held for 
Trespassing the premises 
Of my mind-

His plea had to go through 
Rounds of considerations,
Before his behaviour 
Was considered apt.

And when it seemed
He lived upto the mark,
He was set free in the
Poetry's realm.

And now that he has 
Earned his freedom,
He belongs to the hearts 
Of whoever reads.

'S'

This urge to capture 
Her pics. This urge to 
Scream her name.

The butterflies in the 
Stomach that want to 
Manifest but don't want to 
Make anything obvious-

There's pic of an old man
Walking away in my gallery.
And of a wrapper of 
Cadbury dairy milk.

A leaf of mango and 
A discarded pen I found 
When I was walking her
To the library.

This urge to scribble 
Her name in the last page,
But it goes only till 'S' to 
To become something else.

I realize. These pics are 
The moments I steal as 
Souvenirs around my 
Feelings for her.

Random, hopeless and
Not so loud pics- 
An attempt to hide my 
Longing, even from myself.

Yet this urge to preserve 
Her presence-
The 'S' that became 
'Seagull' in my pen name.

The unsung part is the 'P.S'
That hides the things
My backspace couldn't.

Narcissism

Sleeping with myself to 
Test my narcissism.
Guess I got an erection.

I saw my face and 
The bare-ugly-chest.
Drooled all over to 
Quench my fetish.

I was my own king
And my own queen.

Orgasm after orgasm 
After the self-admiration.
Finding no one better 
Than the two of me-

The goldy manifestation 
I am, and the others,
High on the voyeurism of
My pious sins-

Should try me. Try us. 
We can gaslight you
At will and feed you to
Your own guilt, so that 

You can come in praise 
Of my wit later on.

Till then, lemme 
Sharpen my tongue for 
My next attack.

15 December 2024

War against Cancer

Me and cousin urinated
In the empty bottles,
Stashed by my grandfather.

Hampering his intentions
Of selling them to buy
Himself packs of Beedi.

Guess who were the
Earliest fighters of cancers
By weaponizing weenies.

Maybe we should take up
The task again to raise
Funds for a campaign to

Piss on the balance sheets
Of cigarette companies.
"Cocks against cigars"-

Such a metaphor for 
What kills and what can 
Give birth.

What can ooze out life
And what sucks it in.

12 December 2024

Duality

Beyond this village,
The opportunities.
The lillies beyond the sea
Against the marigolds here.

The weight of a livelihood
Like a compulsive habit
To join an ocean.
Salt, depth, dark- lost?

Should the river be
Condemned to forget
Its own taste in search 
Of something more?

Should the Lotus in the
Village pond go on
Smiling daily, despite being 
Ignored by everyone?

The different worlds we
Fancy in our heads-

One leg, very well 
Grounded while the other 
Is placed in the skies of 
Heavens.

The divide forever keeps
Increasing while we piss on
The possibilities that lie
In the middle.

Adulthood

The older you get,
The less you cry.
You just learn to handle 
The pain well, with time.

Hide hit, mold it or 
Forget-
Whatever it takes to
Push back the tears.

The skilled carpenters 
We are with our 
Hammers and the nails-

Agile to thump back 
Every drop with no fear
Of damaging the eyes,
Or hearts.

Nails stuck all over the 
Face, a wooden mask
Always in work,
All through life.

The kid within us we
Tried to love. We abused 
Him eventually.
We're our own pedos.

Adulthood really is just a
Funeral where everyone 
Laughs at each other's 
Progressive demise.

10 December 2024

One Last Hunt

The storm in your chest is a
Caged animal, waiting for 
That one last hunt.

Poised on front foot,
Body weight shifted to rear.
Ready to jump as soon as
You open your gates.

But you're afraid of the 
Turbulence aren't you?
Second guessing your ability to
Bear lightening and thunder?

To protect the flicker of
Light that you haven't lit yet,
You go all lengths to contain 
The storm inside..

And the darkness in your 
Life and winter in your legs.
The animal you are, wanting 
That one final hunt..

But you were afraid of the
Taking chances all your life,
And you wonder how you 
Starved yourself to death.

07 December 2024

Ruined Thing

A bird that didn't fly,
Man who didn't try.

Stuck in ifs and why,
Train left the station 
And you stood watching 
Instead of hopping on.

The song was ready,
Guitar was tuned.
The song didn't materialize 
As you chose not to sing.

A perfectly ruined thing
Is the one didn't get
Any taint or bruise.

So afraid of the wound,
Stood infront of the mirror 
All life, glorifying one's 
Flawless skin.

But the mirror only 
Amplifies what you hide.
How do you escape 
Your reflection that lies?

06 December 2024

Carrot Halwa

I hope you say my name
In your sleep. 
I hope your kid asks you 
Repeatedly about the one 
You seek in your dreams.

I hope you've fumbled 
Everytime they all wanted an 
Explanation and I hope
You had decided to never 
Talk about the past.

But not today.
Not on on this gloom ladden 
Sunday of late December.

But how are you gonna 
Say it aloud? 
How are you gonna scream 
An ex lover's name in
Everyone's presence?

So you decide to prepare 
Halwa with carrots from 
Backwaters of Kerala,
The one you had prepared me
When we had first met.

Everyone enjoys it to 
The last bit. 
Your in-laws say it's the best 
They've tasted.
That's the closure everyone 
In the family wanted..
That's what you thought.

But your kid still goes on 
Aking about me and you never 
Realise when he started 
Referring to me as papa.

And what shocks you more
Is why the hell is he referring
To your husband as mama.

05 December 2024

POV

I like the Third-Person-POV 
Of mine who goes on 
Scribbling word after word.
Sentence after sentence.

Stopping for a while to
Search for words and then 
Go on in rhythms with a 
Set flow.

This simulation that runs
In my head, flowing around 
Like a river in search of 
New oceans.

I feel the tones, the pauses.
Breaths taken when I 
Run out of words and swish of 
Wind when a good sentence 

Strikes my head.
It's an unstructured play of
Aligning lines, before something 
Translates on the paper.

While I stood looking at
The burst-crackers in the street
From the previous night's
Celebrations-

I toppled over an idea and 
The subsequent stream of 
Thoughts landed me in this 
Poem.

Manther

The day I died,
My soul came out holding 
Its nose, like it could
Not bear the stench.

It didn't look back or wait. 
It escaped from gap between 
Unbecoming of my name
Into a corpse.

What will this bird out
Of the cage would do?
For I haven't taught her
Any songs too.

I already see a limp
In its wings,
Can sour to the heights 
It wishes to reach?

But then it enters another 
Body before I could 
Empathize with it a bit.
Souls have no loyalty, ain't it?

Flaunting its body-count 
Like it's a Manther,
It goes on lusting for better 
Cages and skeletons, 

To collect bounty in terms 
Of carnal misery of the body 
That comes with every 
Mortal's mortality.

04 December 2024

Otherwise

Woke up, and went on a walk.
Made myself a cup of coffee
And had a good frothy bath..

It could have been otherwise.

Watched a movie later on,
Wrote something for myself.
A good lunch. A deep nap
After a long time..

It could have been otherwise.

Plugged in the earphones,
Hopped on an old playlist and 
Remembered an old friend while 
I sulked alone in the evening.
Called him this time.

It could have been otherwise.

He joined me later on.
A bike ride to the distant bar.
A beer, kababs and biryani.
Talked for long.

It could have been otherwise,
But I called him, and we had a beer.
Can live in relief for another 
Month at least and maybe 
Many more.

03 December 2024

Good Night

Bridges from where to
Where and why?
Why they're always in
The proces of building or
Burning in the stories?

Today, in mine, everything 
Lies flat on the floor.
Reasons I don't know.
I mean, on this winter night 
Why the trudge?

Why build something 
Out of sweat? Or burn
Something to cough out
The same?

It's lazy, hopeless and
Mindless freak this night.
Lies flat with wanting 
No help or support.

Loses control and withers 
Itself to sleep.
This story is sleep deprived.
And I badly need it.
Good night.

02 December 2024

Sense of Humour

At first, parents will come to
Snatch your sense of humor.
Then those teachers and 
Well-wishers.

Advisors and other elders, 
Who can't handle your wit.

Sometimes the siblings and
Some friends. Your dog,
The family deity who can't 
Take a little offense.

They can't handle the ridicule.
A bit of sarcasm seems
Like a mirror, and they don't 
Want to be exposed.

Then there's the government.
The most afraid and intolerant.
Anything that reeks of life,
They want to tax it.

Sales tax on whoever laughs
And slabs of GST on whoever
Makes them laugh.

They love you on crutches
Don't they? A compliant mind 
That doesn't question..
A "Yes sir' without any arguments
To label you a patriot.

If only all the leaders were 
Comedians, and 
In the next world wars
Jokes would explode-

Not that they aren't jokers 
Or stuff isn't exploding stuff now.
It's just, no one is laughing. 
As the joke is on us. 

01 December 2024

Orchards

Somewhere, there's a memory 
Of waiting with Mom for a bus
To her maiden home.

Somewhere there's a memory 
Of Dad carrying me on his 
Shoulders to buy me chocolates.

Grandpa, showing me how 
The buffaloes are milked.
Grandma, giving me 25 paise
After I help her with chores.

A memory of running around 
With cousins and bruising 
My knees. Mama gifting me my 

First pair of Pargon-chappals
As I tagged along while 
Harvesting paddy.

The brief shudder of calm in
My veins every time I remember 
My childhood. Feels like,

I still sneak into those orchards
To steal mangoes. So delicious
That I'm forever thankful.

28 November 2024

The fleeting moments

Do we ever become worthy
Of something? Love, kiss, a hug?
A decent talk maybe, to be a

Day-to-day person?

Why does the mountain of
Expectations weigh down on
The fleeting moments?

Get a job or earn something
Before you could deserve
Something-

The wait, till you turn 25,
The wait, till your dog goes,
Through second pregnancy-

It seems I waited too long for
Things to happen to me.
Took me long to realize, how..

Life happens between fleeting
Moments. The messy palette
Before it manifests into art.

The pleasure of chaos in mind
Before something thoughtful
Arrives.

The blue, pink, red, yellow that
Passed in front of you while you
Waited for that perfect girl to

Land in your life.
The undermined beauty of
Monochromes before

The rainbow did or did not
Happen and the feel of the
Colors that forever remains.

27 November 2024

True Love

I don't believe in true love.
The unconditional kind.

l like the idea of it though.
I like the fact that some
People believe in it.
I like the fact that my friend
Still believes it.

One person's unhinged
Passion for the other.
An almost obsession
That wants to cross
Boundaries.

Longing for each other
Like it's a rage.
A radical communist if
Love was an ideology
Leaning left.

Like belief in God.
Come what may- logic
Science or rationality-
Or other religions that
Denies one's belief-
Thy lord is supreme-

No one stands a chance.
You can't negotiate
Those terms or plant
A doubt in the mind of this
Plain blindness.

I hate, I can't do that.
I hate, I can't believe in God.
I hate, I can't truly fall in love
With you and worship you
Like you're my Almighty Lord.

I hate, the fact that I can't
Truly surrender to you
When you say- "Lemme
Love you" and when you ask
"Who's your mommy?"
I hate I can't truly be a
Child.

Lost Decade

Tell me forgotten friend,
About the decade we lost.

Tell me about the weather 
Of far-off places and of
The same place when 
We were far off.

Do other people sound 
The same? Does the movie 
Experience with others
Get better?

Did you buy a PlayStation 
To play with your roommate?
Or started together a
Business?

The beer didn't taste 
The same for me. 
The pillion of my bike 
Remained forever empty.

I lost interest in the video 
Games. Even my girl left
Me as she couldn't fill up
The void you left.

A pitcher forever waits for 
You in beside a half-plate 
Biryani, in every bar I visit.
Tell me if you miss me

The same. Tell me if there 
Are chances to amend.
Tell me if there's hope.
Tell me if we can meet again-

To bike around in the mountains.
Eat, laugh and bitch about 
People in different places,
Like we always did. 

26 November 2024

Missed Diwali

How was it this time?
I asked my brother after
Missing Diwali for years.
He said-

The cousin with the funny
Nose had come and we
Made hot-air-balloons like
We did as children.

Grandma took charge of
Of the kitchen to prepare
Her signature once-in-a-year
Vermicelli dish.

Mom planned an elaborate
Rangoli- I helped her fill
The colours - she teared up
While she put your name
In the bottom.

Dad of course was
Grumpy all morning.

He did test everyone's
Patience yesterday evening
While he made all of us
Clean the house.

By 11 am today when
Everyone gathered to offer
Flowers to your photo.
Dad broke down for the
First time in three years.

I haven't cried it out yet.
And I've stopped bursting
Crackers. And just like
The future ones would-

This Diwali was grand too
In your memory.

25 November 2024

Playfulness

At first, you battle with your mind-
Trying to enslave your thoughts in
In tough words.

Forcefully attempting to knit meaning
In metaphors. Hoping they would
Grow wings one day.

But can clipped wings fly?
The caged birds sing?
The arrogant poet you're initially-

Not knowing the art of letting go-
The edgy arrogance smoothens out
To give way to a playfulness eventually.

You surrender to your mind and
Let yourself flow in uncharted
Territories.

The erstwhile Lake becomes a river
And you give it a chance to join
The ocean. Standing on the sidelines-

Slow, observant. Ready to borrow a
Glass of water from the eternal flow to
Make it into a verse.

Unsure always to declare it as a
Full-fledged poem-- Not being sure
Opens up innumerable possibilities.

Now you can be the Beginning, the End,
Or the middle. Or All of it, None of it or
Simply the in-between.

Quietude

Somewhere there's this quietude.
Waiting on a hill, looking at a nullity-

Sitting by a lake, waiting for
The ripples to come, touch your feet-

Imagining yourself in a dark room,
Eyes closed. Searching for something.
Searching for what?

This quietude you can't listen to.
Quietude you can't feel or touch-

Trying to translate it on sheets and
Sheets of paper. Not satisfied with a
A pen or colour or your intent.

Ending up relating yourself more to
The blankness of the paper than any
Of the stories written-

Each paper, screaming, louder than ever.
And you, growing quieter every time
You scribble.

With each appeal and attempt-
Between the noise and silence.
The void, getting bigger and bigger-

The artist in you, smaller and smaller.
Till one day when you disappear from
Your art. Consumed by the void.

Only then it's complete.
Only then peace. Only then a poem.

24 November 2024

Skilled Labour

They don't make children's 
Movies these days.
Seems everyone feels a bit 
Overly adult each year.

All the toys and dolls be
Reduced to a nullity soon.
All the cry and naivety be
Banned because who wants 
To be child anymore?

There would be ultrasonic 
Classes after conception.
The foetus should learn 
Mandarin by the second 
Trimester.

The world's running out of 
Skilled labour- one has to 
Process Raw-Data if they
Want decent exit from their 
Mom's vagina.

Ohh! We need to beat machines 
And AI modules you see- 
Teaching mental agility to 
These LittleShits is the only 
Way to save humanity.

Our wars are spiritual,
We're our own enemies.
Need to give up vanities,
Ignore emotions. 
Focus on mental awareness
And cognitive orgasms.

So, here, you wanna be 
Freaks. Take these 
Quantum Nuclear Codes.
Mug them up and don't leak.

If there's an explosion,
Contain it in your head.
And that's a test for your 
Enrollment in first grade.

23 November 2024

Two Chairs

At the end of the world,
Against a fiery sky that's
Dying. There are two 
Plastic chairs.

I'm sitting on one,
Waiting for you with a
Cold beer.

At the beginning of 
The world. Against rebirth 
Of a new sky- there are
Same two chairs.

Still waiting for you,
The beer is cold still.

And the epochs pass by-
Ice-ages -advent of warmth-
The civilizations and now-

The same chairs against a
Murky sky and skyscrapers.
But you come this time.

Where were you? Doing what? 
Having flings? Kissing hoes?
Tasting betrayals? 

The beer just turned warm 
And the moment is gone.
Saying BFFs for life-

The way you've come now.
The sheer audacity.
Where are the snacks?

First Date

We had so many things
In common.
Cup cakes over any other.
Bike over cars. 

Ice cream after tea in
The winters and long
Unplanned walks than
Waiting for buses.

We hit it off well, 
That evening.

"Lunch Box" over any
Other movie.
Periwinkles anyday than
Daisies.

We sat for long, 
Discussing how marriages 
Are scams and where all 
One can travel with all 
The saved money.

We decided to meet
Again after a year,
In the same place if
Things work out.

I was almost leaving,
Disappointed.
Then you appeared on
A bike suddenly asking 

How about Ice-cream 
After tea? And I said
To Ma that night,
Bahu mil gayi.