Urge

I wish I could walk past that
Dungeon but this urge to jump
Because she's beautiful..
The mole on her right cheek
And the blush that goes with
The shine of her eyes.

I'm already a slave of the swish
Of wind that's blowing past.
There's a winter crawling under
My skin and a cherry blossom in
The aridity of my heart.

I know in my head that this is
Just a hormonal act but there's
This desire to get myself stabbed..
Smash open my smothering walls
And take a plunge to give away
Everything to chance..

I bet many chose better wars.
Wet paint, guns, and fast cars.
And there are other ways to die
But this urge to drown in her eyes..🤌

Gods in love

I know that you look at me
From a hiding and you too
Know how I crave for your
One sighting.

But the invisible wall that's
Laying bricks upon itself
Every time we try to look
Away.

This divide across our streets,
Of thick moustaches and
Flesh laden sarees-
The age-old arch of the village

That hasn't let even
The village goddess marry.

When I crossed your front yard
The other day, my shadow
Touched the contours of
Rangoli you had lain.

The subsequent redemption
Of mine has left cracks in
The arch and the God of
The neighboring village has
Some rigid lines to cross.

An age-old brawl between
The two villages now has been
Initiated by a mortal in love
And you too are invited to

Our festival this time,
We're hitching our Gods.

Stray Stories

He knows someone is watching,
When he goes past that house.

From the backyard of the house
And the darkness of the kitchen.
Threads of her gaze seem to
Hail upon him to heave his heart.

The tonal sounds of her breath,
The rhythmic touch of her foot.
Her unseen face and imagined
Persona stomps on his chest.

So his bicycle breaks sometimes,
His chappals wear. Sometimes
The stone in front of her house
Bleeds his toe and he has to

Take there a moment in pretense
For his sweet pain.

She too wants to rush out to
Directly catch his gaze.
But the neighbouring aunt doesn't
Call out for her in time,

Neither the wanderers come
In time seeking alms.

And the days pass, years roll.
The longing in the eyes never
Transcend down to the hesitant feet.
Never tending to meet-

These stray stories linger
Restlessly in the same street.

Parallel lines

Her lambs sometimes come
Grazing the tender maize
In my field.
My sparrows go to her courtyard
To feed on Jowar grains.

And that's how in stories
We meet.

Her caste is low and mine
Is high- The chasm between
Our streets are parallel lines
That never meet- elders say.

But why the moon on her roof
Sometimes sneaks from
The broken tile to steal a
Glance on my behalf?

And the stars from her dreams
Lead me into a cosmic trance
To make believe in things that
Are not obvious and otherwise?

And when songs late-night,

Carry a tinge of her aroma-

A considerate definition of 

Those parallel lines get to me-

Where they tend to meet at 

Infinity.

Humble Way

Your slender pale hand,
Brushes your hair constantly
To put them behind your
Left ear.

It's snowfall on an already
Snow-clad mountain,
Which falls to make sure
It looks more beautiful.

Did you learn the act from
The snow or did the snow
Learn it from you??
I'm sure the latter is more likely.

But look how humble you're
To deny that.

But when I tell you,
I sometimes look in your
Eyes with a hope of little
Cozy warmth and in return-

You've always given me
Starlight.

Would you deny that too?
In your humble,
To-smile or Not-smile way?

Or you'd like to deprive
The stars some credit?

Dark Places

Let's spread some sheets
And pillows near the window
And lie there with our legs upon
The windows sills.

Fiddling with our toes and feet
We'll make a list of all the dark
Places we shall make love.

Maybe in the alley in the city
Of Gotham where Batman's
Parents died and between
The pages of Rorschach's journal
From where nothing good
Comes back.

Sometimes amidst the spoils
Of Rome and the dread of
Irish Famine and Black Fridays
Of each nation.

Maybe one elaborate session
In a dystopian Nazi Germany
Where all the bigoted history
Would be stacked.

I'll undress you in the section
Related to the First World War
And grope you against
The Treaty of Versailles that
That didn't materialize.

And in the section where
The tone for the Second World War
Wouldn't have set- we'll let our lust
Chronologically mock the tragic
History that followed.

And elsewhere, when we
Amorously makeout.
Maybe in the caves of ancient
Scandinavia where all
The witches were burnt for their
Vile incantations on the kids.

I'll ask if you can you can
Scare me with your hungry cat.
Maybe you can say Abracadabra
To feed me to its delight.

That's Why

When I make you a cup of tea,
What I mean is,
I can only do so much that's
Close to cooking and

What I mean more is I often
Bite my words between my teeth
And say I care for you by
Offering this hot beverage.

And when you showed me that
Dried petal of Rose you had preserved
For over a decade in your diary.
Did you mean, this is kind of-

A secret that I'm sharing only
With you or do you generally
Flaunt that to everyone to indicate
How you're a big keeper?

I don't know. But I think it's
Something. The whole act of
Preserving fragile things,
It's definitely something.

And then maybe one day,
I'll talk to you about the moon.
Not just the moon but about how
He shines across the horizon

Of the blue sea, soaking his
Milky white in the deep blue
To feel the calmness in
The depths.

I'll definitely be not knowing,
Why I would say something like that.
And maybe, if you understand
Why I would have done that-

You may show me a fleeting
Feathery cloud one afternoon
To ask me if it looks like a shape
Of a unicorn.

And if I say, "maybe yes".
Then say that's why.

This Love

This love, sometimes-
It's just a blip.
Waiting in the corners
To make a point and
Then, not able to
Escape the cobwebs
It's been caught.

And sometimes,
It's just an elaborately
Woven novel with layers
Unveiling the plot lines
And finally waltzing

In a public library to

Find itself a fancy

Bookshelf to sit 

Haughtily all day long.

It has been a loosely
Edited Tarantino movie
Most of the time-
A heist gone wrong,
Murders, blood and
With the police involved-

Sometimes you're guilty,
Sometimes it's me.
The blame like a
Fire-ball passed on to
One another's peril-
To push each other
To the gallows ultimately.

And as the noose tightens
Around our necks,
Amoursly making out again,
Without any regard for
The hangman or our

Mutual unrest.

Remembrance

Sleeping with head outside

The window to catch

The dreams the winds carry.

Drinking tea under the sea

To have a taste of all the

Stories the rivers bring.

Soaked in wet paint to

Strand in different perspectives.

It's awesome to get to know

Unknown people.

Then there's always basking

In the mellow light of the

Setting sun- The departing birds

Have a thing or two to say.

I kiss your fading image by

The sea- those half-written

Stories and incomplete verses-

They get a meaning.

Suddenly, a thought grows wings,

To fly off as a seagull-

For your feeble remembrance

Nothing could have been 

A better allegory than that

I suppose.

Maybe

In a distant city, 

On a rainy day.

When you get down 

From an auto 

To find a cafe.. and 

Stride on the margins,

To avoid the flash of

Street water-

Like two strangers 

Passing by with the 

Accidental exchange 

Of glances..

May our eyes 

Meet again.

I'll act like I saw 

Someone who looked 

Like you and

Turn past the corner 

Before one of us realizes 

What happened.

Guising in the shade 

Of the past, if any thought,

Crosses your mind..

To color your imagination,

and pull you back..

And if you 

Coincidentally, 

Glide around to 

Look out for something 

You forgot-

There, in the corner,

Buried in a pretense 

Of a magazine, I stand..

Hello! 

Familiar stranger.

Damn! It'll be hard 

Not to smile.

Sublime Story

Ever since I was a kid,

Each year this girl came

To the temple outside

The village for special Pooja.

We too went as a family,

On to seek Hanuman.

After many encounters,

A precedent was set.

I looked at her, she at me.

Our eyes met.

The permanence of this

Connection was limited

To recognizing each

Others' existence.

Only in fleeting glances,

We existed.

Then one year, she

Didn't come.

Then the following year

And a couple more.

Must have been married off.

To think about the worst,

The concern was not 

Beyond usual curiosity.

This year when I sensed 

A couple of eyes upon me.

With no usual ponies, 

Skirt or chudi..with a kid 

In hand, she stood there, 

Wearing a beautiful saree.

When I caught her eyes,

She smiled before looking 

Away. Then she went on

Her way and I, on mine.

So almost every year,

I met this girl.

In fleeting glances we

Recognised our existence.

Then she was on her way

And I returned to mine.

Some stories are feeble enough 

To be simple and sublime.

Incompetence of Language

In a language-less world,

When all the sharp objects,

Fail to capture human 

Desperation on rocks.

The quills stutter on the

Rough patches of parch

With the ink that's absorbed 

Across the surface.

I would want to sit staring

At the depth of your eyes,

Till a civilization falls at

Your feet, pleading to

Evolve itself a language,

That could fleet across

Our unwavering sight,

Only to declare,

Its helplessness to

Capture the dimensions

Of this one passing 

Moment.

So that then, I could 

Calmly explain, even in 

A verbose world, 

How incompetent I am, 

To describe our feeble 

Connection.

Begin Again

Each time 

The world tends

To end around me.

I rub my eyes.

Colors, flashes and

Swirl of starlight 

Gets to me.

My soul soaks in 

The Greek mythical river

That washes off

All the suffering.

Head pokes into

Into the sky of

Renaissance Italy.

Human creativity 

Is unbound.

A brief moment of

Belongingness 

Gets to me. 

Kind of nostalgia 

For unknown things..

Craving for that 

House that's not yet built.

To a place I haven't

Set my feet.

On the streets of

Ancient China,

Our eyes briefly

Meet..

We exchange a

Tiniest measurable

Human connection.

And that's where my

World ends.

So I rub my eyes

Again.

Swirls, colors and 

Bizarre series of

Accidents bring

Me here..

To meet you as

A stranger again.

Summon by Fire

After it's dark and

Before light breaks

Out by dawn, 

There's a 

Moment.

After the hunter fires

His gun and the

Bullet hits the deer, 

There's a 

Moment.

After this desire got

Set in and before our

Lips compulsively met, 

There was this 

Moment.. 

Of night passing

Into slumber. 

The deer staring 

At the inevitable. 

And I succumbing

To a summon 

By the fire,

Of your eyes.

Seeking

Anxiously, 

Why do my fingers

Keep measuring

The shade of 

The trees.

The moon seems

To be taking his time

To come up tonight.

.. 

Secretly, 

Why does my heart 

Keeps running,

Into her streets. 

No letters from her.

The winds seem to 

Always disappoints. 

.. 

And why have the

Stars abandoned

The sky.

The universe isn't 

Alight?

She usually does..

She usually does..

But hasn't she 

Opened her 

Windows tonight? 

.. 

Begin Again

Sometimes things will work.

Sometimes they won't.

Sometimes you'll be angry

And I'll not be ready enough

To make amends.

Sometimes,

The TV will run on its own,

As even in each other's company,

Lonely,

We'll be on our own.

There will be an invisible line

In the bed.

The food and the unwashed 

Dishes will hurl a storm into

The day-to-day mess.. 

Cuddles and hugs would 

Become redundant.

Conciliation would be 

Another war we can't afford.

The grumpy, The haughty,

Apathetic and egoistic.

And unapologetically,

When we slip down into an abyss..

If you feel like talking again.

Send me a song.

Void to Infinite

They say 

You kill with

Your eyes.

And I have

Already died

Twice. 

The paths

You derail with

Carve of your

Smile.

I've already

Lost myself

Thrice. 

For a glance

Of your face,

The wars 

They've waged.

I've been

Martyred a 

Few times. 

You take them

Places they 

Say.

Now, I too have  

Seen the infinite.

By first hitting 

The void.

Scripting Fantasies

Earth seems 

Crowded.

Reality feels limited.

Let's go away to

Live in reveries.

Let's find a way to

Sculpt our fantasies.

A ride of a unicorn,

To build castles of

Candy in the air.

We'll make wine

Out of starlight and

Swing in space.

In the restaurant

At the end of galaxy.

Over plate of 

Girmit-mirchi,

I will propose you 

A toast with chai.

A necklace of

Red-giants and

A tiara of moons

On your head.

I'll address you

As queen to be

Your worthy king.

Lazy Moments

We wrap ourselves

In each other.

The blue and the red

Intertwined.

We see our silence

Pass by.  

We wrap ourselves

In each other.

Nothingness and

Infinity holding hands,

We listen to an

Epoch that runs by.

We wrap ourselves

In each other.

Our fondness dictates

The rage of nature.

The winter and 

The summer are

Dialects of our 

Naked hearts.

We wrap ourselves

In each other.

The happiness and 

The sadness have 

Conspired to

Vacantly witness,

The making of

Our life.

Folklore

When this is 

All over.

On a sun-kissed

Month of May.

I'll meet you again.

At a road that

Outgrows all the

Bends,

I'll hold your hand

And walk you to

A place, where

I grew as a child.

Where time is

On its knees. 

Where mangoes 

Still grow in trees.

There's a house,

My Grandpa lives 

Still.

He might not be

Expecting me.

But he'll not be 

Surprised to 

See you as well.

Maybe he'll

Ask grandma to

Make you feel at home.

Cook you her

Signature cashew dish.

And tell you an

Old story that

I've forgotten.

I'm sure she'll 

Tell you about how

Her hens lay egg.

The grafts on 

Guava plants and

The thickness of

Milk her buffaloes

Offer.

She'll insist on

Giving you oil bath. 

And as she applies 

Oil to your hair. 

I'll steal your shy-gaze

To confide our love,

To that moment.

It'll be safe there.

Maybe years later,

Verge of our story

Will be heard as

Folklore.