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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

Loose Ends

Hunger after the stomach 

Is full. Thirst after it has 

Been quenched.

Where do clouds go when 

They can't pour down?

Where do the poems that

Couldn't make it to paper 

Find their abode?

These unsent love-letters

In the closet, 

Slowly turning sour.

Where did the unheard 

Songs go? and the 

Un-answered prayers?

And the innocent kids that

Die after the bombing?

Do they ever hail heavy 

On the gates of heaven?

Or they're sent to hell?

For not being capitalised

In a religious reckoning.

Recluse

A Japanese company claims 

It can disappear you. 

Like the woosh of the wind-

Erasing traces from existence.

I'm thinking of erasing me to

Relocate myself elsewhere.

Somewhere low-key, where 

People grow just rice and 

Vegetables for a living and die 

Without fighting the nature when it 

Embraces them with a wound or 

A disease. And maybe when I 

Spend twenty years like that-

Weary enough of the wildness.

Craving for Dosa and Biryani

Getting out of hand-

I would write you a letter,

As I wouldn't have access to

A cell phone or your number. 

It would be scripted in English

But the language would be a

Local tribal slang.

And when you read it out loud,

As per the instructions.

Those fancy-sounding words

Would always mean-

"Fuck you in the ass with a 

Poisoned dart". As you were

The reason I'd to go recluse.

Pessimism

Standing alone at the balcony

With a cigarette. Ashtray on

The railings. Peeking hesitantly 

At the window of the apartment 

Infront of you-

A family having dinner with 

Elders and kids.

You don't even recall what's it

Like to have a partner now.

Been years since your wife passed.

And you're not sure if you deserve 

Love again this late in life.

This woman you've fallen in love,

Twenty years younger.

The long letters you write her

And tone down before sending.

Why can't you meet her despite 

Her insistence?

So used to driving your broken

Car that when the mechanic 

In a distant road offers to fix it-

You let it pass. 

So afraid of another breakdown 

After getting it fixed-

You're weary of hope invading 

The cucoon of your comfort. 

So you carry your ruins on your 

Back to tell yourself that the light 

At the end of the tunnel is another 

Train coming to crash your life.

Pretty neat pessimism to avoid 

Conflict in life.

Hiraeth

At the edge of the world,

The house we built when

We were on good terms.

I stopped there for a while 

When I was passing by tonight.

A dinner table in the hall,

Two tea-cups that aren't 

Empty. Bindi on the mirror,

An arm length wreath of 

Jasmine that wants to find

Solace in your braids.

The small geoid marked 

With places we wished to go.

It still rotates.

The door is forever open

And the doormat still flaunts 

'Welcome' in colours.

The kid of our fancy calls 

Your name and I haven't 

Lied to her yet.

"Mom has gone shopping"

I repeatedly say and 

Believing my words, 

She goes on playing in 

My head.

Subtle Art

When the first man chipped away 

The edges off a rock to roll it.

Another playing with stones, 

Sparked the first fire and ate baked 

Flesh for the first time.

Centuries later, a dude capitalized 

Both phenomenons to boil water 

In a tank to move around on steam.

The refinement of the same,

Passing through various minds of

People with passion-

Suddenly you've innumerable options.

Wheel-wise, size-wise, engine-wise, 

Fuel-wise- lots of categories.

And when you complain now about 

How you're anxious to choose from 

The myriad of choices you've-

I say, be thankful sis.

One asteroid is all it takes to bite

The dust- to wander naked in Eden-

Cold. Hungry. Ready to get 

Cursed again by God, for eating 

That forbidden Apple- and a

Whole replay of this simulation.

To say all of that to invoke a sense

Of gratitude in you- Mansplaining is 

A subtle art you see.

Gets better if one knows how to 

Flaunt when the other is 

Under-confident and meek.

Pickles

I had to accompany you that day.

You forced me in fact, saying

You want me to accompany you

Till your hostel in another city.

As we sat giggling and talking,

Our faces so close- I could feel

Your breath and the brush of 

Your hair on my cheeks.

It could have been a kiss.

But I wasn't ready for something 

Like that - consciously maintaining 

A distance, freeing my hand

From your clutch-

Did I have an aversion to touch?

Beats me. I've let go of too many 

Could have been and would 

Have been moments like that.

These incomplete moments,

That swell in my veins now-

Ready to blast. But for what?

Fresh flowers as homage to

Graveyards in my heart?

And what should I do with

This fragrance of regrets?

Preserve it in another bottle 

Of brine? - Pickles to taste again,

In the future when I 

Reminisce about these lost 

Moments because I overthought 

About the consequences?

Translation

Whenever she wanted to say

Something uncomfortable or 

Vulnerable. She would text in 

A random language.

Her way of hiding her trauma.

Her way of not throwing it 

Directly at me. 

Sometimes she would text in

Turkish or Spanish.

I had to translate it back to 

English to decipher what she

Meant to say.

Sometimes I would reply in 

Russian or French to hide 

My helplessness to console.

The loss in translation 

Didn't matter. Even if I could 

Understand half of what she 

Wanted to say. It was okay.

Even if she had put things in

Our slang, I wouldn't have 

Understood her pain the way 

She wanted me to be.

Maybe it was the effort to 

Understand her mattered,

More than her pain itself.

Little effort to sneak in another 

Language to understand 

Each other had some kind of 

Intimacy to it.

Maybe our own language 

Isn't enough sometimes.

Like home isn't enough and 

You gotta climb a 

Distant mountain to it sigh off

And understand and convey- 

How the trudge is mutual

And you totally empathize.

Sab Changasi

Ours is a sleepy town,
The worst that can happen
Is a bad cup of tea and
The best is a good cup
With a plate of Girmit.

We don't have big malls,
Traffic jams, skyscrapers,
Or critical infrastructure.
Streets are not tangled,
You can hardly get lost.

Wokeness of English
Hasn't seeped in our language.
So cripples are not
Special abled here yet.
They do the same things
Ordinary people are supposed
To do.

Feminism hasn't invaded
The households and women
Are busy making homes
Than forming opinions
That are politically correct.

Kids don't hesitate to stone
Mating dogs disgusted by
Their interlocked genitals.
And the men walk in their
Banyans, with their proud
Fat bellies-

The only duty they got is
To transfer their chauvinism
To the next- GenZ and counting-
Everything is all right till the
Round rotis keep coming.

Beyond Reason

Let us hide in the gaps

Of languages. Where our 

Emotions are untouched and 

Undefined.

Life beyond four letters,

Livelihood beyond 

The day-to-day stutter.

If there's a word for a

Yearning for a non-existent 

Home, let's skip it.

And for the smell of rain

After touching scorched soil.

Let's forget it.

There must be some language 

Of the world where,

They might not have confined 

The meaning of love yet.

A longing that isn't limited 

To mortal sensibilities.

Let's outgrow what we can

Speak and read and touch.

Let's outgrow what we can

Feel and express. 

They say, beyond the shackles 

Of logic and reasoning,

There's a marijuana field. 

I'll roll for you, you roll for me. 

We'll smoke up the earth to 

Call it an apocalypse.

Ripping it

That morning I turned myself 

Into a butcher, to chop flesh

Of my memories as pieces of

Songs I've been in love.

The bloody hassle down this

Nostalgic path to find you 

The best songs- to curate you 

The best playlist 

It's hard not to expect you

Yap about the music and

Scream about it from a 

High tower of your city.

But I gotta keep my expectations 

Low you know? I always get 

Ahead of myself in these things.

Only to sit and wait for others to 

Catch up. Then regret and 

Curse myself in frustration.

For hopping on such a journey 

To begin with.

This euphoria fails to subside,

But when it does my eyes hurt 

And my head blurs as if I'm in a 

Caffeine withdrawal.

This strange attitude of mine 

To feel deeply. Outlive four-five

Oceans despite knowing,

A mere drop is our reality..

It comes with a cost. 

Goes on leaving its marks.

I attach myself deeply and

That's why, feel betrayed easily.

Participation Time

You're an incarnation of 

A star that died.

Maybe I'm a misfired bullet 

In an astronomical war.

Perhaps everyone here

Is cosmic-apocalyptic-dust 

Forced with life.

Trees culture us to feed 

Themselves carbon dioxide.

They're CCTVs deployed to 

Monitor us. Mitochondria-

Connected to a giant dictator's 

Mind. Earth sure is a lab.

You and me are 

Test subjects, for an evaluation 

Of side effects of love 

That's wild. 

Come on love..

It's participation time.

I want to

I want to let out a
Warm sigh on your neck
While I play with
The strands of your hair.

I want to stay buried in
Your touch while you
Complain about your day
At work.

I want to recite to you a
Romantic poem written
By a rogue poet to

Tell you how I wish to write
Something that great
But unable to pen down.

All I want is, to trace
Back every romantic
Thought of mine to your
Presence. Or absence.

Might sound like a bogus
Fantasy of a hopeless poet.
Come to me once, 

I'll show you-

How the warmth of

My thoughts, 

Down your creases,

Can make you melt.

Shower of my passion 

To invoke a desire 

Can make you wet.

Why the Midlife Crisis?

The first time your friends
Mock the bulge of your belly,
You say you ate more.

The next time you find out
A couple of extra KGs,
You land the blame on
The high density of bones.

The denial goes on for a
Few years while the shirt
Size changes and the waist
Goes beyond thirty-two.

Acceptance knocks on
Your door after a while and
You open it- you gotta, after

Your hand made countless
Slides down the curves of
This parabolic paunch that's
In making.

And when you sit down now-
The folds of this adipose,
Tightening around the waist
To make its presence felt-

You laugh it off, imagining
This fat insulation coming
In the line of sight while peeing
And you can no longer

See your weenie.
That's a legit catharsis of
Every man in his 40s and
You ask why the midlife crisis?

Choices

This is the second time

You've come in my dream now.

We met at your college this time.

Which was located in a place

I remember from the mountains.

You were attending your 

Classes. Surprisingly I was 

Attending too. My homie was 

Roaming around in his own.

We stole glances now and then.

For some reason, it wasn't 

Awkward at all.

In fact, we mysteriously sat

Together, had lunch and

Read a couple of poems.

He asked me a couple of times,

'Who's she?' I couldn't tell.

Then, we three roamed around.

Talked to one of your friends 

Out of suicide.

Then we saw a rain-soaked 

Path and followed it.

We three were climbing a 

Mountain in a short while.

But when I reached the top,

Found myself alone.

Did I lose you two? 

But why? Surely,

Not because I was fast.

Do my choices have to be

This exclusive? One of you 

Against the other?

Finally to end within myself?

Do I have to be forever 

Alone?

Entanglement

The train of my thoughts 

Has a steam engine.

Loud, shaky, and smokey

When it runs.

It forces me to cough.

The soot overpowers.

I feel asphyxiated.

But it takes me ahead,

So what's there to complain 

About?

Yes, some hop on with 

Guitars and some 

Jasmine-laden coys.

Folklores and comedy 

That I enjoy.

The hot tea and chips

That are offered and

The scenery that passes 

By when I peek outside.

But they all entangle 

Again in a short while.

Lighting, thunder and

Rain-- deluge.

Then there are sparks too-

Fire, steam, and the train

That runs. Travelling is

Messy- bad tripping too.

Ghosts

I invoke thy old ghosts

And the new.

The one that made me wet

My bed and the one

One that hides in the

Caffeine withdrawal now.

I plead, ask, and I demand 

What's their problem? 

They ask me in return, 

What's mine?

Addiction, fear and 

The way you make me 

Feel like shit, I say. 

And surprisingly their 

Answer is the same.

I had to hug them to 

Let them go.

I've decided to dig up my

Other hidden graves too.

To host a party to peace out 

With these hoes.

Biggest treaty since 

World War One.

Reparations greater 

Than Versailles and stuff.

Hope the consequences,

Don't lead to another war.

If I'm spared to myself,

I'll stay withdrawn.

Masters

A few kilograms of rice
And maybe some daal.
A hundred or a five
Hundred note at times.

That's how we sell our
Votes to rot in the same
Hope, again and again.

The fire is costly and
Hunger is cheap.
And the value of life is
An overlookable stat.

Life doesn't improve.
Livelihood too.
Had to take things in hand
To etch fate on our
Foreheads in bold.

But God complains,
Says it's illegible, to
Outsource the task of
Reading to doctors.

Nothing changed though.

Bodies piled up and
The Doctors in turn ruined
Their handwriting in
The process.

Little Things

We kept on arguing over
A perfect flavour.
A perfect flower and fragrance.
A perfect house and
Homeliness.

A flawless you for a
Flawless personality of mine.

Our un-met realities against
The imagined fantasies,
That fizzled out some humble
Possibilities-

Between what you said
And what I heard.
What you expect and
What I could offer-

Truth is a bird that grew
Wings to fly away.

And we sulk here wingless.
Complaining about
A mirage, that could have
Been our big flight.

We can hug and cuddle.
But no. We wait for a
Perfect moment to come
For our initiation.

Small steps for a big leap-

But we're obsessed about
Cleaning our feet first,
Than walking with disregard
For the dirt.

Idealism killed us, our love
Is incomplete that's how.

Life Goes On

Happy or Sad. Married or 

Unmarried. Homeless, 

Broke or abandoned.

Everyone finds something 

To live by in the end.

Everyone finds their niche,

To operate around at least 

Some minimal needs. 

And after a point, it's just

One more day of breathing. 

One more night of surviving,

Before seventy years go by 

Without you realizing.

 

Yes, death is inevitable.

But even life, the very 

Act of living or surviving-

It's stubborn. One can't 

Simply give up, can we?

To live somehow. 

To find love, even if it's 

Just a bit. If not in a mansion. 

By a roadside shelter-

And if not under the 

Streetlight. We manage it

Under the flicker of a lamp 

Discarded by a passerby.

Retakes

''Cut, ready for a retake.''

'Cut, Retake. The make up

Is not right'

"Cut, Retake, in the next 

Scene, tear up a little less."

I don't want an exaggerated 

Sob- says the director.

Is this the 19th take?

Who cares. All you can feel

Is his hands on your bust.

Intended brush on the hips.

This hasn't changed in ages.

Cry a little less? How?

Your every effort to suppress 

Each drop of tear,

Bursts open another fissure 

That wants to laugh.

Laugh and laugh, till all 

The tormenters are deaf?

Molesters turn blind and 

The divide that comes with 

Gender is neutered?  

But you can't laugh. 

Can you?

All the efforts you put up

To cry a little less in the next 

Take, when you've an 

Ocean to pour down.

What's more ironic?

Inability to laugh or 

Cry a little less?

Or the fact that the director 

Says 'scene' and you're

Ready again for 

The next nineteen. 

Or God knows how many!

Wish You Happy Deepawali

I wish you a Happy Deepawali.

I wish all your siblings holidays,

To make it home this time.

I wish those cousins and friends 

In the village, gather in your 

House to fill up the space.

I wish your dad makes you clean 

The house, put up those lights,

Wash the vehicles and fight

With everyone a couple of times.

I wish you play Uno with people

Around and be blessed with 

The luxury of gully cricket in 

The high school playground.

I wish those aunties bother you

With questions of marriage.

Grandparents force you to touch

Their feet, only to give you twenty 

Rupees like they always did.

I wish you a lazy morning 

With the preview of the match 

Playing on the TV. And the smell from 

The kitchen invade your senses 

When you're not hungry.

I wish you realize what's a home.

The smell of Oily Vada, the taste of 

Mix Mithai. The hints of light

That binds you in a fraternity.

I wish you all the mundane things

That come with a home.

I wish you a hungry stomach 

And blessings of a mom's kitchen.

More than the festival, I wish you

The sensibilities of it. I wish you

Completeness of all the emotions.

I wish a very Happy Deepawali and

The warmth of a home.