Cold Goodbye

Sometimes the kindest 

thing is a cold goodbye.

No trembling voice.

No rehearsed compassion.

Just a clean cut

that doesn’t pretend

to heal.

You leave without 

nostalgia.

You leave without the 

fancy of a 'what if'.

No strings.

No soft corners.

No memories left to

polish later into 

tender reminiscing.

Raw, unflattering wounds.

The bruises that cannot 

be romanticized.

The kind that makes 

you cringe when their 

name surfaces.

A disgust that protects.

An embarrassment 

that pushes you ahead.

A decay that doesn't 

grow back-

A dirty breakup is 

A strange mercy.

Ohh that freedom 

that comes when 

even longing gives up-

Insects gone for good 

from the den of head.

Ohh when the empty 

cages come closer 

to peace,

The feelings you kill

becomes an act of 

self-love.

In seek of validation

What if I call you a 

Goddess and worship? 

Would you consider my 

Devotion? 

Would you shower me 

withblessings if I offer 

you prayers? 

If I adorn you with flowers, 

fruits, and other hefty 

offerings, will I be worthy 

of your affection? 

Tell me the threshold of 

your appeasement 

before I stop sounding 

natural-

and I shall cross 

it by jumping, crawling, 

or in whatever way

you would like it. 

The human sacrifices 

aren't enough clearly, 

so aren't my pedophilic 

tendencies.

I've tried bombs,

missiles and rockets.

Space exploration,

Genocide and whatnot.

Still falling short?

Give me a hint maybe.

A sign?

By this time,

The validation I'm seeking,

Is seems to exceed 

the magnitude of your 

delayed blessings.

Perhaps I can go on

committing more heinous 

acts, till you one day 

prostrate before me

to stop it.

But I won't.

By that time my 

God complex would

make me deaf and

maybe you can act

like you're my bhakt.

Missing Girl

At first, it is small.

Maybe she’s late.

Maybe traffic.

Maybe a friend’s house.

Then the clock

sharpens.

Minutes grow teeth.

She could be lost.

Stuck in school.

Stuck in a bus

that forgot its route.

Or worse-

someone took her.

The mind doesn’t pause.

It doubles down-

Kidnapped. 

Trafficked. Sold.

A room with no windows.

A life rewritten

without consent.

suspicious containers.

dingy brothels.

The headlines you 

scroll past daily

start rehearsing 

inside your skull.

Upon that-

What will people say?

How do you tell relatives?

What answer is safe?

What version of truth

can survive their gaze?

and if she returns-

how do you hold her?

How do you ask

without breaking her again?

How do you protect

her from the house that 

failed her?

And how do you

protect yourself while

the guilt gleams till 

it blinds everyone around?

You wait and wait batling

all thoughts, till

the house becomes

a waiting room

for catastrophe.

Phones repeatedly 

locked and unlocked.

Doors half-open.

Breath uneven-

Every sound

pretends to be her.

Every silence

proves it isn’t.

And then-

the door opens.

She walks in.

Normal. Hungry.

Unaware of the war 

she triggered.

Seven hours collapse

into one breath.

Relief floods loud, 

unceremonious,

almost angry.

All the imagined horrors

fold away.

No one speaks

of what almost happened.

But everyone knows-

how quickly

the world can end

inside a mind,

and how quietly

it resumes

when a child

just walks back in.

Tell me

Tell me, everything 

will be alright and 

I'll believe you.

Tell me, the sky is

blue and I'll wear

same kind of shades 

to surrender in your lap.

Tell me, there are still 

places we can go,

and tell me we can

evade fate if can 

hide together.

Tell me running matters.

Tell me escape is real.

Tell me we can outrun

what we've become.

Tell me we can start 

all over again.

Brush the hand of

assurance over my

head and tell me 

about that island we

always talked about-

Sun-scorched sand.

our bare bodies.

half-burnt fishes

and tender coconut.

smoke off the fire 

like love-

and if the sky is kind,

and sleep is still an option.

If the moon is bright 

and tries to shine 

over my eyes-

Tell me if you can

veil my eyes to assure 

me it's not a dream.

Tell me the tides won't 

turn. Tell me the 

morning will not interfere.

Tell me this pause is

permanent.

Tell me this borrowed 

time is not an illusion.

and even if it is,

wait for it till I gather 

myself-

I may wanna preserve 

this bubble.