We Almost Existed

The instances we didn't 

talk enough, and the way 

we haven't yet touched

each other.

The fact that our breaths 

haven't intermingled yet, 

and this place beside me

that already screams your 

absent presence-

A certain smell shall always 

reek of the forever distance 

between us and my un-kissed 

lips are gonna be forever 

hesitant to say your 

name aloud.

And the fact that we'll 

never meet and how I would 

be condemned to carry a 

certain silence in your shape-

Perhaps, I'm gonna press 

my ear against that 'quiet' 

every day, to hear,

every unanswered whisper 

that's gonna remind me-

"How we almost existed."

Why do you wanna go?

I wanna hold you in 

my arms, but you say,

you have to go. 

Why do you have to go? 

I wanna drown in your eyes, 

but you withdraw and say, 

it's late, you gotta go. 

Why do you have to go? 

The sun hasn't painted 

the evening sky yet, and 

the moon hasn't 

conjured twilight.

The big black clocks 

want to stop for a bit

and even the road to

your home wants to lose 

your memory for a while,

so give it a rest.

The waves crashing in

the distance are yet to start 

an affair with the shore,

and the words stuck under 

my tongue want to 

compose you songs.

The secrets I wanna 

confide in your braids 

and a hundred pauses 

I wanna measure against 

your breath-

The redness of your 

cheeks needs to be

tended with kisses.

But you say, you gotta go.

Your fondness for my

bruised heart is at

work with hurt, 

But you say, you gotta go.

Why darling, why do you

have to go?

Thousand Times Over

Our eyes meet and 

they talk about rainy 

promises.

the blooming gardens 

and hidden colors in 

the skies. 

Our breaths reciprocate 

and they exchange 

heavenly wisdom of 

stars. 

Time, obviously, is 

slow here and light 

bends in the shape 

of our hearts. 

Our skins touch and 

the tingles carry 

vulnerability that even 

Gods are jealous of. 

Spirituality without a

carnal caress is an

eternal thirst they

haven't yet solved.

And this is how we 

complete each other-

The winter of my 

summers, 

breezy evenings of

my lazy nights.

I wouldn't choose you a 

thousand times over. 

One lifetime is enough. 

I'm sure we will live it a 

thousand more times 

in this one 

over and over again.

For the Age in Question

The longing of hesitant eyes,

The weight of unsaid words.

The language that fractures

before it becomes words-

and your gentle failure to 

read my compulsive intent.

The urge to drown in your 

arms, followed by the fear of 

being mocked for the same-

The desire to have all of you

dodged by the self-shame 

that gleams in mirrors--

Some stories dissipate 

like that. 

When speed itself is shamed,

and any thoughts in favour 

of anti-gravity are

branded as taboo-

Not everyone can garner 

escape velocity to reach the

moon you've become.

and for the age in question-

I'm seventy years too late

to become an astronaut.

and maybe seventy years 

too early to be compelled to

worship you from a distance.

So here are my redundant 

offerings- 

Prayers and wishes.

and if devotion is love enough-

I know you'll be considerate.

Reciprocation

The things I wanna say, 

steal them from my eyes. 

The things you wanna hear, 

translate them onto my skin.

The things you wanna say, 

place them on my lips.

And the things you may 

wanna hear-

They're are stashed in 

my heart, thrust your hand 

and savour them away.

For each of your khaki 

confessions, I shall make 

fluorescent promises-

Bright enough to blind

our hesitation.

Ask me if I have secrets, 

and I shall lay myself bare 

for an espionage of

of your interest. 

And if you have any, 

you should know-

I am good at pulling off 

a juicy heist. 

Interrogate my pulse.

Decode my breath.

leave your truths under

my tongue to 

obliterate distance.

Let the alibis collapse,

disguises melt.

Let our staged honesty

pass into submission

of love, even if it's

fake.

Witness

To feel the warmth 

of her skin and sculpt 

it on a stone.

To witness the fire 

in her eyes and burn 

the canvas with paint. 

Once I glanced into 

her heart and the 

way my guitar cried- 

the lullabies born 

cleansed my soul 

a thousand times. 

It took a lot of patience 

and impulsive spurts 

to understand her. 

The storms I hurled 

were calmed with her 

smile and the silence 

I hid was nursed with 

a satin touch that 

wreaked walls.

Her contradictions

are acts of love and 

my unguarded heart 

is a refugee in hers-

to witness a new

tomorrow every day 

like it's my birth right.

Fragrance

If you dive deep

inside someone and 

plant a flower.

perhaps a jasmine.

and if it stays and 

survives and endures 

the forces of longing 

on good or bad days-

a subtle fragrance 

emanates. 

a yearning stretched 

across time-

surviving delays, 

denials, and onslaught 

of non-reciprocation-

a thirst that doesn't 

seek relief or validation.

ohh! this scent in my

unguarded heart.

a wound that refuses

to close, to remind me

what once felt-

it talks with the gentle 

wind that blows from 

the west and 

settles deeper in

folds of memory like

quietude after a

heartfelt laughter.

Half Half

The overjoyous heart 

poises itself as a tear. 

The excitement in my veins 

tingles in my fingers. 

Legs ready to run 

towards you.

Arms ready to embrace 

your intimidating mind.

The feelings outrun 

the confines of language.

Logic spills over from 

the vessel of reasoning. 

Lips want to say much 

more than needed but 

the words fizzle out. 

I am so overwhelmed 

by your presence here-

I pant in a language only 

you understand but 

Slip away in the one 

I fail to express.

My pulse becomes

an impatient translator,

beating against the ribs

for a clearer sentence.

My eyes rehearse

confessions in silence,

hoping you will read

what my tongue cannot risk.

The air between us

grows dense with 

everything unsaid-

Half-fluent in courage,

Half-exiled in awe.

I stand here carrying 

a storm in a cup-

If I step closer,

I might dissolve.

If I stay still,

I might explode.

Final Act of Love

As a final act of love,

I've learned saying 

Your name without 

Making an ounce of 

sound.

I've learned to deal with 

The emptiness without 

The need to fill it up.

And to love without 

Expressing it,

To yearn without the

Need to show it.

To remember without 

Collapsing--

The art of conversing 

Without the need for 

Reciprocation-

Silence is new language,

And healing is just

Accomodating wounds.

You're not longer a

Scar, just a space

I like to carry.

And perhaps that's 

What love becomes 

When it outlives the

Destination-

A steady embrace of

Letting go..

Wishful Fantasies

My garden blooms 

with memories. 

Sky fills with hopeful 

reveries. 

The weightlessness of

my heart must be a hint

of an unknown longing. 

The urge to fly- 

must be a sign of a 

distant love arriving. 

The persistent chirps of 

sparrows from the balcony,

The fresh shoots on the 

Almond trees-

Spring must be an 

anomaly of her feelings.

Sometimes, through my 

stained window, 

When I see a rainbow in 

the sky- I wonder if 

she put it up there.

Do seasons still wait 

For her approval?

The weather still complies 

To her instructions?

It almost makes me

Believe,

That somewhere,

She too thinks about me.

And the earth, 

Briefly bends in our 

Favour.

Unbecoming

to gently dissolve 

like salt in water,

to gently disappear 

like fragrance in air-

the way your name 

tastes on my tongue,

and the way your face 

is imprinted on my walls.

to escape in your 

reveries and be lost,

and to trace you back 

to reality and adore-

my days roll by like this.

and months, and years.

to know someone exists

and to yearn for 

something that's yet 

to happen-

the river of my time 

once touched your feet,

and by the sound of 

your anklets- my life's 

unbecoming.

Oh Bloody Hell!

The sleep is gone.

Dreams restlessly dance.

The days flirt with 

The evening breeze and 

The sparrows sing in my 

Heart- it churns.

I dress up well to have 

a glance of you-

Jitters, butterflies-

The sky isn't blue anymore.

My yearning has painted 

The world in your colours. 

There are feelings 

Better than this I bet.

But now that it has 

Happened to me, 

How I wanna scream 

about it.

How I wanna lace up my 

words in your reveries,

and float away in the 

Paper boats I made while 

I was unbecoming.

A star has just fallen 

for me asking 

If this is love-

I'm Buoyant. Baffled

Bamboozled-

Ohh bloody hell!!

I have no one way of

saying this, but 

Yes, yes. Hell yes..

Ode to Rockstar songs

After years of wandering,

you find that one 

wholesome home to 

settle down.

The 90s Bollywood music 

you listen to, and the good 

old Kannada songs-

Western music happens,

and you are obsessively 

into a couple of bands.

Then you hit a sweet spot.

It takes over you

like a ghost of childhood 

you always romanticized.

Years pass by while it 

makes a home in your head.

You relish the indie music,

you go gaga over 

classical fusions for some time.

But you always come back 

to this homeliness of

Rockstar-

A hall of Sadda Haq with 

TV and couch.

Pirse Ud Chala kitchen,

where you cook dancing.

Aur Ho is a cozy washroom.

Tum Ho is bed and Tum ko

is a blanket.

This homeliness has always 

Been a good night’s sleep,

and a Kun Faya Kun like 

mornings you wake up to-

Nadaan Parindey like

Meals and Hawa hawa kind 

of evenings to slip in

Drinking-

Dichotomy of fame kinda

of tea.

Ohh! beyond the shackles
of right and wrong,

life has become tasty,

and at ease- a toast

like Tango for Taj.

Misplaced word for Devotion

The days I don’t

talk to you-

I fill stardust in

the gaps left by the 

stars that died.

and you wink.

I make crafts out

of clouds, and

it rains rhyming

your shape.

I whisper your name

to the sparrows,

and their songs feel

personal now.

I trace your silence

on window fog,

watch it fade into

a fragrance-

It reminds me of a 

place only we know.

The days I don’t

talk to you- the sun 

looks overworked.

the day turns dull 

and by night-

on the ripples of 

my sleep, I write 

your name with the

Moonlight-

and when I fold my 

loneliness into

paper boats of memory,

to let them drift

towards your dreams-

only if you could look

at the sky once-

You’d know that 

distance is just a 

polite word misplaced

for devotion, and silence, 

a language we both 

still speak.

Banishment

Eventually, we get married,

travel, have kids,

drop them to school daily,

and eat the best meals in 

the world.

We make love,

laugh, fight,

and nurse each other’s

angry hearts

like it’s our seventh life.

Slow walks in the park

in old age,

proud of the children’s

small victories-

then a quick, painless death,

as if we manifested it all

in our previous lives.

Then we are reborn again,

at different corners of 

the world.

We bump into each other

in China- only to realise 

It's is our eighth life.

By then, we would be

Bored and, as an act of love,

We decide to auction 

Each other on the dark web.

Maybe a cosmic lord

Would bid high and realise 

How he made his ninth

Mistake in a row with 

the same couple.

We'd laugh at his foolish 

Face again, and he would 

Banish us again to earth.

We'd meet again to fall

In the same cycle-

Ohh how addicted he's 

To the story we've 

become.

Remind Me to miss you

Remind me to miss you.

Remind me to remember you

like I always have.

I keep forgetting names

and streets

or where my house is.

I keep forgetting

dates and faces

like I am being pushed

down a dungeon.

The appropriation

of my adult bones,

falling heavy on my 

childlike heart-

I keep searching for things

without knowing

what I am looking for.

It's numb where it 

shouldn't.

It's itchy where it 

shouldn't.

Can you come

and hold my hand?

Can you come

and remind me

what warmth feels like?

Teach me the smell

of fantasies.

Show me dreams

and teach me

how pain feels.

Remind me what 

reminiscing is by tracing 

your stories on my hand

till all my nerve endings.

burn it in my skin

before I lose it all

and fall down

an hopeless abyss.

Crush me with your softness

and bruise me with 

the itch of your love again.

Treat me like a toddler

one last time.

And if there is no hope

left-

strand me

in a certain dampness

that reeks of your love,

and dump me

in a desert

to search for hope again.

Villain for Peace

Don't talk.

Don't talk and try

to be lovable and nice.

Enough smiles

and uncomfortable laughs,

awkward silences,

and half-truths

that are bad lies.

Don't give suggestions

or try to show care.

Don't suggest new outfits

or healthy diets

that I could try.

Don't try to sound easy

and try to make it simple.

Don't try to own my pain

like it's a DIY craft

from Pinterest.

And above all,

don't keep asking me

if I have found another girl.

You have broken me 

enough and moved on,

already.

Don't try to fix things,

just because you pity me.

Well wait,

you don't feel sorry for me.

You are doing this

because you want to be good

in your own eyes.

You are polishing your guilt

in my waters,

so you can glide your 

reflection without taking 

accountability.

Well, all the best.

Go get that happy sleep.

If your ghosts visit you,

gaslight them too-

tell them how I wasn't 

good enough.

tell them how bad I was.

You always needed

a villain for your peace.

and here I am,

serve me on a platter.

Soaking Her in a Song

When you soak her

In a song and keep

Listening to it 

Over and over-

The melodies stick

In your skin like

Someone cauterized

them in your bones-

The rhythms turn

into fragrance-

Even the sense of your

appetite emanates from 

the same tones-

Ohh! What a life.

What a disposition.

It's as if the moon 

Needs your validation.

Butterflies seek you

For color designs.

The sound of rain is

Your composition 

and you decide the

Picturesque course 

Of every river.

Your senses bask

In cosmic rhythms 

and you feel you're 

Forever redeemed,

Like you've tasted

Flight.

And your euphoria 

Is justified-

If love and music 

Doesn't give you wings,

Redbull never will.

Wonder between Pages

Our story is written 

Somewhere,

If not in Stardust,

In half-burnt charcoal.

If not in the golden pages

On the rough surface of 

Lichen-laden rock.

Preserved in a 

Century-old book,

If not in ancient exegesis.

Hints of old-style dried 

Roses between the pages,

Waiting for some kid to 

Accidentally read it.

He mumbles and laughs,

And screams in joy while 

Grasping words-

It’s fun to turn pages

And gleam with wonder 

Without even 

Understanding anything.

We are that story.

Not words.

We are the wonders 

Between the pages.

Innocent Love

When love is still

A fresh paint out of 

Coloring books.

The idea of it being 

In a place beyond 

Good or bad--

It's actual butterflies.

Light legs, dance 

Moves and radio 

Playing your favourite 

Songs--

You couldn't even

Say her name aloud,

Thinking whatever 

You felt was sacred,

And it needs to be

Preserved--

A dreamy prince riding

A horse and a princess 

Waiting for him in

A glass castle--

The clouds gather,

It rains, and you're 

Stupid enough to 

Believe coincidences

And you actually smile.

Then, adulthood 

Eats innocence.

Your fantasies leak

From the gaps in

Time that's not 

Relative.

You dare say, love

Is not unconditional 

One day, thinking-

The realisation is a

Pumped up achievement--

But you'll not be

Knowing it just yet-

About how you 

Killed in yourself,

A child.