Embargo

I try to forget you.

But I fail.

I drink all day to

Forget you.

But I fail.

I read, I write.

I sleep, I wake.

I choke on my

Helplessness.

Talk to the ceiling,

Fight with pillows.

I bask, I crack,

I whack and I 

Really, really, try

To make you go

Away.

But I fail.

You creep in 

Like a snake to

Scare me again.

You sneak in

Like rustle of

Leaves in the

Dead of night to

Haunt me again.

It's like my

Head is on fire.

Skin has turned

Dry.

Hair is a mess

With a strong urge

For an itch.

And I have

Run out of water

To take a decent

Bath.

Upon that I've 

Decided to hate 

The rains too.

Also, I've been

Avoiding

The shadow of

The moon but

He has followed

Me everywhere.

I've tried to kill

You in my stories.

Tried to burn our

Memories.

But I've badly 

Failed.

And like fumes of

Hot chai that

Elevates desires.

You creep in to

Demand a 

Reconsideration.

And I ask myself

Again.

If I want to forget

You for sure.

Do I really want

To let you go?

The answer slightly

Tilts towards a no.

Seems like I've

Grown a fondness

To this embargo.

This fondness take

Sides of a fight 

Inside my head.

To be or not be.

To be you sometimes

And to be me the other.

To stay put or

Just move on.

Maybe it's fun.

Maybe I'm not

Lonely that way.

Social media

Zhakm ke bazaar mein

Naaptol ke dard 

Becha ja raha hai.

Gaye the hum bhi,

Kamaye huye,

Kuch ghaav leke.

Kacche aam ki

Keemat shayad koi

Nai karta waha.

Shayad, achaar

Dalna padega. 

Conquest

Took a train. Then a bus. 48 hours after, found myself in Dharmashala. Five hours of trek, then on a mountain top.

The thirty rupees tea. Bread omlet, hundred each. Watched the sunset. Pegged tent and slept early.

Middle of the night, when mountains were asleep and the moon was awake. Peeped out of the tent and shivered to the cold.

The valley looked stunning. So did my insignificance. Maybe that's how it is, when you conquer yourself.

The child in me

The child in me 

Wants to go to

My grandpa's place

To be lost in his

Stories again.

Climb the trees

To eat unripe

Mangoes and

Eat all the roasted 

Cashews without

Sharing with anyone.

The child in me

Wants play with

Fire. Conjure, 

The courage to

Leap in to 

Experience things. 

Learn, unlearn

And re-learn.

Just like how

One has to be

Persistent to craft

A kite and put

It in flight.

The child in me

Wants to imitate

Shaktiman and

Also understand 

Gangadhar.

Believe I can fly.

Still be grounded.

Ignore the wounds

On my knee and

Run again like

There's no tomorrow.

The child in me

Just wants to talk

To the adult me,

To hold hands and

Shed masks.

Fill courage and

Say it's alright.

Climb mountains,

Sail across seas to

Show how belong,

And where to 

Belong.

Anjaan

Woh kaun hai jo

Jo sapnon mein aake

Hakeekat mein

Gayab ho jate hai.

Aine mein dikh kar,

Parichayi chod jate hai. 

Woh kaun hai jo

Dimag pe sawar

Dil pe nishan

Chod jate hai.

Khule bazaar mein

Khwaab dikha ke,

Baad mein marichika 

Ho jate hai. 

Kash woh tum hote.

Ya khud hum.

Lekin ye koi

Aur hai. 

Anjaan toh hai

Jaroor..

Lekin pata nahi

Kyu.

Jaan pehechan 

Se bhi lagte hai. 

Listen

Listen to the breeze

As it passes by.

The rustle of the leaves,

The calm it assures.

Listen to the thoughts

It invokes, as it

Touches your insides.

..

Listen to the river

As it cuts through rocks.

The pebbles it 

Brushes past.

The persistence it

Inspires.

Listen to the tones

It brings you back,

As it flows soaking

Your heart.

..

Listen to the snow

As it settles on the soil.

The white that covers,

The cold that spreads.

Listen to the fire 

It can light. 

In the corner of

Your mind.

The summer that's

Still alive.

. 

Poles Apart

Of the red

And the blue.

We're the 

Uncommon dark.

Of the music 

And the noise.

We're silences

Aloud.

Of a dream

And the dread,

A realisation that

Fled the night.

And of the hope 

And despair,

A love that didn't

Last long.

Like the sea  

And the sky.

We could meet

Only as a mirage.

In reality we're,

An universe 

Apart. 

Oblivion

Life slips from

The the clutches

Of my fingers like

The loose grains 

Of sand.

Passes through

The the gap in 

My eyes like a

Forgettable perspective.

Pages turn. 

The clocks run.

Night eats the day

And light turns up.

Time has fled.

Story is gone and

Before I could remember,

Oblivion said Hi..

Void to Infinite

They say 

You kill with

Your eyes.

And I have

Already died

Twice. 

The paths

You derail with

Carve of your

Smile.

I've already

Lost myself

Thrice. 

For a glance

Of your face,

The wars 

They've waged.

I've been

Martyred a 

Few times. 

You take them

Places they 

Say.

Now, I too have  

Seen the infinite.

By first hitting 

The void.

Scream

I feel like I should

Just scream.

Rip this trails of

Stress and spread

Myself on the floor.

I just want to 

Scream till

My brain bursts.

Body gives up and

I lay shattered 

Devoid of any

Strand of greed.

The dust of rust on

My tenacit thoughts.

A layer of extra

Skin to pretend as

My will rots.

This body is a 

Prison that wants

To be freed.

From the roof of

My head 

For me to scream.

By any chance,

Can I score some

Weed?

Scripting Fantasies

Earth seems 

Crowded.

Reality feels limited.

Let's go away to

Live in reveries.

Let's find a way to

Sculpt our fantasies.

A ride of a unicorn,

To build castles of

Candy in the air.

We'll make wine

Out of starlight and

Swing in space.

In the restaurant

At the end of galaxy.

Over plate of 

Girmit-mirchi,

I will propose you 

A toast with chai.

A necklace of

Red-giants and

A tiara of moons

On your head.

I'll address you

As queen to be

Your worthy king.

Lazy Moments

We wrap ourselves

In each other.

The blue and the red

Intertwined.

We see our silence

Pass by.  

We wrap ourselves

In each other.

Nothingness and

Infinity holding hands,

We listen to an

Epoch that runs by.

We wrap ourselves

In each other.

Our fondness dictates

The rage of nature.

The winter and 

The summer are

Dialects of our 

Naked hearts.

We wrap ourselves

In each other.

The happiness and 

The sadness have 

Conspired to

Vacantly witness,

The making of

Our life.

Blues

This simmering 

Desire for

Abandoned places.

Irresistible longing 

For fading traces.

Fantasy that 

Grows for the

Falling moons.

The pull I feel 

Towards the 

Dying stars.

My heart must 

Have been cast in

A volcano that 

Refused to 

Douse itself. 

This greed to 

Live even when 

I'm dead.

Compulsion to

Make the blues

My friends.

Maybe that's why,

I am swimming in

The smoke of

The bridges I've

Burnt.

Void

There's this space.

Un-fulfilled.

Un-attained.

Soaked and left

To dry.

This space,

A blinding black.

Shattering white.

An anti gravity fall.

From here,

There's no 

Coming back.

It's a remains

Of unburnt skin.

Ruins of a sea

That's dead.

Of that hope

Only despair is

Left.

I wait here like

It's a to be

Done away scar.

A to be won war.

But you never

Look back.

And

Un-fulfilled,

Un-attained,

This space has

Become,

An unfathomable

Void.

Head and Hunger

We plough, we sow.

Against the rains

We gamble to grow.

For a roti and 

Some rice.

Firewood and

Cooking oil..

My mother toils

Against her life

To fix a dinner.

Law of conservation

Of energy doesn't

Apply in our kitchen. 

If the light were that

Discernible.

At first instance,

I would have tried to

Make a container,

To illuminate my 

Dilapidated hut.

Because when I

See a posh building

From here,

The light seemed 

Have always been 

Relative.

And wonder. 

Always have been

Wondering about Newton

And his apple.

If it would have

Fallen on me.

Maybe I would have 

Eaten it readily.

The act of head,

And hunger, you see,

Are third law of

Motion otherwise.

Maybe somewhere

There's a fission

Reaction that's

Multiplying pulses.

Some missiles with

Nuclear warheads,

In one stroke, can

Feed all the poor.

Maybe then,

Between the head

And the stomach,

Science can win 

The race. 

Khayal

Woh aaye,

Hame le jaye.

Phir se ek aur 

Khwaab dikha ke,

Chand pe hame

Kaid kar de.

Sitaro ke hawa

Ka shab 

Unke hathon se 

Pilaye aur unke 

Pyar ka izahar kare.

Aur hum yun hi

Pigal kar,

Aasman se 

Barish sa barsaye.

Haye,

Ye mehenge 

Mehenge khwahishe..

Unki yadon mein

Doob jaane ki aadatein.

Kya kare..

Kya kare..

Iss taraf hai tanhai

Ki khayi. Uss taraf,

Nachti hui, meri

Bigade kalam ki

Rang bhi rangi shahi. 

Hamare toote

Kashti ki hakeekat

Ka pata hai hume..

Phir bhi..

Phir bhi..

Dil behalane ke liye.

Khayal accha hai

Ghalib.

Cleansing

Tragidies are 

Infected with

Laugh and

They've become

Nitrous oxide.

Fantasies are

Mixed with vile

Of politics.

Anesthetics are

Now obsolete.

Sad stories,

Have cold endings.

They die easily

These days.

Amputations are

Done by building

Narratives.

Hip-hop has

Caught a cold.

Establishment,

Has whored

Rappers to tune

Their agenda.

Ideas pop-up

Strings attached.

Even psychedelics 

Are in fetters.

Rock music is

In clinical trials

To treat ethnicity.

When I was Young

Once, 

When I was young.

I would summon sunsets

And tame stars to adorn

My little sister's room.

Colors up my sleeve.

I believed in a life,

That's etched in crayons.

Once, 

When I was young.

I would make boats 

With papers to 

Chase the rain.

Dreams could fit in

Chocolate wrappers.

Expectations in

Glittery marbles.

Nights were for

Good goody sleep.

Evenings for the

Cool breeze.

Morning tea to

Shake the mind

Freeze.

A free desire within 

That would aways 

Tease.

Everything wasn't

Planned and neat.

Complaining, 

We didn't sag like 

Dead meat. 

Roads were great,

Trees were free. 

Looking at us

Even birds did glee.

Once, 

When I was young.

Moon followed me

Wherever I would go.

Grandpa lived in the

Sky, as mom claimed.

Venus was just

A good friend.

Peeing wasn't shamed.

And dreams weren't 

Confined in names.

Haste

Clocks chase 

The moments that 

Could have paused

For a while. 

Fate engulfs the

Horizons that

Questions,

Future visibility.

Sun doused the

Night that had 

Offered us a 

Possibility.

You could've 

Stayed for another 

Hour.

What was the 

Hurry?

A minute could

Have savored

Another second.

A day,

Another year.

Time wasn't the

Enemy.

Neither was fate.

I refused to look

You in the eye,

When you reluctantly

Said goodbye.

Dead Poet

Dear poet. I read your obituary in the newspaper. Didn't know how to interpret it. 

Are you really gone or is it one of the instances that you just can't write? 

Are you choking on your words or you have done away with yourself from over a fan? 

I hope it is just a series of miscarriages in your head. I would like to believe that you are in your cave, taking time to come up with something new as you always do. 

I didn't know how to comprehend the headline, "Death of a poet". As it seemed like a beautiful metaphor you would use.

Hope everything is fine. And you're working on your next piece.

I lust you

Love is a close

Relative of lust.

That judges it,

For wearing a 

Revealing dress.

While it wanders

Naked in disguise,

In the minds that 

Preach pretense.

What's wrong

In the intimacy

That grows by 

Fire of skins,

Friction of hips..

And the stroke of

Calling that's evoked

By the wake of 

Genitals? 

Purest of longing,

Should it linger

Only in heart?

Is that such an

Obvious stereotype?

Against the drapes 

That limit the

Depths of desire.

This is a poem is

A nudist's satire.

Tainting Apathy

The papers want

To be tainted.

They pray for 

Redemption from

The blinding of

The blank.

The pen is a 

Messenger of 

The god.

Rescuing the 

Damned.

Poetry is a 

Warrior knight. 

Cosmic Job

There's a strange 

Feeling that's 

Simmering on the

Tips of my fingers.

An unusual quiver

Passing beneath

My feet. 

I feel a layer of skin

Upon me and 

Someone is trying to

Break it free.

Looks like something

Is in wake. 

My pen wants me

To go on a ride.

A piece of paper

Must be praying

For its redemption

From the blank.

Cosmic forces may

Have chosen me

For the job..

To balance the

Equilibrium..

Let me write a

Line. 

Folklore

When this is 

All over.

On a sun-kissed

Month of May.

I'll meet you again.

At a road that

Outgrows all the

Bends,

I'll hold your hand

And walk you to

A place, where

I grew as a child.

Where time is

On its knees. 

Where mangoes 

Still grow in trees.

There's a house,

My Grandpa lives 

Still.

He might not be

Expecting me.

But he'll not be 

Surprised to 

See you as well.

Maybe he'll

Ask grandma to

Make you feel at home.

Cook you her

Signature cashew dish.

And tell you an

Old story that

I've forgotten.

I'm sure she'll 

Tell you about how

Her hens lay egg.

The grafts on 

Guava plants and

The thickness of

Milk her buffaloes

Offer.

She'll insist on

Giving you oil bath. 

And as she applies 

Oil to your hair. 

I'll steal your shy-gaze

To confide our love,

To that moment.

It'll be safe there.

Maybe years later,

Verge of our story

Will be heard as

Folklore.

Unveiled letters

Tiptoeing across

A warm beach.

Gazing vacantly

Into the distance.

I envy the reflection

Of the moon,

On the brink of 

My fluid will.

I think of the 

Sequence of 

Accidents that

Brought me here. 

A twinge of

Sadness.

A surge of madness.

Butterflies in stomach

That emanates from

Series of flashbacks.

This urge to squeeze

Your cuteness.

The way my feelings

Squeal upon hearing

Your footsteps.

This desire to poke

My head in the clouds.

Vain of trying to

Hold time as it passes.

I wonder if the flood

Of this reverie

Ever ends.

The array of this

Longing ever bends.

I wonder if these

Unsent letters ever

Grow wings to land

In your realm to

Come back again..

Un-opened. Un-read.

Guilty Pleasure

The wars my

Thoughts wage.

The revolts these

Emotions stage.

Why is this

Mental carnage

So imminent.

Is there no end to

This bloodshed?

This body is a

Cauldron of craving.

Mind, full of 

Thrust moralities.

Between the

Desires that poke

And the restraints

I exercise..

Everything collides

With one another..

Inevitably a conflict 

Is bound to arise..

So I hold my dagger 

Full of desire,

In a fistful of my

Hand..

And my guilt 

Awaits outside

The bathroom..

To slay me for

Failing another

Time.