You know what's Sexy?

Why are you silent?

You’re fed up talking?
Or you think
I’m tired of
Listening to you?

Am I not a
Worthy audience?
Or you’ve been
Underestimating yourself?

Can you not carve out
A dagger-like-smile
To slash away,
This Awkwardness?

Between sullen faces
And dodgy eyes..
Angry disguise and
Pretentious smiles..

You know what’s sexy?
A conversation.

Beyond Sanity..

Like an incantation
Gone wrong.
I suppose you're
An accident.

Or;
Was god high
On weed; when
He made you?

I wonder,

How a flawless beauty,
Such a you.. can be
Carved by someone,
In his conscious self?

I don't know.

I'm just a mortal.
Limited by my own
Senses, instincts and
Imagination.

You just question
My sanity.

Middle Path

I'm not so easy.
Not so difficult.

Not much skeptical.
Not too careless.

Bit balanced.
Bit not.

I'm somewhere
In the middle-

Little fucked up
And a little not.

Gone with the Winter

The memories of
Those late night talks,
The rain did sweep.

And the unconditional
Sweet-little-warmth,
The winter did freeze.

There's a cold calm,
A stab of apathy and a
Kind of murky-charm left.

Like a scenery contained
By the withered leaves,
This feeling too is-

Beautiful. Colourful.

To the Future Me

I've locked you
In a metaphor and
Have hidden it in
An old diary.

If you're ever lost,
Come, find it.
See what it felt like
To be yourself.

Petrichor

Some one has
Rained down;
On my unsung lands.

And has
Written a song.

Tuned my guitar
And has poked
Some chords.

Like the smell of
Thirsty soil after
A drizzle-

This feel has
A life. Melodious.
No more empty.

Let it Rain..

Let it rain,
In the barren lonely lands,
Of the aloof;

In the darkness laden
Corners of minds of
The ones smothered in
The dust of dismay.
Let it rain.

Breaking the walls of
Empty thoughts and
Suspended emotions-
Let it rain.

To clear the haze
Of melancholy,
That has stalled lives.
Let it rain.

In the hearts that might
Bear fruits and
Spread wisdom.
Let it rain,
To prevent a bitter,
Cold cacti invasion.

Oh mighty rain!
Pour down.

Pour down,
Ebb away this monster,
Feeding on emotions.

Pour down to blossom
The souls shrivelled.

Pour down to usure hope.
Pour down to assure life.

Pour down to spread love.
And pour down to spread beauty.

Dreams n Job

Even after reaching
My destiny,
This journey seems
Incomplete.

Missing home like
Never before.

If life's a really long
Round trip back home.
I wonder where
I am headed.

If dreams are as
Costly as a home.
They be worth it.
But this job?

I don't know.

Speak Up

Speak up, you moron.
Speak.
Your words-

Let them poke,
Leave a stroke.
Hang upside
Down.. till some
Egos choke.

Let them touch,
Let them caress.
Let them leave a scar,
Rejoice a memory..

Let them,
Fall in an argument.
To put up a fight.
Duel with tongues,
To see some
Bleeding gums.

Let broken teeth
Be their abode
For a while.
Dirty mouths give them
A taste of the world
That's flawed.

Stop whining
All the time.
Lift those walls,
Grow some balls,
Be a man!

Let the words
Crawling in your
Veins burst open
To write a revolution.

The insights hitting
Roof of your brain
Start another phase
Of evolution.

Throw down

Your walls.

Hold on your ground.

Speak up

To hurt tonight.

Speak up...

To love.

Quench the Unsung

I was,
A rhymeless poem,
A wandering tramp.
A stray thought in
An empty mind.

You came in;
Showed a dream.
Wrote a song.
And Pfff! Gone like
A cut lose kite.

Now a stage set,
Guitar is tuned.
My feelings are ripe..
Ahh! In here, It's a
Rampage of desire.

Ye! The angel from
The lands, unexpected.
Stop haunting me
Like an unexpressed
Grief.

Come over for a while,
Give me a sign.
Poke the guitar,
Sing a song,
To quench the unsung.

Walking Elegance

After you made me
Sleep, I woke up
In a dreamy fantasy.

Enchanting smile
Spread on the tan
Of your face.

Scintillation of
Your eyes, cutting
The gloomy shades.

Like a craze that
Questions my sanity.
Draped in the reds-

You were,
A walking elegance.
Flawless. Infinite.

The Unsung

Thoughts are
Running wild
To fall into words.

And I'm tired of
Becoming just
Another verse again.

I want someone
To come, to
Usher some rains.

Not to write,
But to sing.

I want to dance.
I'm tired of
The unsung.

Void

Here we sit across this
Unwavering silence.

And there's a lot of
Noise inside me.

Do you feel the same?

Only if you can really listen.
I can pour my oceans to you.

Can you lend your ears
And be my infinity again?

Let's Become a Story

Let's become slaves
To this night and
Be lost in each other.

You wink, I'll gleam.
You blush, I'll laugh.
Let's talk from the
Moon to the stars.

You sigh, I'll pant.
The duel of our breath,
Let it drown us in
Luxuries this night.

As the darkness fades
And the moon grows
Jealous..
Let one more story
Of us grow wings..

To take a refuge,
In Brown pages of
My diary.

I'm a Life

I'm good. I'm bad.
Between the
White and black.
I'm a shady
Recline.

I'm not a
Quantifiable piece
Of meat bag.

I'm love. I'm pain.
I'm melancholia.
A rainbow.
A celebration,

Also, a pitch memory
Of darkness.

I'm dark strokes
On the canvas.
Also the mess in
The palette.

More often,
The discarded scribble
On the paper, than
The well-aligned
Parts of my verses.

I'm a story that
Made love under
The fan and
Hung itself to death
Later that night.

I'm this, I'm that.
Beneath, under,
After, before.
I'm a boundless
Beyond.

And sir, or madam.
If you think.
You've understood me,
Then, congratulations.

You've just become
An artist.

Where are you from?

I am from
A place with-

The longitudes
Of heart and
Latitudes of mind.

I'm from
Within myself.

Where are
You from?

Prison

What if you
Fall in love with
The prison
You escape?

Will it..
Still be;
The freedom
You longed?

But, again-
Isn't love a
Prison too?

Blame

I suppose,
Blaming others is a really
Funny evolutionary adaptation.

When we emotionally fail
We say heart is shit. Should
Have listened to my mind.

When we logically fail we say,
Should have followed heart.

I mean wtf is this?
Both are fucking part
Of the same freaking mind.

Maybe blame is a evolutionary
Mechanism to move on with life.

At Ease

The smile hidden
In my mind faces
No hassle to make
It onto my lips.

Breaking the ice,
My words dance
On my fingertips
With utmost ease.

I don't know if
It is the weather but
Today, I feel as light
As a humble feather.

What a disposition.

Wannabe Blues

To have glistened
Daily in your
Elegant shades.

Like a canvas,
I wish I were
The evening sky.

Woven in the blues
Dim, dusky and
Yet, pleasant.

Un-containable Vacuum

Lift that veil
From your eyes and
Ebb away that gloomy
Shade from your face.

Look up, the
Heavens are hung,
The Life around
Has dried up.

Why don't you
Carve a little grin
On your gentle lips
To light it up around.

Please,
Can you break
Your silence and
Fill this vacuum.

Let there be a moment.

Just Be There

You be like that.
Undefined.
Unspoken.
Indiscernible.

Riding my
Utopia.
Feast for
My thoughts.

To be special,
You don't have
To unravel
Yourself.

Just be there
To Inspire.
Like a stunning
Mystery.

Lol

Your pics
Without filter.

Un-combed
Messy hair.

Face with a
Shade of anger,

And the eyes
With lots of kajal.

No wonder I
Started believing,

In the Ghosts.

'Bud'dies

While waiting alone
At a lonely bend and
The time was passing by
Having no ears to lend.

On the long nights; to
Keep your demons at bay.
And some empty
Thoughts away.

Sticking around the neck;
To shield you from toxic men,
The earphones that stood
For you, like a hazmat suits-

Are also called buds for
A reason my friend.

Give Me My Pen

A poem has set
It's pace in me.
Finding a way out,
It's poking around.

It has sneaked in
Every corner.

And soaked in the
Biases I've breathed,
And the opinions
I've consumed,

It has made my
Blood thick.
Veins about to burst.
It's throbbing.

And before it's spilt,
And it's a mess.
Give me my pen.
Let me speak.

Dear, Mr. Monday

Who wants to
Work after Sunday?
Dear, Monday; are you
Not tired of yourself?

Agreed,
Pope was your father.
Childhood was a trauma.
Doesn't mean-

You've to be
'A kick on the nut' face?
And clapper to the
'Let's run this race.'

If only, you
Hadn't made my
Morning tea sour and
Yourself a weekly bore.

I would have Befriended
You. Dear, Mr. Monday.

Cli-mate Change

Remember the days?
When life was life.
Fun was fun, And
Fights didn't go to head.

When I was I, You were
You. We were us.
Lots of food; music.
And time was smoke.

Life was easy,
Everything was simple.
Fog in the winters.
Rains in the rainy season.

I don't know,
When did we become
Global warming and
Lost our summer.

Loop

I'm bored and
Time is slow.
Inside; lots of noise,
My mind might blow.

My what's app is
As lonely as me.
Cliche; even movies,
I don't want to see.

Present playlist is
A sheer monotony.
To go on a trip,
Monies, I don't have any.

So..
I'd to give away myself
To the incognito tab,
Only to meet my
Sweet guilt again.

God! every freaking day,
Is the same. Like a loop.

Porn Mania 1

From holding the paper cuttings of actresses as hostages in our books to stashing the adult books that we read in turns under the bed- adulthood had hit every one of us in different frequencies. Sooner or later we all did it. No matter how disgusting some things were, it’s all just pure fun when we look back. Most of these things happened after we entered the senior house in 2007.

Back then when the internet was still a story we read in books. Asiq banaya apne video song was a popular talk. It took a life full of effort to watch that in my friend’s PC; who was a staff-child. After all what good is a staff child if he didn’t help you to access some explicit stuff like that?

Somewhere around that time, we heard for the first about the blue films aka BF. Yeah! Suck it up… aptly.. I know it, you know it... between calling it BF and porn, we all grew up.

One day, some of the B-section guys started talking about a porno. The migrated guys had managed to pull off a show in the computer lab that morning as they had a CD. One guy narrated the incident to me. He said, “After we settled down in the computer lab, I felt a vacuum around me and when I saw through it; all eyes were fixated on it. And when I laid my eyes on it, the screen literally poked my eyes. It was disgusting, yet irresistible. There was a kind of warmth and quiver in the body. Next period was Jodaddi sir’s. His one-minute silent prayer before the start of the class was a horror. It was like someone had put a mirror inside us to reflect our own guilt. I shivered through the minute. And it was not just me.”

---

Though the computer lab was one place, the usual magic happened elsewhere. Different batches had accessed the stuff in different ways. Usually, the first time happened because of the legacy of senior batches. Our senior’s legacy was the maths lab. It had become a porno adda ever since it was newly established and a PC was put in it.  It was an ideal spot because it was like an outhouse. Totally isolated from the school building and no one paid a regular visit there.

A rod from the window was removed. It was wide enough to slide through it. It was engaged all the time. Things were done so surreptitiously that I suppose for about a year at least; no one had a clue. Most of we A-section boys watched one at the end of 10th class. February 5, 2009. Weird; I remember that date. 

Two guys were inside the lab, operating the PC. Group of we peeped through the window. It was a Tarzan porno. When everything was heating up; a guy beside me who was bit sensitive; started to make weird noise subconsciously. The sight of the clip was so disgusting that it was difficult to watch it continuously. Yet, there was the irresponsible grasp that conditioned the mind. Aftermath, of course, the guilt was there. But we all get used to it, ain't we?

Standing at that last window of maths lab; the first time is memorable as hell. Last week when we had gone to the school after a marriage. Some of we took a moment to peep through the last window. The ten years challenge was practically complete. Also, literally. The date was February 10.

Dharwad

On the darkening blue,
An orange inlay.
The sun's setting
Birds on their way.

Dharwad; No difference.
Smells all the same.
The Mirchi-girmit invokes,
The good old days.

The taunts we made
And laughs we had.
Ran and Roamed around,
Worthy of some pretty scars.

Without any signs,
There was a last day.
Blink of an eye;
Careers, Responsibilities-

Life's now a long drag.

Born Free?

It's easy to
Break out of a prison
That contains us.

What can be done
When we ourselves,
Contain a prison inside?

Or worse.

What if we ourselves
Are a prison!
Disguised as men?

I mean, what better way
To captivate someone?
Than to-

Blow some life into a
Ribcage, give hope and
Convince them that

That they're born free.

And like the cogs of a
Ceaseless wheel,
A workforce is ready.

Real Orphans

Only sleep
Can be a real
Homely refuge.

Without it,
You don't
Really belong-

To a day.
Neither,
To a night.

Not even to
Your home or
To yourself.

And maybe
That is why,
I suppose-

Nobody is as
Orphaned as,
The insomniacs.

Agents of Time

Death is
The final nail;
In the coffin.

Oblivion is
The Rust;
That follows.

One to end.
One to efface.

Only time is
Immortal.
Rest all are
Its victims.

Breathless

You're an
Abrupt surge
In this perpetual
Calmness.

A sudden
Suction of
My serene
Solitude.

In an unwavering
Contempt of life,
You're my dear,
A kick on my gut.

Can't breathe in.
Can't breathe out.
You take my
Breath away.

Cyclic Psyche

How many times
Have I not said to myself
'It doesn't matter'.
And I've brushed away
Your memories?
The songs I've skipped .
The pics I've deleted.

To restrain myself from
Not looking at that turn
We had met.
How many times have I not
Died a thousand times?
Taking shortcuts.
Searching new routes.

And I don't know
How many times
Should I have to squeeze
My beat-box, let it lay out
To dry; before I let you go?
To vent a careless sigh
To tell myself, it's over.

I don't know what's
A thing, most hopeless.
But I think, convincing
Yourself a lie when you,
Already know the truth,
Is one of them and
I'm caught up in it.

Novel Appeals

Sometimes,
The same hunger
Needs to be
Satiated differently.

Need for new eyes,
To perceive the same
Horizon creatively.

Coffee tastes different
On heights.
Even shit costs more
In flights.

Food is poison if
Out of place.
Even a hunter is
Hunted outside a context.

Same stories from
Different mouths,
Sound different on
Same the ears.

Same tears on a
Different face has
Made the Hyena,
A hypocrite.

And when it all

Came down to

A simple question.

It was never about 

The taste of water.

The answer lied in

The appeal of thirst.