Saree

Stand stout. Don’t laugh.  

You’ve to believe me  

When I say I can dress  

You up in a saree.  

Extend your hands.

Let me put on the  

Blouse first.  

It might take an unusually  

Long time—  

Well, it does,  

To intimately button  

All of my promises  

Into your bosom.  

The pleating can be  

Tricky, but when I adorn  

Each fold with our  

Dreams and fantasies—  

Pulling you closer to  

Tuck the pleats into  

The skirt, like it’s my  

Compulsive fetish—

Don’t be surprised if  

I kiss your nabhi, or  

Inappropriately explore  

The mysteries  

That region could offer.

Wait patiently.  

And when I throw the  

Pallu over the other side,  

Pinning it on your right  

Shoulder like I’ve been  

Into this job for over 

Hundreds of years—  

I might take a couple  

Of steps back to  

Adore your beauty  

In its entirety.  

And that’s when you  

Should slip away,  

While there’s time.  

If I make an excuse,  

Saying there’s  

Something missing—  

It’s alright if I put  

A bindi, or just gently  

Kiss your forehead.  

But if I take my  

Intentions to your  

Sassy lips—  

Know that  

My edgy temptations  

Have kicked in,  

And thereafter,

You can’t escape the

Clutches of my 

Sweet sins.

Cupcakes

As I try to look her

In the eyes.

My shame repeatedly 

Breaking into a laughter.

Looking away.

Trying to look again.

Slowly getting used to

The depth of her gaze.

She smiles.

I look away and 

Come again with only 

A thought in my mind-

How to kiss her today.

My desire peeks in 

And out. Passion 

Knits rationality with

Love.

I ask her to lean to 

Whisper a secret.

But only dare to kiss

Her on the forehead.

She sits back and

Smiles wide.

She knows only so

Much can be done in

The restaurant.

The rest of the time 

That was left,

I lace my longing 

In the cupcakes she 

Brought.

Piece by piece I place

It between her lips

While I look her in 

The eye. 

My gaze steady--

Each bite

A hidden kiss,

A held breath,

A promise left unsaid.

And when the last piece 

Melt on her tongue.

There was no shame

Left. Only the comfort 

Of being known.

She understood 

A poet’s heart—

That sometimes love is 

Best served in 

Metaphors.

And birthdays are 

Sweetest when the gift 

Is simply accepting 

The love as it's offered.

Like this one was.

Waiting for you

And while I wait for you,

Wait to hear your voice.

Wait to have that one

Real glance -

I see the second-hand

On my watch turn into 

A knife,

Each tick is a slash.

Fatigue sets in.

My anger simmers.

I question your intentions 

And almost edge my

Longing into disgust.

But I wait.

I sit here gulping pain

And nursing my wounds 

With your thoughts.

And as you make your 

Steady appearance,

The flowers that bloom

Here, 

Ward off my misery.

Life seems sorted 

Thereafter.

Earth stands healed.

And I become the 

Same fool again.

Gag

I'll cut my tongue 

And hammer nails

Into my eyes to 

Push my tears back.

I'll hold those words

By neck and 

Trample hard on 

Thoughts before

They can manifest.

I'll drown in my

Own aloofness and

Choke on reinforced 

Silence, before I

Can I reveal to you 

My intentions again.

Once I feel,

You don't deserve my 

Attention. 

I'll assist myself to

The bottom of

The ocean-

To hide even my

Breath against the vain 

Of your your 

Disgraceful presence.

So adios,

You ungrateful wretch.

Maybe I gotta erase

This poem too-

You don't even 

Deserve my hate.

Butterflies

These butterflies in 

My stomach that

Whisper your name.

They tickle my fancy,

They colour my

World in new shades.

They get to head,

Go to the heart and 

Don't let me sleep.

I seek lullabies of

Of your lips in the dead

Of the night and 

You appear like a

Holy voice that 

Wash away my sins.

That's how you sing

Me to sleep these

Days.

And in half-dreams

I slip in better realms.

Only to wake up

Rinsed in starlight..

The butterflies again

And your name.

You're the enchantress 

Who has stolen me 

Away.