Roaches

Your warm breath erases my
Love letters written on cold,
Foggy windows... The sea waves
Mock the sand castles and
Take back what's rightfully theirs.

My longing rises like ash from
A funeral pyre but the bruises
Of waiting all day long don't
Douse or die.

The unwounded skin screams
For attention and all I have
Are empty rivers and it hasn't
Rained here in a while.

The only intimacy I've had with
Myself, is a stress-driven streak of
Nail biting and hopeless visibility of
Fallen hair on the floor for
Disappointment, each morning.

I sweep it every night with the broom
To forget. But what can be done
With the dust that sticks to the broom?
The nightmares are roaches that
Choose to stick.

Longing

Longing is a 2 am song with
Unclear lyrics, hailing like nails
On your skin to stop you from
Having an eyeful of sleep.

Longing is a ship wanting to
Leave the shore but the anchor
Is on an undeclared holiday,
And there's an embargo now.

It's a feather traveling from
The lands far away to rest
On your chest to eat the light
In your room, with its heaviness.

It's a hammer confined within
Cement walls, trying to break out-
The desperation sinking an
Inch deep after each thump.

Longing is a bottle with an
Age-old letter sent to a bird that
Never responds, and on the other
End, another waiting forever-

For the letter that never comes.
The sea-waves try to take it
To the distal ends of the beach
But falls short each time and

Is forced to recede.
This un-fulfillment,
Tears shouting in your eyes,
Making the lashes just moist.

The wail that's supposed to
Come crashing down stays
There like a pretending cat.
Longing is the words that turn

Thick in your throat. The sighs,
Soaked in the dryness of mouth.
The blood that refuses to ooze,
Even when cold edges of

A Swiss knife hail on soft
Contours of your wrists.

Her Old Pic

You'll look at it and put it away.
You'll come back to it to
Never to look at it again, but
You gotta put it away.

A layer upon layer, hidden
Beneath the pile of lost
Emotions that still seem to
Be relevant.

Ready to lose a pound of
Flesh before giving up on
Her decade-old pic with
Your weakened will.

You'll have second thoughts,
And the third and the fourth
And several more before you
Tear it away.

And this girl in your head,
Who's now a full-grown woman,
Still knocks on your door only
To go away again.

Long lost, settled dust,
Demanding another pound
Of flesh before she sinks
Beneath a deeper layer...

Waits there in that tattered
Wallet, till you visit again.

Request

When the mellow sun decides
To come up on the faint horizon
Of my village, come as
The earliest light to my house.

And as the early birds go in
Search of their songs and
The butterflies in search of
Colors, come as

The first signs hope when
Mind is still stuck in haze.

Come in as cool breeze if
You wish or swishing wind that
Scatters away all the dust.
Come as a heavy downpour or

The easy shudder that's
Transferred to the leaves.

Come as an omen, come as
Dewdrop or a prayer.
As long as there's no love that
Holds you- come, come.

Remembering You

Tomorrow when I sit at
A South Goa beach after
Taking the Karwar route
On my not-so-good bike.

I'll weave together strands
Of my longing into a shack,
To sit and relax around to
Write about-

The texture of the sand,
Angular gravel, soft seashells.
Birds other than seagulls
That haven't yet gotten-

Bored of sad lovers.
And about how the wind
Smells of salt though
It doesn't.

And about how I whispered
Your name in a couple of
Empty bottles that echoed
Your address and-

If a letter- written on a
Banana leaf-ever finds you,
With the stink of cheap beer,
Know that,

Even in the bustle of
Vanities offered by this city,
I managed to scratch a
Couple of old wounds-

To remember you.

Distance

We keep coming back

To each other.

To sit on park benches 

At an arm's distance.

To count all the roses

We couldn't have.

At train stops, temples,

Hills, tea stalls.

Sunsets and long walks.

To grow some more

Distance each time.

This time at different 

Ends of an aisle.

Ten empty chairs apart.

A caste, a few lakhs,

And a doused flicker of

Longing as divide.

The Wait

I wait for her.

Sometimes outside

My home.

Sometimes within

The contours

Of my brain.

Sometimes in 

What's app and

Sometimes in a

Longing that's 

Invoked by shadows

Of origami cast.

I wait for her,

On the brink of 

Fantasies I crave.

In the blink of

Moments I save.

Piece of me sits

On a chair.

Another on the 

Slow rotating fan.

A shattered little

One waits from

Behind the bookshelf.

From between

Unwritten letters,

Typecast feelings,

Half eaten roti

And an unopened

Diary. 

A couple more

Peep out for signs

Of her arrival.

And the days 

Have passed 

Without consequence.

Months and years.

As my reflection

Stands wearing

Concentric wrinkles,

Like I'm a

Worn-out tree.

As the moons die,

Oceans dry,

Time stands aged

And stars fall broken.

The signs haven't

Been dandy yet.

The wait hasn't

Come to rest.

Unveiled letters

Tiptoeing across

A warm beach.

Gazing vacantly

Into the distance.

I envy the reflection

Of the moon,

On the brink of 

My fluid will.

I think of the 

Sequence of 

Accidents that

Brought me here. 

A twinge of

Sadness.

A surge of madness.

Butterflies in stomach

That emanates from

Series of flashbacks.

This urge to squeeze

Your cuteness.

The way my feelings

Squeal upon hearing

Your footsteps.

This desire to poke

My head in the clouds.

Vain of trying to

Hold time as it passes.

I wonder if the flood

Of this reverie

Ever ends.

The array of this

Longing ever bends.

I wonder if these

Unsent letters ever

Grow wings to land

In your realm to

Come back again..

Un-opened. Un-read.

Irrelevance

There's someone 

In the Dark..

I see,

But I don't realise.

There's someone in

The heart.

I can feel.

Can't hold on.

Time always slips

From the cusp of

Fingers.

Moments do become

Incomplete

Memoirs.

There's someone in

The dark,

I don't realise.

He or me 

Doesn't matter.

He does slip from

My fingers.

I do from time. 

Irrelevance is

Something of an

Ultimate demise. 

Come Again

The garden of 

Our muse,

Has lost its charm.

Come again,

To shower a bloom.

The moon flaunts

Too much,

In your absence.

Come again to

Show him,

Who rules the eve. 

I've forgotten to

Write.

I have forgotten

To feel.

From the ruins of

Our love..

Bring some thorns,

While you pass by..

I might need a 

Prick to bleed.

Come again, 

To make me breath.

Come again,

Let me feel.

Come again, darling

To show me another 

Dream. 

Dead Inside

Longing for you

Even after 

Our separation..

If its not enough

Of a devotion.

Then yes.

I'm an atheist.

If still hoping for

Your return is 

Not enough of

Optimism.

Then yes.

I'm a cynic.

In the middle of

The night.

When I wake up

Gasping your name.

The stroke of

That shock..

How can I 

Describe it?

To put it all in 

Words,

If I've not bled

Enough.

Then, yes.

I'm apathetic.

Dust of separation

Dust of separation
Has smothered
My verses.
Stories prematurely
Die.

Has stacked 

Pile of time.

Colors have 

Abandoned my realm.
It's pitch dark.

A veil is spread
On my eyes.
Sight is murky,
I'm almost blind.

Dust of separation
Has taken over
My mind...
Thoughts are
Misaligned.
Sense of perception
Is gone.

Has opened some
Wounds,
I scream your
Name.. but
You're not around.

The dust must
Have settled on
You as well.
Are you too

Screaming aloud?

Stories

Some stories are

Written in blood.

Deep trails and

Sharp edges.

They're too much

Of a trudge.

Some are written

On water.

Invisible.

So forgettable,

That, they almost

Don't exist.

So brief was

Our union.

Yet, so intense.

That it was etched 

On a rock and

Later fed to lava.

Dead poets must

Have painted it.

Our story is just smoke.

It doesn't really exist.

But does it?

Desert of my solitude

In the desert of 

My solitude,

Winds are strong.

I fly kites.

In the desert of

My solitude,

Water is scarce.

I dig wells.

In the desert of

My solitude,

Roses are sullen

In memory of 

Your lips.

Sparrows have

Stopped chirping.

In absence of your

Touch.

So I string and

Un-string my desires

To place them in

Desolate tunes.

But I fail.

Nothing grows here

In the desert of

My solitude.

Especially hope.

---

ft Dasht-E-Tanhai by Faiz

Main Hoon Na

I know you've

Built walls.

Thick skin.

Sharp eyes.

Iron-clad heart.

The glances 

You hide.

The words you

Hesitantly

Give away..

Pics you refuse 

To send and

The songs you've

Stopped talking

About.

If ever, from,

Over your roof,

The moon falls

And gets you

Soaked in starlight.

The cosmic 

Loneliness creeps

To your bed and

You turn vulnerable..

If you just wanna 

Cry it all away and 

Be real for a night.

Don't hold back..

Call me.

I am there.

Letters have come back

If kisses could have 

Been sent through

The winds and

Hugs through rain.

Little anger of mine 

In thunder and

Simmering care through

The lightening...

The clouds would

Have gathered and 

The air would have

Hauled heavy.

The sky would have

Conspired with 

A thunderbolt to

Flood her city.

But no..

She refuses to open

Her window and

The letters I had sent

Have come back.

A spell of drought too

Has been added now,

To my longing.

Tipping Points

I've saved you on

Edges of my brain.

On the peripherals

Of my ribcage.

Have paused you

On a song that

I've left unplayed.

On the last pages

Of a diary and

Final episode of

The series, Friends.

In the first glow

At the dawn.

Last shade of

The dusk. 

Pizza crusts and

In the late night

Rush of lust.

In a quest I 

That didn't last.

In a eulogy I

Wrote for my past.

On the stretches

Of that coastline,

Where our love

Stood divided

By our caste.

Windowpanes to

Broken earphones.

Lost wallets to

Half burnt memories.

On the creases of 

A faded photo.

On the verge of 

A loaded gun.

Sweaty frustration,

Of a summer to

Unsettled longing

Of winter nights.

Even at the brink

Of my suicidal

Mind and on the

Swivel of creaky

Old fan...

I have saved you

On every tipping point,

As my shattered soul

Needs a holding.

As, only the

Reminiscences of

Moments with you

Keeps me going.

More than ever

On the days

When it will

No longer rain..

The wind will be

Too haughty to

Soothe my pain..

The paths to

Chose would

Be pitch forked..

Thoughts,

Louder than 

My mouth..

The silence

Noisier and 

Bitterly cold..

I'll remember you. 

From dark dusted

Corners of 

My mind to

Cob-web and

Crown-nest laden

Heart of mine.

I'll remember you.

Like the fleeting

Fragrance of 

August.

Like the sober

Morning of

January first.

The winters

Of December

Maybe.

Rains in

July.

Definitely.

I'll remember you..

To hurt myself.

Remind myself.

Forget myself.

To write you 

On a paper.

Burn it to ashes.

To douse these

Usual mindless

Clashes to 

Finally realise,

How much I miss you.

More than ever.

Miss You

I love her smile.

If and Whys

Inbetween the sighs.

Unexpressed love

In angry disguise.

Ready blush after

Every random praise.

Signs of tears in

Pirated cries.

Her curiosity to know

What'll I do if she 

Suddenly dies?

Hidden longing in

Saying goodbyes..

Peck on neck and

Bites on forearm.

Perches of her nails,

Are sweet designs.

It's almost a years 

After we got apart..

But she still fleets

In my mind like a

Gone rogue desire.

Place to Belong

The storm

In me has

Gone athirst.

Battered,

Shattered and

Helplessly lost.

It takes me

Places.

Hills to broken

Hearts,

Oceans to

Empty minds..

Lonely rooms

To nostalgic past.

Rugged roads to

A future

That’s lost.

From pens to

Papers, then

Moon to a

Mistress.

Hasn’t found

A home.

With the thirst

Still intact.

A refuge is

All it wants.

…

But is there a

Place?

To tame its

Rage,

Brush its hair.

A hot water

Bath and

Stomachfull

Of broth.

A lullaby

At night to

Sleep without

A fight.

An easy dawn.

A lazy day,

And for a

Shady evening,

Full of play.

Is that much

To ask?

A place to

Bask all day

Long..

A place to

Belong.