Divide

On the night of separation,

We sat across a wall,

Waiting for a storm to pass.

When it did and the wall

Came off. We were 

Changed people.

I wanted to embrace the

Calm. You wanted to fall back 

Into the same brawl.

The divide we sat across

Kept deepening its

Grasp when you asked-

Want to move on?

Bad Tripping

The frozen fog on the window glass

Melts to the warmth of your sigh.

The molten droplets merge into

Each other, creating a trail like a

Band of birds making it out of cages.

It's like Michelangelo's marble shedding 

The extra chunks to absolve herself 

As an angel. 

Like a suicide note of a man who

Killed himself became a paper boat 

After remembering his childhood.

It seems like I am a passenger in 

The spaceship of your reveries.

Where my tragedies bad-trip over 

Your fantasy to grow upon

My unfulfilled longing.

Existentialism

No one is important here

No one is unimportant.

The thin line that divides 

The right from the wrong-

No one is categorically

Good or just bad.

Logic seems to sometimes,

Shake hands with irrationality

And everything seems 

Random.

Some made-up patterns

Inturn have blown out of

Proportion too-

Nothing is real here..

There's no illusion too.

The universe might just be 

An atom and the atom seem 

To be high on it's own 

Vastness.

Some look up in the sky

To swim in the saline water

And some get into the sea

To conjure the stars that

Do not matter.

Everyone's their own hero

Here and every other is an 

Unintended villain.

You're less than a nullity in 

The grander scheme of 

Things and at the same time-

Everything.

Overthinking

If you could describe her eyes

In your words, is she even a beauty.

And if you don't die trying,

Are you even a poet?

Her beguiled smile if it doesn't 

Break you and the arrogant poet

In you doesn't stay pissed over

The mad lover you're-

For not letting him write.

The euphoria and self-inflicted

Pain- holding each other's hands,

If they don't pull you apart.

Is it even a state of mind?

February

The wail of the withering trees in 

The autumn, can't be left unseen.

And the prison of the thick clothes

On flesh is not so redeeming.

So the spring has set her sails in 

The far reaches of the sea.

Beseeching in front of the autumn

It has decided to summon the greens.

The last leaf in the bareness of

The skeletal almond tree smiles 

A goodbye to the budding new leaf-

As the first human strips open her 

Smothered body to the warm intimacy 

Of the month of February.

Contradictions

For insomniacs, sleep is 

A prayer.

In the kingdom of the blind

Vision is illegal.

A romantic poet in the

Long line of hangmen was

Honored with a noose

Made out of silk.

The goat that escaped

From the butcher shop

Became a mystical lord 

For a while..

So the devil started 

Punishing the bad men.

They were being punished 

With stolen plotlines

From Murakami's novel

For being too good.

Why Fly Beyond?

Why don't you slash
The ceiling of the sky and
Fly to the beyond they ask.

And the Seagull says, as
The sun paints the evening
With its hesitant red-

About the new lovers across
The river that can no longer
Talk with their eyes.

And about the dreamy wanderer
In search of a shelter, lost
On trails of rugged grass.

The messenger of God astray,
In search of feeble prayers
In the dark hearts.

And the old woman worried
About her wool not passing
The eye of the needle.

Then the aged cattle, hungry cats
And the redundant dogs
Suffering the same misery.

The Seagull says-
When I'm the hesitant lover,
I'm the dreamy wanderer.

When I'm the messenger
And even the dark heart.
The cattle, the dog, and the cat.

When I'm the unsung, unable to 

Find my song in my own land.

What are the chances beyond?

The Pride in Question

The Well awaits for
The newly wed bride.

But there is no water on
This summer day-
It has run dry.

The white clouds in
The clear sky fleet restlessly
To bring the nimbus laden.

The sparrows attempt
Songs of Tansen to hail
Upon the rain god.

To protect the village's
Pride, even the village
Goddess is on fast.

The bride steps out of
The threshold with the pot
Gifted by her mother.

The trees in the street
Wish her luck and the thirsty
Cattle wish her luck.

The Well awaited for this
Moment, it wants to wish
The bride, luck. But

On this fateful summer,
The clouds fail to gather
And there's no water.

Stray Stories

He knows someone is watching,
When he goes past that house.

From the backyard of the house
And the darkness of the kitchen.
Threads of her gaze seem to
Hail upon him to heave his heart.

The tonal sounds of her breath,
The rhythmic touch of her foot.
Her unseen face and imagined
Persona stomps on his chest.

So his bicycle breaks sometimes,
His chappals wear. Sometimes
The stone in front of her house
Bleeds his toe and he has to

Take there a moment in pretense
For his sweet pain.

She too wants to rush out to
Directly catch his gaze.
But the neighbouring aunt doesn't
Call out for her in time,

Neither the wanderers come
In time seeking alms.

And the days pass, years roll.
The longing in the eyes never
Transcend down to the hesitant feet.
Never tending to meet-

These stray stories linger
Restlessly in the same street.

Parallel lines

Her lambs sometimes come
Grazing the tender maize
In my field.
My sparrows go to her courtyard
To feed on Jowar grains.

And that's how in stories
We meet.

Her caste is low and mine
Is high- The chasm between
Our streets are parallel lines
That never meet- elders say.

But why the moon on her roof
Sometimes sneaks from
The broken tile to steal a
Glance on my behalf?

And the stars from her dreams
Lead me into a cosmic trance
To make believe in things that
Are not obvious and otherwise?

And when songs late-night,

Carry a tinge of her aroma-

A considerate definition of 

Those parallel lines get to me-

Where they tend to meet at 

Infinity.

Half Hearted Efforts

The job I could have done.
The mountains I could
Have scaled. The lengths
I could have gone to persue
Her and the business I
Could have built with my
Friend before I checked out.

The pens lost, papers torn.
All the discarded paints
And paintings before
They could come to life-

All the half-hearted efforts
On a wishful stretch of life-
Seep beneath the door at
Night like flickering light.

And the kites that were deprived
Of their maiden flight, look
At the paper boats that didn't
See a rainy day-

To ask in unison about
The kid who refused to eat
The jamuns on the ground,
To enjoy the same up above
By climbing the tree.

To A Friend Who Killed Himself

But he was just here yesterday,
Debating about inflation
Farm bills and rural distress.
He had a beer and danced
Like hell to "Dhan te na"
From Kaminey.

Suddenly he was sad for a bit
Concerning his mother.
And was excited again to
Talk about the new deal
He cracked for a big ass
Client.

And in the morning when
It was said he hanged
Himself to death,
Quoting no reason or clue
As to why he did it.

It was shocking, surprising
And mind-boggling.
Disappointing above all.
How could he go without
Saying anything?

When I see his mother-
Her pale eyes brimming
With tears- writing apologies
To empty cradles thinking
It's her mistake-

I try harder to stick my
Ears into the void he has left,
To listen to the possible echoes
Of his unsaid goodbyes-
All the unasked questions
Go unanswered and

The condolences like caged
Birds flutter to mock my
Emptiness that keeps coming
Without a formal invite.

Innocent Crime

This girl in my class, had
Scribbled in her class-book
"I want to marry Ajay".
The other girls found it
And brought it to my notice.

This was in the second standard.
I was the class monitor.
It was a big issue. I was
Embarrassed and kept crying.

The whole class booed her,
She ran out of the class.
I caught up to her to beat
Her up with my chappals-
Innocent mishaps can be a
Big crime in a rural setting.

The incident didn't end there.
My aunt went to her house
To create a ruckus- my
Family Pride was in danger
Because of a little girl.

How unfairly a girl of hardly
Seven can be treated?
I feel ashamed of it.

Sometimes when she passes
By my house with her kid,
Head down.
I too look away, out of shame.

Maybe in a parallel life,
We exchange awkward smiles.
But in this one, the damage
Is done.

Farmers' Cry

You make us grow, and
Compel to sell us at a price
Decided by you.

You steal our plates and
Self-esteem. Savour it
To fart in English.

And if we hold our noses
In disgust, you hold us
In contempt for talking-

In our dialects, while
Your mouth is an actual
Ass that gives away loads of

Shit.