Showing posts with label Fantasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fantasy. Show all posts

03 June 2025

Aftermath

It's been five years 
Since she died, and 
I haven't moved on.

Today is the last day 
Of Dashami, and 
I'm sitting here,
Wearing her Red saree 
and seven bangles
On each hand.

That's what the 
Tantrik said.

A Mandala made 
Out of Haldi and 
Kumkum. 
Soil from her grave 
In the middle with 
Limbu and Mirch-

After myriads of
Attempts, I invoked 
Her spirit successfully 
This time.

It was so good to
Hear her voice.
Her translucent body
Looked hot.

Everything was alright-
Till she sobbed and
Asked me in a 
Coarse voice:

Why did you kill me?

Readily, I threw on her
The enchanted ash 
To set her on fire.

The spirit, too, had to
Be killed to unlock 
The ancient treasure-

That's what the last
Page of the book,
Grandpa left me said.

01 June 2025

Roasted Liver

The dead body in the 
Backyard calls my name
In the night.
Asks me why I kill?

What do I tell? 
I like the smell of 
Raw flesh?
The sound of oozing 
Blood?

How I wanna give 
Sharp metals a better 
Purpose? or
My own lust has its 
Way to manifest me 
A greater revelation?

Ohh! It's such a 
Pristine compulsion.

What do I tell it?
Can it even understand 
The gravity of passion?

What a rush it is to
Isolate a subject.
Stab them in the heart.
Drain out all the blood 
Through just an ooze.

Run out of breath in the
Act. Feel hungry as hell
After that.

Then roast just the 
Liver on low flame with 
Just salt and pepper-
To feel my art on
My tongue.

Ohh! Great art is all 
Hunger and food.
Passion translating into
Juicy fetish in your 
Mouth- 

Good art is a 
Roasted liver for 
The fancy of one's 
Taste buds.

28 May 2025

Painter

He paints a door on the
Wall so that someone 
Would walk in his life.

Plucks stars at night to
Adorn his room- he's 
Forever welcome for the 
Wayfarer he's waiting.

He has designed a
Clock that can transport 
Anyone to a new place
At anytime-
But he doesn't want
An easy way out.

The silver ring he has
Designed can materialise
Any wish of his-
But he has seen only 
Disappointments so far.

When asked why,
He just says-
I'm a painter that's why.
That he needs something 
To hold on and 
Anything is true in his
Imagination.

But the reality would 
Always be his cold room
With the stink of paint.
Says that repeatedly 
And paints an angel who
Takes him to heaven.

Lullabies are in colours 
For him and he sleeps
Listening to his shades.
Art is his mother, lover
And the divinity he craves.

The doors he wants
To open or close are
All in there.
To escape or to not
Escape- the line is
Blurry but he has made
His peace- 

Lives another day to
Surprise himself 
Again. And again.

Dating a Self Aware Girl

I almost fell for you.
I was almost yours.
But I don't know why
I flinch when I look
Long at you.
I don't know why can't 
I loosen up myself 
Around you.

I almost called you
My moon on our
First date.
Almost drowned in
Your sensuous eyes.
But couldn't face
You outright.

The songs I couldn't 
Send you late at
Night. The naughty 
Memes that stay
Unsent with your 
Name written all over
Them-

The urge to stand 
Close to you and
Unintentionally touch-
But my deliberate attempts 
To maintain a distance-
You're too much you
Know.

It's like I'm always 
Scrutinizing myself in 
Your presence.
Like I'm standing 
In front of a mirror and 
You read my intentions 
Beforehand.

I wish I could just
Go away. I wish I could 
Find a home that's 
Less complicated.
But the standards you've 
Set are so high-
Every other hospitality 
Is gonna feel like
There's something
That it lacks.

This fog of silence 
Between us.
The unsure air edging 
Us towards an uncertain 
Fate.
I'm sure I'm gonna 
Drunk call you soon.

Just don't tell me
You saw it coming.
I don't want you to
Read me again.

If you could have 
Only stopped treating
Me like a Test-subject 
In your poems-
We could actually been 
On a voyage to that
Place you poets call
Muse.

22 May 2025

Manipulation

Every time you closed 
Her Eyes from behind,
The names she guessed 
Dropped dead.

After years of this.
After feeling there's too
Much blood on your hands.
You confront her.

And that day, when 
She uttered your name
From her sassy lips-

You stood in front of
The mirror, smiling.
And cut your throat.

But your reflection 
Walked out of the mirror,
Bearing a different name-

Only to close her eyes
From behind and stand
Dumb struck when she
Utters another name.

Who's that guy, you ask..
The one you just killed,
She retorts.

Ephemeral Rapport

Our ships got wrecked 
At the same time and
We got stranded on
An island for a while.

There was nothing to 
Do much except talk
About poetry.

You wrote to me and
Read it to the birds.
I learned to write too 
And you were happy to
Listen.

Good times, really.

The breeze was clean.
Night-sky was promising.
But how long can one
Be stranded?

The rescue teams 
Showed up like age
Though we didn't 
Want them to.

We were pulled back 
To normalcy.

We were briefly alive 
In the long stretches of
Our reveries- to become 
Metaphors with wings.

But whatever grows
Wings should fly.
So there you go-
Go soar high.

I got an ocean waiting 
For me, hopefully.
Lemme happily dive.

16 May 2025

Eyes

When I looked into your eyes,
All I could see was whirlpools.
One, two, ten... A hundred.
Well, I lost count-

Touch of stardust.
Jolt of rainbows.
Thunder and stroms for sure.
But the broken moons, 
Doused galaxies-

Transcending their 
Agitation within myself.

Is this how one looses oneself.
Is this how incantation work?
Is this how we start to adore
Cats of witches?

The deeper I look.
The deeper I'm drawn in-

My darkennes finding a
Spark in you? Or
My excessive luminance 
Making peace with the despair 
You wanna offer?

It's mind boggling.
Bamboozlement to be precise.
But I don't wanna overthink 
This time-

I'm a sorted muggle drowning
In the he ocean of your eyes-
Happy to have succumbed to
The Hermione you've become.

27 April 2025

Caw Caw

Boredom is a crow that
Sits on the clothesline 
And caws.
Caw caw to mess with
Your head.

Caw caw to draw your
Attention to the things
That are better left
Un-attained.

And caw caw to trigger 
Your anxiety with 
Rounds and rounds
Of FOMO.

Hungry, desperate 
And utterly restless-
Ready to push you to
An edge-

Caw caw in your fingers.
Caw caw in the eyes.
Certain cold in the thighs-
Butterflies in the belly 
That want to come out.

You try to scratch 
Your nose thinking it's 
Just an itch.
Just a notification 
You say to yourself but 
Ain't that a bitch?

Time stretches like
You're sucked into a
Blackhole.
Attention spans,
Bombarding thoughts-

Mere excuses drown
You in a whirlpool of
Dopamine.
Caw caw for the hours
That have passed-

Time-jump like there
Was a wormhole-
Age is just a number.
Caw caw for the years
That have gone.

02 April 2025

The first time I knew I was alive

When you cut a newspaper in
A square and place a bow and
Arrow across two ends diagonally.

And paste the ends well with the
Rice paste prepared by mom.
You get a skeleton of a kite.

Then you poke two holes at
The junction of the bow and arrow.
And two holes parallely down-

You pass a thread across the
Holes- double the diagonal length
Of the kite.

Pull it out at the posterior end
To tie together the entire structure
To balance the centre of gravity-

You would need a reel-thread
From mom's sewing machine to
Set the kite in its course.

And for the first time, when
My kite soared high, it was
The first time I knew I was alive.

30 March 2025

Time Traveller

The time traveller moves 
A stone. I wake up in
My New York apartment 
With Ana de Armas 
Asking what I want for 
Breakfast.

The time traveller moves
A chair. En route to 
Colonised Mars.
They ask me to be an
Interim president there.
Hands down. 
No complains.

Time traveller does 
Nothing this time.
He had a chance to do
Something but bored,
Tired, procrastinates
And sleeps.

I end up in misery here.
Broke, ugly, single
And still choking on 
Poems.

The third one is me.
Haven't realised it yet but 
I've travelled to the 
Present of this timeline 
For nothing.

16 March 2025

Taj Mahal

When Shah Jahan was 
Imprisoned by his own son.
For wasting public money on 
Extravagant architecture..

Held captive in a cell facing 
The Taj Mahal so that he could 
Wither away to death 
Contemplating his creation..

Did the White-Giant diminish 
Into a hateful nothingness 
Or it became a point of 
His pride?

Swooned daily by it's 
Magnificence. The beauty 
Growing louder day by day 
Till he himself became 

The shadow of this very 
Entity he commissioned.
Leaving historians with 
The ultimate question of

Who's bigger?
The dream or dreamer.

11 March 2025

Heart is Art

Stabbing is not easy.
And stabbing right in 
The heart is a skilled job,
Needs a lot of practice.

Ribs will come in the way
To begin with.
And kitchen knife is
Not enough to penetrate 
The sternum.

You could go for the
Throat to kill or stab
Randomly on the torso 
To open an artery.

But we're not interested 
In the kill, are we? 
We gotta get through to
The heart. Heart is art.

So when you practice 
The same on the dead bodies 
In the mortuary with a 
Special knife smuggled
From Russia. And then..

You wait for weeks to 
Isolate a victim..
Constantly running a
Simulation of her chest
To thrust the dagger 
Between 4th and 5th rib.

And at the right minute
You don't flinch, and you
Don't blink.
The reminder to yourself 
Of a blunt puncture with
Right force and angle..

Then to draw it back with
Same precision with not a
Sound from her mouth. 
Just the squirt of blood 
Oozing out gushing..

You fancy that sound.
You smile at your art that 
Just assured you the right 
Frequency of life leaving.

10 March 2025

Last Day

On the last day.
We unwillingly kissed.
Got naked and 
Entered the shower.

We rinsed each other.
Made love like we're 
Hosting a funeral in 
Ourselves.

The hollow cascade of 
Longing..
The smoke out of
Embers that were dying.

We couldn't look in
The eyes could we?

This repulsion for 
Each other. The sparks
That don't invoke 
Emotions now..

The unloving that feels 
On the skin and under it..
Rather, I feel nothing.
There's something missing.

I say whoever pits love
Against carnal sensations 
Is wrong. Whoever 
Preaches purity is wrong.

It's all messy and dirty.
Imperfect and wild.
And if you don't feel her 
On your skin..

It's not love.
If the blood doesn't rush 
To your head at her 
Instance and if the veins 

Don't bulge...and if you 
Don't get a mild erection 
Whenever she crosses
Your mind..

It's not love. Atleast,
It's not love enough.

06 February 2025

Ochre

Ochre-faced dreams haunt me.
I try to remember why I call it 
Ochre but I can't recall.

The quest takes me to an ancient 
Cave. Pitch dark and only a 
Kerosene torch to look ahead.

The smell of soot, cough and 
Ancient cold in tattered clothes. 
I hold the torch to the walls-

The Cave-Paintings in red dye. 
Hunting, Killing, and boiling 
Cauldrons with bodies..

A sudden slam of pale face at me.
It's my History teacher yelling 
"Ochre is Ferrous oxide..
Mineral used in cave paintings."

Ancient piss tightens my bladder.
I wake up. 10th class history paper 
And there's that question.

Occhre I write. A caveman comes
Running and slaps me for the
Spelling mistake I made.

Suddenly I am in a class at
The edge of a mountain.
Writing ochre a hundred times.

Only question in mind.. why is 
English ma'am naked?
The PE sir charges at me with 
Cuss words after that thought.

Seems they're a thing from ancient 
Times. But why the hell he would 
Speak correct English this time?

25 December 2024

Wishes

The next time you travel
By bus at night.
May a beautiful girl occupy
The seat beside you.

May you talk all night
And hit it off well.
May she ask your number
Before you could.

Then by next weekend
May she come to meet you
And you two readily
Fall for each other.

May bike-trips happen
To you both. Late night
Convos under the stars.
Music, love, lust, fights.

And worse, a marriage.

May you have a seamless
Happy life. Two kids in a
Big home. One girl
And the other boy.

One afternoon when you
Sleep on the couch.
May one of them throw a
Steel glass at your face.

And when you wake up
Irritated, to the summer of
Power cut. May you curse
The humidity with

The sweetness of what you
Briefly felt in the dream.

24 December 2024

The Picture

Your head rested on my
Right shoulder when we
Sat on the park bench.

A photographer captured
It from behind and gave 
Us the pic saying 

"It's beautiful."
We kissed later that day.
Our first one.

The tendency of that pic
Of turning into innumerable 
Good things-

Travel, food, party, kids.
Sunsets, mountains, beach.
Long walks after fat feasts.

This pic that has no 
Beginning or an end but 
Only possibilities. 

It's a house on lease where 
We no longer live. But I go on
Paying the rent still.

Like a zoned-out writer 
Disappearing in his story.
Drowned and dusted-

Refusing to come back.
Reality fused in fancy,
Your face becoming 

A philosophy, an ideology.
Romanticism edging towards 
A singularity. And the religion 

You've manifested in me-
I'm happy to have become 
A fanatic. 

My bigotry stands stout 
At your service now.
I want a spiritual awakening.

22 December 2024

Secrets

This secret that lingers
In you and bombards
Demanding a safe carrier.
Day by day, gaining weight
And turning into a rock.

How do you find the right
Ears to whisper it to?
The able shoulders to
Unload it onto?

You can't just throw it
At your pillow.
It's already overburdened
With tears and your drool.

Or you can't just scream
It off from a cliff hoping
The wind would carry it
To a place of no return.

If there was a competition
For bearing such a weight
Of a secret.
I wouldn't win it.

Crushed by even hints of
Such secrecy-
Spread, surrendered
And bled out on a paper-

The urge to unburden
Myself readily. The urge
To shed extra-baggage
In order to travel light.

I want to be a feather to
Fly away when the wind blows.
Or turn me into a quill to
Do the same.

05 December 2024

Manther

The day I died,
My soul came out holding 
Its nose, like it could
Not bear the stench.

It didn't look back or wait. 
It escaped from gap between 
Unbecoming of my name
Into a corpse.

What will this bird out
Of the cage would do?
For I haven't taught her
Any songs too.

I already see a limp
In its wings,
Can sour to the heights 
It wishes to reach?

But then it enters another 
Body before I could 
Empathize with it a bit.
Souls have no loyalty, ain't it?

Flaunting its body-count 
Like it's a Manther,
It goes on lusting for better 
Cages and skeletons, 

To collect bounty in terms 
Of carnal misery of the body 
That comes with every 
Mortal's mortality.

03 December 2024

Good Night

Bridges from where to
Where and why?
Why they're always in
The proces of building or
Burning in the stories?

Today, in mine, everything 
Lies flat on the floor.
Reasons I don't know.
I mean, on this winter night 
Why the trudge?

Why build something 
Out of sweat? Or burn
Something to cough out
The same?

It's lazy, hopeless and
Mindless freak this night.
Lies flat with wanting 
No help or support.

Loses control and withers 
Itself to sleep.
This story is sleep deprived.
And I badly need it.
Good night.

23 November 2024

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?