An Oblivious Day

This is a good day. A normal day. A content day. Also a very very insignificant day. No politician has died today. No major war or a tragedy to tag it with a name.

To be attached to a ritual..No demon was slayed or a god was crucified on this day. Neither I was born nor did she. And everyone in my family did fine I guess..no one has to mourn.

Pretty much no one will remember this day. Down in the history, this will be day written in water on glass. An oblivious day. A forgettable day. A day dreaded by everyone.

Gods, because they're not needed. Demons because they're forgotten. And humans, because of sheer boredom. They've to deal with their individual selves today.

This is a most insignificant day because on this day, time is truly dominant. It doesn't let anyone steal any souvenirs, any memories. It has just swept everything in the abyss of oblivion. A job well done. 

Heart Shaped Mistake

Maybe one day. In a far a away place. I will randomly see you. Like I see you daily in million other faces. This one time, fortunately, I suppose it will be really you.

Maybe you'll greet me as a familiar stranger. Like the fading traces on an old paper, you faintly recall my name. Or maybe you'll remember just more than that. 

I might fantasize for a while. Those strands of hair that run beside your brows. The eyes that knock down the shyness in mine. And the faint carve of your lips that bruise my senses.

And in that moment. While it lasts. While the nostalgia rushes cutting all the walls. While the sanity takes a back seat to believe what's infront of me is actually you.. 

A car would honk to invite me back to the actual reality. And I would realise again, about my heart shaped mistake of seeing you everywhere. 

Dream

Places and people

Are fused.

Twisted timelines,

Mixed up realities.

I punch someone

In the face to

Feel the same pain

In my gut.

Corner kick of 

Mine gets caught

By the goalkeeper

In me. 

The junkie I am

Is chased down

By the charade

Of a cop.

I drown in a 

Bucket of water.

But the coast-guards 

Fail to save.

I become a ghost

But no one is afraid. 

My fleeting soul too

Is a classic fail.

Einstein sentenced

Me to Auschwitz

For violating,

Newton's third law. 

The hangman 

Tightened the noose..

And I wake up in

My room. 

Rehab

The letters you had written. Black trails etched on light blue paper. I've stashed them in a box upstairs. Maybe they're dusted. Possibly decomposed. But they're there.

The greeting cards. Flowers that I've dried and preserved between the pages of diary. Your aroma as scars on my skin and your caress in my humility.

I have preserved your smile too. On a shabby sketch on the wall of my room. There's a photo hung around to poke me in the night. Then lot of bits and pieces in the cupboard.

Sometimes, altogether they simmer. Go top, bottom and sideways and take a toll at what's normal and mundane. I get elevated or go down in an abyss. But I don't complain.

My days are long stretched fights with you in my head. They start with you and end with you. I don't like it. But I'm addicted. And I write about it daily. My diary is a rehab centre I guess. At least that's what I believe. 

Freedom

Freedom is a bird

That hasn't seen

The sea.

From behind the

Cage it learnt

To sing instead.

Freedom is an animal

That hasn't seen

The wild.

From behind a fence

In the zoo, 

It made a kid laugh.

Freedom is my granny

Who hasn't been

Beyond the limits

Of a village.

From her own world,

The stories she told

Are best I've ever heard. 

The wings you flap

When you're fallen.

The dreams you 

Hold on even when

You're broken. 

Silence where words

Are not needed. 

The fight you put up

With bleeding gums

And broken wrists..

Freedom is not 

What you're or

Where are you from.

It's what you do

With what you've.

Laugh it out

I was down and

Dusted.

In a hundred feet

Deep trench.

Dark and gloom

With broken jaw

And a concocted

Head.

I was a miserable

Failure when I

Learnt to laugh.

And good god

I laughed my 

Way through.

Been battered,

Blown.

Thrown to wolves.

Been fed lies

And feasted on

My vulnerability.

But I fixed my face,

Straightens my hair.

Summoned all

Courage and

Laughed my way. 

I laughed till

I cracked my

Bones.

I laughed till my

Stomach gave up.

I laughed till my

Legs took me away 

From the abyss of

Past.

I laughed till

My hands faced

The pain in eyes. 

Now it's a habit.

Happy, sad, angry

Or just fine.

Arrogant, sorry,

Guilty or just

Lying around.

I laugh it out. 

I laugh it all out

To live.

I laugh it all away

To pick myself

To hold on.

I laugh it out

Even to move on. 

I've Found You

When I looked 

In the mirror

And looked in 

My own eyes.

Not far down 

From the best of 

Life's realizations.

Not far away from 

The best of my 

Experiences.

I've found you. 

..

At the stroke 

Of midnight.

When the roof

Of my room threw

My past on my face.

I held a faded pic

Between my guilt

And prayers. 

In the clutches of

My humiliations..

I've found you.

..

Down in a 

Dungeon when 

I was lost.

Demons pranced

Over my chest 

And I had to hold

On to something.

Often as a final 

Ray of hope.

I've found you.

..

From the ticks of

The wall clock to

Folds of my bed.

The late night

Rumbling in my 

Head to the 

Post nut clarity..

You're not really

Gone.

..

Like the rustle

Of dry leaves,

And the feable 

Ramble of my pen.

The steady kisses

Of the wind and

The ubiquitous

Strokes of emptiness..

I thought that love

Would last for ever..

But even in that 

Disappointment..

I've found you.

..

Age

Time creeps like

Weeds in my backyard.

For no good.

Eats lots of space.

Last year.

Yester year and

Even before that..

I breathed fine.

There was room 

For sighs and 

Extra gasps.

Now the age thumps

On my chest, like

An elephant made

Of responsibilities.

Making me lonely

And breathless.

Is choking innate

To adulthood?

Shoul I be carrying

A ventilator and

Incubator?

Or just marry to 

Make my copies

Because there's 

No hope on 

The adult me? 

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.

Russian roulette

 And when the bluebird rides your thoughts and there is no way out. You take your pen and paper and scribble everything down like you wanna bleed it all out. But It's just a trail of mental diarrhea on paper. Nothing redeeming.

Then the bluebird pokes, chokes, and churns you to find a way out. Hours, days, weeks at the cost of coffee; you just waste ink, mocking, the trees lie in front of you as paper.

From morning to evening. You hang to the shades of despair. Hoping for some Redemption, but it's all just buying time to bottle up more frustration, but the bluebird demands and you have to obey.

So you decide to play Russian roulette. You have to. You against the bird. You put in a bullet, roll the cylinder and hold it to your head. A pen in one hand and in the left, the gun, to keep you at the edge. 

Then the pen moves.. some winds...some stars. moon rain. Fuck. Same Loop, and there is nothing new. The other hand takes and clicks. It's a blank. Deep breathe.. The right one goes again.. scribble.. scribble.

The dark the light and insecure nights...Then. What? Wait, wait what. That's all the bluebird demands. Then another click. Fucking Deer Hunter flashbacks, and then the right-hand moves without even waiting for a gasp. 

The lonely. The only... then what? Christiana Perry to George Clooney? you fucker, don't bring clichés curses the bird. Before you ride another thought, it's over. But not really. Three down and still not a proper sentence?

Writer's block, writer's block, I feel like a stopped clock. Hahaha. Let me complete that for you says the left one.

 Writer's block, writer's block. If not, by claustrophobia. You shall be killed by... There... No word. Click. Game over.

Laid back

I imagine myself rolling from over a hill. Down over the slopes then to a flower laden valley. Just like a rhyme-less melody of a budding guitarist.

I imagine myself diving in the sea. Feel the cold and brush of the liberation. Everything washed away to come up clean.

I imagine myself living in a well. Walls collapsing, bringing upon me, all my fears. Then just flapping my wings to escape the demons.

I imagine myself in the sky like a kite. Wind at the helm and birds as companions. The clouds shower rains and thunderbolts applause. 

One of those days of June noons. When I'm confident enough catch moons. I imagine myself not doing anything and just watch the pouring rain.

Brought to life by my mom's chai. Thanking life for its vanities. I imagine myself, laid back, full of gratitude. Trying to find happiness in little things of life.

New Home

Without any;

Twist and turn.

Devoid of any;

Warmth or cold.

My days rolled by 

Aimlessly.

Like a refugee 

From the past.

To seek an asylum 

In the future.

I was in a 

Perpetual exile.

While time dictated

My expatriation.

I had nowhere to 

Belong. 

Then you came

Along...

Hands clasped.

Fingers intertwined.

Head on shoulder.

You've warped time

To hold me 

In this moment.

And right now,

I'm not a refugee.

My exile has ended.

I've found a home..

In you.

No Glory in Suffering

I blew my mind

And broke my

Bones.

Spent sleepless

Nights to fix

My tone.

Cracked my 

Knuckles,

A thousand times.

To show fate

A middle finger.

Even in a storm

I learnt to laugh.

..

Lying dead in 

Your room,

Collecting dust

As you brood..

There is no

Glory in suffering.

The light at the

End of the tunnel

Is just an unlit 

Lamp.

You just have

Forgotten,

The matchstick

You've already got.

Time doesn't heal..

Darling,

You need to put on

A mask or shed one,

To move on.

.. 

Things will end

You may run like

A charging bull.

From place to

Place.

People to people.

Over the fence,

Over the fate.

But eventually 

All things end.

There will be 

A bend.

No-one left to

Lend you ears.

To douse your fears.

Nothing will be

Left to look back.

And ahead there

Will not be a 

Simple, straight track.

From a kid who

Just learnt to talk

To the granny who

Vents ghastly

Laughs.

The galaxies in

The far-fetched skies

To the quarks in

The depth of an atom.

The bull on run

Needs to gasp.

And eventually

Everything needs

To halt.

A bullet that has 

Left a gun to a

Flower that just

Lured its hunt.

A second has 

To eat an hour.

A day has to

Subsume a year.

The rage in your

Haughty eyes to

The mellow memory

Of her rose scented

Smile.

From the faded pic

You hold between

Your guilt and 

Prayers.

To the life you've

Built in colorful

Layers.

Your revolution will

Turn around.

Plan will fall will 

Fall apart.

And as you run out

Of breath and

Wait for a gasp..

Eventually,

There will be a bend.

And everything will 

Come to an end.

.. 

Hunter within

I gag my laugh,

And whack my

Mind to

Feed this night

To a lonely delight. 

I fight with my

Shadows to sleep

With tomorrows.

Throw myself to

Pretense, to deal

With my past.

I lie, I laugh.

I usually move on.

Till I see myself 

In a mirror.

Even in the dark,

It illuminates

To reflect my guilt.

These are the days

When I'm a game.

But the hunters is 

Elsewhere.

Who's doesn't 

Shoot to kill.

Stares instead.

He stares I feel.

He stares to

Make bleed.

Invokes in me

Self sabotage.

Maybe that's how

He hunts.

He convinces his

Kill.  

And sometimes,

Not elsewhere,

He's within.

I'm afraid..

The hunter 

Might be me.

Opportunism

A strand of hope

Is lost to the ruins

Of last evening and

Swine smells the

Dead to mock

Life that's left.

Gods watch the fun

While eagles dive 

Down unchecked.

Some out of hunger,

Some out of thirst.

Some out of ignorance.

Some didn't care

What was the need

And died out of greed. 

A blade of grass then 

Glistened with greens

And the devil..

And the devil did

What it's good at.

Ran for elections.

End of Childhood

When did your

Childhood end?

When first time,

Responsibly you

Took a piss? 

Or

When you washed 

Your ass after 

Taking a shit? 

When you wore 

Your dress without 

A mess? or

When you

Counted all the

Numbers without

A guess?

When, mom sent 

You to school 

Without a kiss or 

When you consciously 

Noticed your 

English miss?

It must have

Ended somewhere..

The last day of

Gully cricket.

The day you noticed 

Your pubic hair. Or

When bathing daily 

Became a habit 

Out of compulsion?

Mine did,

At the age of 10.

When my uncle,

Who was always

Sweet and offered 

Me toffees, 

Became my ghost.. 

For touching me 

Inappropriately.

Dead Room

As the ticks of

The clock,

Hammer through

The stillness of 

The night.

In a room that's

Dead.

Sleeplessly rolls,

A person who has

Forgotten to fight. 

Restlessness,

Flutters like a bird..

Corner to corner..

Poking old wounds.

Mocking budding

Hopes. 

Silhouettes,

Of memories with

Wrinkled faces,

Feed on colours.

No shadows cast.

No legacy left.

It's a clean sweep.

Oblivion sticks on 

The walls to absorb

What you remember.

Even demons are

Anxious to make

Their mark here..

The dead are afraid

Of being forgotten.

But tonight,

I have decided to live.

I'll tame that bird.

Paint on the walls,

My fondest memories.

I shall invite all my

Demons for a feast.

No one will be 

Forgotten tonight.

No one has to die.

Insomniacs are homeless

In this room where intensity of light penetrating the darkness is dwindling. Where only ticks of the clock fight the deafening silence..

I lay here suspending my animation. I roll restlessly on my bed like I've forgotten to fight long ago. I fiddle with chances of me able to make it or simply give in to fade away.

I don't respond to the mice that run around here. Neither to the suicidal noises that take a toll now and then. It's simply a long run of nothing. Pure emptiness. A vacuum.

Do you ever feel like you belong nowhere? Not to yourself, not to anyone or anywhere. Doesn't that send creeps sometimes? How to find a purpose in these sorts?

Then I look around and take my mobile. Put on the incognito and jerk off hoping to fall asleep. I do. But is that the answer? Or it's the only one? 

I suppose life is a really long journey to fall asleep. Finding ways to sleep daily to pass out ultimately. Maybe sleep is where we belong. Sleep is home. The only purpose. 

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.

Go ahead and Smile

Her razor sharp

Eyes feast on 

Mellow evenings.

Her soft hands lull

Early mornings

To sleep. 

The deep desires

Of an ocean, 

Stand shaken by her 

Naughty lips.

The light beyond

The stars, bows down 

To the elegance of

Her cheeks.

Even Lord Indra 

Is impressed by 

The rhyming stance

Of her gait.

What else is 

Required to kill

A boy like me?

Go on darling..

Go ahead and

Smile.

(Translation of previous poem)

ನಕ್ಕು ಬಿಡು

ತಿಳಿ ಸಂಜೆಗಳ 

ಕದ್ದು ತಿನ್ನಬಲ್ಲ

ತೀಕ್ಷ್ಣ ಕಣ್ಣುಗಳವು.

ಎಲ್ಲ ಮುಂಜಾವುಗಳ,

ಸವರಿ ಮಲಗಿಸುವ

ಮುದ್ದು ಕೈಗಳು.

ಸಮುದ್ರದಾಳದ

ತವಕ ಮೀಟುವ

ತುಂಟ ತುಟಿಗಳು.

ನಕ್ಷತ್ರದಾಚೆಗಿನ

ಬೆಳಕ ಭಕ್ಷಿಸುವ

ಮೋಹಕ ಕೆನ್ನೆಗಳು.

ಇಂದ್ರನೂ ನಾಚಿ

ನೀರಾದನಂತೆ..ಆಹಾ! 

ಅದೆಂತಾ ನಡುಗೆ..

ಬೇರೇನು ಬೇಕು

ನನ್ನಂತಹ ಹುಡುಗನ

ಕೊಲ್ಲಲು?

ನಕ್ಕು ಬಿಡು.

You're the master

Fate is a spectator

With lots of 

Disregard for your

Life.

You alone make 

Your destiny.

Series of choices

Is what you are.

High was never

In the bottle.

Neither in the

Alcohol.

Flight was never

In the wings.

Nor in the assured

Skies.

Cooking is an act

Of a craving toungue.

A murder is first

Committed in head.

The trigger of the

Gun is often mind.

Hilt of the knife

Is always your hand.

For better or worse

You alone are 

Responsible for your

Acts. 

As, even the Gods

You worship can

Turn out to be 

As dumb as you are.

Mom Always Cooks

It's Saturday, mom is on fast.

Her offering to Lord Hanuman.

Still, she cooked.

A few days back she was sick.

Fever took over. She shivered.

Could hardly stand. 

Still, she cooked.

Months back it was her birthday.

Everyone wished. 

There were gifts.

A celebration and a party.

Guess who prepared the feast.

On Mother's Day, she cooked.

On Father's Day, she cooked. 

When she was pregnant she cooked.

On the day she delivered me,

She must have cooked.

Maybe when the nascent earth was

Born. When the planets aligned and 

The big bang happened.

Even then she must have been cooking.

Through the world wars and 

Through terrorist attacks.

Through earthquakes and

Volcanic eruptions..

Even when my father abused

And when I made her cry

She still cooked.

Maybe that's how she expresses.

See how conveniently I say that.

She cooks when angry.

She cooks when she's sad.

She loves me by cooking.

The salt is perfect even when

She hates. 

Global warming hasn't stopped her.

Neither has the feminist movement.

Maybe the future of flying cars and

Sarcastic robots will make her wonder

And make her laugh and she'll

Still cook.

One day she will die and 

In her own funeral, she'll be 

Compelled to cook.

And that'll be the last meal 

The world will ever have. 

Redemption

Between your ears

There is a prison.

Down your throat

There's a whistle.

Clenching your chest

A pump dictates

Terms of your life.

The thing between

Your thighs cries

Purpose of your life.

While two beans around

Same region has

Mocked it all the while.

The words that 

Quiver in your hand

Are in search of a

Place to safely land.

And how nice it is

If your redemption

Comes via the verses

You write.

She Rains

Moon was made

A canvas to

Paint a dream.

Sun was tamed

To find my way

To heaven.

Stars were just

Another excuse,

The reason is same.

My desires always

Take off from

Depth of the oceans..

Destination is her.

Some fantasies

Crash land on 

Barren swamps..

Points of my despair. 

They eventually

Become poems.

It has rained here

Anyway.

She must have

Opened her window

And kissed the winds

Of Punjab. 

Monsoons are her

Grace in my place. 

Loneliness Everywhere

I've soaked and

Wrung my brains.

Been hung in the

Backyard to dry.

The sun hasn't

Come up.

Loneliness

Everywhere.

My dead room is

Averse to light.

Repungent to hope

Or any kind of 

Laugh. Has been

Dust laden and

Cries for help.

But the brooms have

Gone on strike over

Salary hike. 

Loneliness

Everywhere.

The pen in my

Hand is unmoved

By empty pages.

The nib chokes

The ink.

My thoughts quiver

And evaporate

Failing to find a 

Safe passage 

Of life.

There's loneliness

Everywhere.

The dried rose petals

Between the pages

Of my old diary,

Have forgotten it all.

Now I search 

Relentlessly for

My past.

Adrift, aloof...

I'm Lonely

Everywhere.

The thing between

My thigh to the

Pump between

My ribs.

The syrup in my

Veins to the 

Wires till brain.

All ask me questions.

Searching answers

I've run out of life. 

And like hell 

Sanctioned act of

Blight, it prances

Over my chest. 

Like the little kid 

Of my elder sister.

Effing loneliness

Everywhere. 

Kink

Bit by bit,

Ain't no shit,

He did have

Me, 

With his

Sense of wit.

Was it my 

Face that's lit?

Or my 

Protruding tit? 

May sound 

Weird, but

I liked his way,

Every bit of it. 

Lips are craving

My desires are

Adrift.

Head is on

Fire,

Wet is my clit.

I want his chin,

Deep in my bin.

Win me over

And conquer

My will.

Days full of

Restaurant bills.

Nights soaked

In drips of 

Routine drills.

I want him by

His neck to

To burn what

Rests in his wick.

Don't judge me

Just yet,

I haven't told

Everything.

This is just a

Brick in the 

Construct of

Of my kink. 

But I'll easy.

Let the things

Unfold slowly.

Till then,

Let the room

Remain lit dimly.

Neglected Child

My shiny yellow ball

Was stolen by

The neighboring

Fat old aunt. 

The crayoned sketch

Was eaten away by

The white wash of 

The front wall.

Our dog that went

Behind dad to

Send him off,

Never came back.

Sister got into 

The wheels and

Shortly, ceased

To breath.

My brother always

Got the better half.

Mom loved him more,

I don't know why.

Bullies in

Hostel rooms.

Teachers in school.

Even dad care 

For me didn't last

Longer. 

All my memories

Are traces of tears.

Places of 

Good old fears.

Can the tamed bird

Not sing in the

Cage?

Do children not

Deserve God's grace?

Astral

I like the way

Your lips lie

About what

Your hips might

Want.

A tight slap.

Maybe a

Rough squeeze.

Then there's that

Glint your eyes

That wants more

Than just that. 

A jerking pull,

A forced kiss.

A batista bomb..

Or breaking bed

Mishap? 

The way you 

Fool me with

Your eyes..and

Taunt me with

Your poking nose,

Makes me force

My desires.

Let's not waste 

This night darling.

Let's unleash

Our madness

And bask in

Carnal wildness.

Souls are tough

To touch they say.

Let's dive deep

To find out if

Bodies are portals

To an astral life.

Be a Metador

Give a makeover

To your diary.

Your dreams 

Needn't be silent.

Save pain for the

Daylight.

Paint your nights

In red while you

Still can.

Spring may not

Be as pleasant.

Neither your 

New job.

Endings are not

Always sunsets.

New beginnings,

Not that simple.

There's no shame

In painting, 

On a canvas that's

Black.

You face your 

Demons by 

Taking them by

Horns.

You may not be

A metador, but

When a bull pokes

It's face..

What options,

Do you have? 

Story Barter

Each time sea-waves

Break on the beach.

A story is left to be

Forgotten.

Well stirred.

Well thought and

A well crafted story

Is left in the sand

To be gone.

I dipped my feet

To forget my own.

Ended up writing

Another instead.

A story absorbed

To abandon another.

Against the one I wrote

To let another float.

The one that came 

Out as ink is fine. 

Mine must be a

Giant-sad-wave by now.  

Reminiscing is a Full meal

Memories have a 

Wrinkled face.

Nostalgia feels 

Like grandma's

Place.

Cosy, comfortable.

Worry free and

Free, fat food at

Will.

Reminiscing is

A full meal. 

And I've been

Dipped in the 

Trance of past

For so long that..

Now, I'm an 

Overweight ass.

My mind may break 

Bearing all my past.

Doctors advised me

To exercise and run...

But in the end,

It took some writing 

To shed calories 

From my head. 

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.

You know you're in love

You know you're in love.

When the smile on your lips

Starts transcending down

In your eyes then to the nights.

When rainbow changes colors,

You know you're in love,

When questions in your mind

Seek answers in heart.

When the luminance of her face

Wards off the darkness of your life,

You know you're in love,

Seeing the moons even in noons.

Everything is walk on water, sail through wind.

When the world is defined in music 

And you're a poem in making..

You know for sure that you're in love.

P.S- viator style 

Let the storm pass

The chaff will

Be sieved away

And grains will

Be yours.

At the break of

The dawn,

The remains of

The night will be

Done away to

Offer you warmth.

Reds are beautiful

Shades on the

White.

Pauses are needed

For something to

Rhyme. 

Let the remains

Of the past crumble

Like Berlin Wall.

Haze in your mind

Be scared away

By Cuban missiles.

Like the

Sea-waves break

On the beach,

Leaving bits of its

Forgotten..

What belongs to

You, will remain...

Just hold on.

Let the storm pass. 

Fortunes

Your days

Might be starker,

Nights must be

Darker.

Saturn might

Be brooding

Over a wrong

Place.

A black cat

Must be frequently

Cutting your,

Routine way.

But hang in.

A moon may,

Flirt with your

Ill fate.

Some fortune 

Might

Just be offered

In your dinner

Plate. 

A red might

Hit your bed.

Might as well

Parent your kid.

You're just

Twenty five,

It's not too late.

Good thing 

Needs waiting,

A beautiful life

Might indeed be

In making. 

Hunt

Stars born.

Then doze off.

Even the 

Galaxies die.

Demons are

Killed.

Gods are 

Forgotten.

Predators to

Prey.

Blue whale to

A Sting-ray-

Only time

Is immortal.

Rest all are

Its victims.

Doesn't matter

At what end of

The gun you're.

In the end-

You too will be

A good hunt

For a

Better hunter.

Got a Quill instead

I'm no bird that

Can soar high,

With flap of

Wings.

I'm no animal

To survive the

Wild and breath

Free.

I'm no mantis 

To disguise my

Prayer and

Find my game.

And I'm no microbe

To to grow my

Appendage at

Will.

I'm just a human 

With aspirations.

Myriad dreams 

To fullfill.

They said, I can't fly. 

To prove them wrong,

Stretched my hands.

A wish for wings

To go wrong..

God offered me a

Quill instead of

A fancy frill.

Proper Romance

Let's kiss till

Our lips bleed.

Fuck till hearts

Gleam.

Rub off this

Distance..

Between friction

Our skin.

Let's hold on

To one another

Till we're lost

In a dream. 

Love is but a

Leap from

Somber to 

Sleep.

Lust is our 

Recline,

To polish our

Needs. 

Smile is for

Meek, we'll

Laugh till we've

Teeth. 

Wild is our 

Thing but 

This is not a

Random fling.

Beyond the 

Ideals of true love

And confines of

Bare lust..

This is a 

Proper romance. 

A bollywood

Masala. 

Hope

Gone is tide,

Blown is wind.

A second that

Has passed,

Has sunk down

In an abyss.

Fallen is leaf,

Dead is a sheep.

A river to go

Athirst,

A mother is

Afraid for her kids.

Bygones are

Mown grass

In the lawn.

A sailor has no

Business with

A person,

He once was. 

Sunsets in the

West are surely

Our point of rejoice.

But the horizon 

Of the east is

What we desire. 

Hope is a thing

That drives life.

Past is a rust

To move on from.

A new day is ahead

At the break of dawn,

Let me meet you

There...

As a new man.

In a new form.

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.

Dreamicide

Dreams beyond

Window panes,

Are stuck in 

Narrow lanes.

Some at edges

Of brain.

Others at social

Restraints. 

Staring eyes,

Complaining cries.

The rain that

Falls here is meant

In a stinky drain

Of prejudice.

The broth in the

Cooker is 

Purposefully spoilt. 

Light outside

The room is meant

Only to the flies.

A bird that 

Learnt to fly is

Just a good hunt

For over a night.

The one that sang

Looks beautiful

Only in a cage,

Saree is a disguise.

Dreams are rare

Ceramics for

Visitors' display.

Teen Girls in 

Colors are reserved

For slave trades.

Either you die

As a wife or

Live long enough

To be aborted.

Between two 

The girl that lives

Here is a curse.

If she's manly enough

To dream, 

It can get worse. 

Broke, Single in 30s

Two roads diverged

In the wood.

The one you took

Didn't offer much anyway. 

You tripped down

From over a stone,

And your front 

Teeth are gone.

As a teen,

You had gotten

Your share of grey,

In 30s you're bald.

Crush said, you ugly.

Even your mom

Must love you out

Of compulsion.

Your dad is your

Reflection. Judges you.

The same way,

You would have.

You're single and

Prisoner of your hand.

First half is gone,

But should you be sad?

Remove your shades

And look at life-

If fate didn't make

You laugh.

You really didn't

Get the joke man.

Lies of Love

A moon-ful of

Paradise in a

Full-blown daylight. 

He assured me

White Lilies on an

Abandoned island. 

Stars would grow

Wings one day

He said.

Riding the winds

That spread colors,

Fairies would

Come to ward off

Blues of winter.

Fireflies in the 

Month of December,

Bike rides by the

Coast, over break

Of monsoons.

Oh! Stop it.

Serving starlight

In ceramic saucers,

To force hope

In deserted islands.

Is bad mannerism.

Planting dreams

In somebody's

Mind is an act

Of terrorism.

Show Stealer

Scorched, 

Earth is bothered. 

Looks up in

Thirsty rhymes.

Clouds have 

Conquered the sky.

The sunshine

Has been smothered.

Sun puts up a 

Worthy fight.

Lightening, 

A thunderbolt strikes.

Raidrops like 

Small nails,

Gush down with rage.

Cut and pierce, 

Yet, they douse 

The unquench.

Fresh light is out, 

The clouds are

Done with.

Sun has regained

The sky.

With green sheen,

Earth is poised

With a fresh gleam.

Ready again!

For her affair

With the moon. 

On a stage set by

Clouds.

Sun put up his act.

But the moon 

Stole the show. 

Radioactive Cascade

Termite infestation

In my heart.

Crawling everywhere,

These dusty burrows

Tell me that they're

A piece of art.

Leaches feeding

On my soul.

Purge of my mind,

The Holi I'm part of

Is a bloody war.

Blood has turned

Thick, 

My veins might

Cry a revolt..

A nuclear fission

In wake,

My mind might

Explode.

The decay I'm 

Undergoing better

Be radioactive.

Thorium and 

Radium cascades 

Are fine.

Even radon and

Polonium can be

A bearable delight.

Till the isotope,

I'm gonna be is a

Another piece of

Art...

Even a nuclear

Armageddon is

A tequila shot.

People pass. Not their flight.

Crouched behind

A veil, the eyelid

Is a tiny boat.

Running wild and

Conquering highs,

Sea-sized animal 

Is a sight.

Under dim-light,

A pen in little

Girls' hands,

Has challenged

A blood thirsty

Sword's might.

A kid's fist that

Turned tight,

To take a stand,

Has outlived

Many lives.

From roofs to

The backyards..

Kitchens to graveyards.

The battles mom's

Pallu has seen,

Has outweighed,

Both world wars. 

Drenched in sweat,

Guts twisted,

Fathers that slashed

The skies to usher

Sunlight are the

Bravest knights.

Birds might forget

To fly, their wings

Might eventually

See a blight.

But never redundant

Is their flight.

People pass but

Dreams transcend.

Eyes are just an

Excuse.

What matters is

Their sight. 

 

Freedom Paradox 2

Husbands slashed

Open the sky.

Cutting onions,

Housewives cried.

To come out of it's 

Flying spree..

Outside the village,

A kite cut itself free..

As a kid stood in protest

To eat his meal.

An old man declared 

He'll not sleep.

Why can't men be

Angels? Just asking,

A single father,

Breaths in guilt.

Freedom isn't free

Said the known.

Knowing nothing

A fool took a 

Casual breath.

Absolute freedom

Is lonely. Too much 

Bondage, a slavery.

Between lies our

Misery...said

A wiseman

Before he wasted

His life on wine.

A joke someone

Cracked,  anyway

Landed on Mars.

And those who laughed

Didn't survive. 

All Over Again!

Distant memory,

Of a faded face.

Left to be forgotten

In an abandoned

Place.

Each trace that

Was etched is

Done with.

Every scar is

Masked and

Left to be choked.

All half baked

Stories thrown 

To the embers.

Unwritten songs

Fed to the 

Cold wolves.

Each memory

Rubbed off with

Lemon and salt.

Washed clean in

The sea that was

Vast.

But salt water is

A good preservative

They say.

Maybe that's why

She's all over,

Again!

Whores of Desire

In a cramped part of

Town, down the

Unfriendly road.

Charm is high..

Under..

Red lights' tone.

Apathy lingers,

In mismatched gowns.

Under hooded 

Identities,

Everyone here is

Just a collective 

Noun.

Bare bodies,

Often untouched.

Their loneliness

Still unquenched.

People tread adrift.

Hotels, motels

To petty brothels..

Drought everywhere.

Half baked souls

In full-grown bodies.

Restless minds of

Thirsty genitals..

In search of

Salvation

Between thighs,

All are whores of

Their own desires.

Lost Love

Churning flashbacks,

Restlessness in heart.

Should the longing have

Taken birth in me alone..

Oh! mighty God.

Why did you depart?

My love, my heart.

Should you have 

Gone away abruptly?

It's such a quagmire.

Death awaits every

Moment in the

Graveyard of my mind.

Should you have 

Buried our love alive?

It's just your play,

Should you have

Cried such a havoc?

Done with living,

God! Enough of

This life.

Corporate Life

Blood knows 

No enemies.

Thirst remembers

No friends.

The money you've

Lent is as good as

An address-less

Letter you've sent.

The time you've

Spent with her,

Will turn bitter.

Sleep is on sale,

For the restless

Nights ahead. 

Dead are favourites

Of the devil.

The one surviving

Are just tax paying

Cogs of a wheel.

Remind me later,

If you find free air 

To breathe.

What's the point

Of living without

A bit of greed?

In the corridors

Of your office.

An unseen enemy 

Has let you win.

For all the 

Uncommitted sins,

You now douse

Cigarettes butts 

On your skin.

Uncertainty Principle

We're the bike

That broke down

On the highway.

Sweat off the 

Brows in mid-day.

The sulphated

Tears while

Chopping onions.

Heated arguments

Over political 

Opinions.

Capsized paper

Boats down the

Drain.

Circumstantial

Victims of 

Pouring rain.

A mystery on 

Run on a wide

Awake day.

Unwanted luminance

In late night's

Embrace.

To the souls 

Made for each other

We're just devils,

That douse hope

And dance to the

Blue flame.

Of a love story

That hanged itself

With a rope.

Took a bad leap

Off an untrusted

Cliff.

We're just usual 

Scenes of a

Twisted script.

Overacting tropes

Of an un-hurled

Whip.

Don't trust us..

We're the haze

Beyond the 

Morning mist.

Fate beyond 

Calculated grip.

We're agents of

Chaos.

Heisenberg's bravoes.

We're mirages that 

Are just to be 

Passed by.

The obvious that you 

Shouldn't be 

Bothered with.

Beware!

If you look back..

We'll hunt you.

We’ll haunt you.

Get to you in

Your sleep to eat

Your dreams.

Flower

I'm a flower.

Bee is my

Lover.

Shoot is

My father.

I'm fruit's

Mother.

Bud is my

Brother,

Roots,

Ancestors.

My grandchildren

Feed the worldly

Needs.

You call them

Grains. 

I call them 

Seeds.

Aid of a Kiss

She looks at me

With lots of

Questions.

I look back with

Ton of puzzles.

Like fire and ice.

Red against blue.

Each gaze,

Reinforces a

Raging embargo.

Till it becomes,

Overwhelmingly

Entangled.

Compulsively

Driven by desire.

The rage of eyes

Is doused by

The aid of lips,

We kiss.

We kiss and

All the questions

Are answered.

Mysteries are

Untangled.

There we stood

Tall. Fully high..

With happy sighs.

Like mountains

That just conquered

The heights.

Until, she looked 

Back again.

By then,

The world had

Turned smaller.

We had jumped

Off to space to

Peg a tent.

Life on Toenails

Mornings bring

Endless

Battlefields and

Make me take

Arms.

I shoot birds 

Of hope with

Compulsive

Despair.

Burn budding

Stories with

Half smoked

Cigars.

I've ruined my

Room's walls

With the stains

Of my blood.

Have hit the

Rock bottom

With a pretty

Good thud.

Blue skies are

Just empty wells.

I've chosen death

As my winter wear.

Sorry, you seem

To have something

Else to say..

I wasn't listening..

I've a day to pass,

A war to win.

And prepare myself

For a apocalypse

By night. 

A turmoil in head.

Shipwreck in ribcage.

Tremors to run-down 

My legs..Life stands 

On toenails.

Freedom Paradox

Can there be 

Freedom without

Walls?

A sight without

Shade of the

Dark?

Life without

Fear of death?

Or a desire 

Devoid of 

Incessant threat?

Isn't poetry a

Bondage of

Words.

Music confined

In pauses of

Sound?

A white page

Is of million

Possibilities.

Plain paint,

Of myriad

Analogies.

Standing still,

How withheld

Is a tree?

Cut-lose kite can

Ever be free?

Liquor isn't the

Only tool,

Eyes are 

Intoxicating too.

Birds can be 

Lonely.

Prisons too 

Can be

Someone's envy.

Wouldn't I Be Wanna

When it's cloudy,

Wind, steady..

Drizzles a bit to the

Background of a 

Long lost song..

Why wouldn't I

Be wanna slashed

By your smile. 

Why wouldn't I be

Wanna caged in

Your arms. 

Like a cut lose desire,

Why wouldn't I be

Wanna, at the behest

Of your enchanting

Eyes.

Mercy of a Woman

Time passes 

Slowly

In the clutch 

Of her arms.

Hopes take

A steady birth,

In the sweetness 

Of her talk.

Gravity is nill 

By the side

Of her neck.

Body is afloat 

By the aid of

A peck. 

Vaccum in here,

Her hand is 

On my chest.

By the shine in 

Her eyes...

My darkness is

Done away with.

Light years is

How she measures

Her longing.

Supernova attack

For her rage is 

Befitting. 

She's a 

Multiverse of

Feels and storms.

Reels and norms. 

Of passion and

Luring forms.

She's Galactus...

While stars play her

Pleasing charms.

I'm just lucky 

To sit side by..

At the mercy of 

A woman,

How wouldn't,

The wine taste fine? 

Muggle

I sleep in a 

Prison.

Wake up

In a bubble.

Eat for

Breakfast,

My day-to-day

Struggle.

All my plans,

Hanged to the wall.

Unfulfilled,

They wriggle.

I don't have

A wand, to be

Done away with

My troubles.

Magic is a 

Luxury sold to us 

For us to watch

And giggle.

Hey there, 

Wizard, under the 

Sheets,

On the streets-

I'm just a Muggle. 

Suspension

Where words 

Are shackles.

And silence 

Does the work.

Speaking is a

Heavenly sin.

Birds needn't

Always sing.

Clouds needn't

Always precipitate.

A guitar can lay

Idle for while.

Incessant peddling

Will not take 

You far.

Must a child 

Always be named?

How does it matter

Even if the egg 

First came? 

Just sit and

Watch the rain.

Recline and enjoy

A little pain.

You don't need

To always comply

Or complain.

Love is overrated

Anyway...

When empty

Pages have more 

Possibilities to

Offer.. why do you 

Have to pick up 

A pen in vain? 

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.

Dreams

Dreams on a

Mountain to

Go in vain.

Birds in the

Valley think..

Wings are 

Such a shame.

Where,

Breaths are 

Traded to

Outlive a gain.

For an 

Outcome unsure,

A given try

Can attract

Blame.

Talk outright

You'll be 

Called names.

Be silent,

They'll think

You're lame.

Where it does

Rain without

The harvest

Of brain.

A good season

Is just a dump

Down the drain. 

Dreams need 

Nursing even

When you fail.

Pack your bags

And leave 

The place.

As long as you

Keep flying..

It doesn't matter

From where

You came.

Fed Up

A dried up

Rose petal.

In a decade

Old diary.

Cries out

A story that's

Bruised and

Dreary.

In a room

That has died,

Sitting alone!

It's damn weary. 

The stopped

Clocks often

Tell me a story

That's scary

All abused,

Cock protests.

My hand is

Not sorry.

Tell me,

If you wanna

Rescue, I'll be 

Packed and ready.

Or else, there's

Enough hate to

Torch myself

And be done

Without a worry. 

Search for Art

In the dust-laden dirty rooms.
A flight that's born,
Is an answer to the vast sky.

In a pain-ridden lonely heart,
The melodies that linger are
Replies from the mighty gods.

On a bitterly blue night,
A sunny smile is such a
Revenge on the satanic lord-

The faded photograph in
In the corner, Is a put-up fight
Against oblivion's havoc.

A tug-of-war in my head
Has spilled enough blood on
A paper- a poem is carved.

A pair of wings can be
Cooked in the kitchen,
Redemption now has a recipe.

Existence is cold but we're bold.
Art is our mark, against the
Challenges cosmos throws--

Drums and guitars against
The raging fire. Flutes and
Pianos to choke the volcanic ire.

If the apocalypse is the
Bigger picture--

The music that's brewing in
Our cookers shall be our
Preferred mode of answer.

Just Smile

A mountain has

Died somewhere.

Birds have staged

A mourning.

An ocean seems

To have dried up.

Men seem have 

Stopped crying. 

A lover's caress

Has lost its glow.

Act of listening,

Is a gone now.

A stranger to 

Feed a stray dog,

Trust in humanity

Has been restored. 

Strange is time,

Changed have

The rhymes.

For all our petty

Chimes, Gods 

Have stopped

Giving hearty whines.

Don't worry you'll

Soon be fine.

Just buckle up..

Wear a smile. 

Poem Currency

Broken pens

Don't have 

A say.

Empty papers

Are as good

As a hope

That's nay..

For a war

That's waged

In head,

Poetry is a

Price I gotta

Pay.

Lois Lane

She's a story

Broken out 

Of an empty

Page.

Loneliness,

Freshly out 

Of a 

Windowpane.

..

A dance down

My memory

Lane.

First sign

Of summer

Rain.

..

Between the

White lies

And charred

Truths...

A perspective

She can paint, 

Drives me 

Insane.

..

For the person

I've been.

She has

Little to gain.

I'm no

Clark Kent.

But she's my

Lois Lane. 

.. 

Rorschach

Mother raised

Me by working

In a furnace.

Father named

Me after all

The brothels

He visited.

For the sky

I slashed open

There was

No luminance.

To the 

Bondage I'm fed,

Darkness is

All I can sell.

If you've

Complaints,

Don't just

Start to bark.

For me,

You just might

Be a to be

Squished wart.

While the 

White Doves

Are just a

Playful feed.

For me,

Life is a

Funeral pyre.

Peace is just 

Another sham. 

Empty Page

Shooting stars,

To run down

In vain.

Wishing bones

Are writhing in

Shame.

For a story 

I wanted to write

I've forgotten 

My own name.

Colours faint

Out of boredom,

On the canvas

I want to paint.

Melodies stand

Divided for a

Song that's

On it's way.

Before I could

Conjure,

God has stoned

My fate...

For the 

Shipwreck

Between my

Ribcage...

I'm just a 

Tale in a

Torn out page.

Dirge

Like distorted

Melodies of 

A grieving

Pianist.

She speaks

As if we're

Casualties

In love.

..

Like clouds

Would cry

For death 

Of a crow.

Trees would

Feel for a

Forgotten

Dove.

..

All nights

She paints

Our memories

In black.

Shoots down

Our stories,

Stacked in

The rack.

..

For the 

Stones she is

Throwing at

Our fate.

The fruits

Offered will

Surely stink 

Out a dirge..

.. 

Forsaken City

Poets have

Cried in

Rhymes.

Tears of

Painters

In dyes.

Symphonies

Wail while

Singers sit by.

In a hopeless

Regime. Of

Homeless desires..

Words written

By little boys

To collapse...

Even the 

Sea breeze

Mourns,

In the city

Of forsaken

Tonight. 

I was born when

I was born when..

Sun was gone by.

Moon was bit shy.

Only stars were

Around to twinkle,

Before it got 

Cloudy and

Rained all night.

..

I was born when..

With a pinch of 

Yellow and 

Shade of green.

The spring was 

Bidding goodbye..

And from around

The corner,

Summer was 

A proper Hi.

..

I was born when..

Metaphors were

Cast in volcanoes.

Swords were 

Given to men to

Think aloud and

Pen-down verses.

A revolution brew

In great minds.

A spirit of enquiry

Deep down.

..

I was born when..

Even gods 

Would cry. 

Mothers would

Laugh and sigh.

Girls still,

Stole hearts. 

Kids ran around

Fine and wild.

Love grew in

Our backyards

And traveled 

Countrywide. 

..

I was born when..

Humanity hadn't

Lost its way.

Dogs had an

Equal say.

For the good

Deeds no-one

Took credit and

Heaven did go

By merit.

..

Aspiration

The sky is

On fire.

Invokes in me,

A bold desire.

Should I just

Flap my hands

And fly higher?

Or take leap

And swim in

A sea that's dire?

Something in

The air that 

Makes me aspire.

A spirit of enquiry

Is driving me,

Let me just take

A taxi for hire.

Blame

Beast of the

Ocean,

Can ever be

Tamed.

A boy high

On love,

Will ever be

Sane?

For the 

Shipwreck,

In his

Ribcage,

He has drunk

All year to

Forget her

Name.

Misery is

Optional,

Inevitable

Is pain.

For our own

Acts of vain.

It's we who

Should stand

In shame.

For the sins

Of wine,

Can the gods

Ever be blamed?

Smile a little

Smile a little,

In Saharan Africa,

It just might rain.

Out in an ICU,

You might soothe

Some pain.

..

Smile a little,

A man in a

Lonely room,

Might not go 

Insane.

A Jane Doe 

At the brink. 

Might start 

Living again.

...

Smile a little,

To not let

Soldiers' efforts

Go in vain.

An orphan 

Somewhere, 

Might feel

Embraced.

..

To our cold

Misery,

Let's not let

The world wane.

Ye, all.

Smile a little,

It ain't a bane. 

.. 

Ink Flow

He can't write,

Anymore.

Thoughts have

Gone rogue.

She has 

Gone away,

His heart chokes

In a morgue.

A drought 

In in his mind, 

Hardly anything 

Grows.

It's been ages

Since,

Any of his words

Have last flown.

He's a poet

With a plough.

Tills himself to

Keep the Ink aflow.

But it has stopped

Raining there.

Is there a 

Way out? Bro.

Procastination

Time and again,

He scrolls 

Through memes.

Tick by tick,

Every minute ends

With a shriek.

Doesn't take 

A peek at

The work that's

Pending from

A week..

Completed a

Revolution,

The hour hand

Vents a cautionary

Scream.

He overlooks

Again,

As if time ain't,

His means.

Day ends with

A screech,

The work has

Gone out of reach.

Gets between

The sheets,

To declare, again,

How tomorrow 

He'll not have

A breach. 

Procrastination,

At its peak.

Another day is

Added on to

The fifteen day 

Streak.

Hero with a Cape

Too much to care.

But I'm left with

No capes to 

Wear.

Most are torn.

One that's left

Is is hung in

The backyard

To dry, I swear.

You're welcome,

To judge.

This how I look

When I ain't brave.

Bitterly blue and

Cold. Stuck in a

Room, with no

Courage to dare. 

Couple of more

Hours, if you may.

Once it dries,

I'll have a mask 

To wear.

After that,

Upon my pants,

Even I can pull on

My underwear. 

Netflix and Chill

Jack and Jill,

Did a Netflix

And chill.

Came close

At will, then,

Forgot to take

A pill.

Born was Bill.

Expectations

To fullfill.

Sleepless nights,

A daily drill.

Drama was a

Emotional grill.

Life turned

Uphill.

Of that night,

Both are 

Horrified still.

There's a moral

Here, to instill.

If you have time 

To Kill-

Any fancy frill,

But never a

Netflix and Chill.

Forgetting

Each day..

What remains

Of her fades,

A little.

Sometimes 

Her hair.

Sometimes,

How she looked

In a winter wear.

Yesterday day,

It was her 

Second base.

Day before,

Her her curves

Of a flower vase.

Today, I forgot

Her name.

Now,

Only a half

Painted face

Remains in the

Game. 

Of which

I hardly care.

Few more days,

Done and dusted,

She'll be nowhere.

Forgetting

Someone is an

Emotion so rare.

Self love is 

Important,

Buddy, you too, 

Take care.

Way Back

Last night's

Hangover is

Hard to pass.

I can hardly

Make it to the 

First class.

Ain't a good

Student I once was.

She left,

Now I'm an

Empty bottle

Of glass.

Days are

Tough,

Nights are 

Rough.

In exam halls

I often hit a

Duck.

Ran out of luck,

Life's a

Absolute fuck.

This habit is

Hard to check.

Just behind

The rack,

There's another

Bottle of

Daniels Jack,

Enough for today,

To find a

Way back. 

Naughty Game

Night is up.

Guards are down.

For the game

We're gonna play,

These robes

Are a shame.

My lines are

Yearning to be

Rhymed.

Your curves must

Be longing for

Some chimes.

Let me pull

Your hair,

Slightly,

Pat your rare.

Shift my gear to

Squeeze your

Rounded pair.

Holding back,

Is a mistake

So grave.

Your urges are

Mine to to care.

Sometimes up,

Sometimes down.

Let the battle of

Breaths sway.

We're gonna

Ride today, till

We can hardly bear.

A GB still left

Why won't a 

Shooting star 

Come down,

While I make 

A wish?

It's been long

Since I had

A fish.

The astrologer

Did blurt.

The Saturn does

Always hurt.

With one of his 

Moons, did I 

Ever flirt?

I don't recall.

Can be an 

Interesting quest.

 ...

She left, then,

The bike broke.

Even in the lame

Arguments,

I do choke.

Father,

Ain't proud.

Uncles always

Frown.

Mother too

Looks me down.

Guess that's all

There's to own.

...

The curd-sugar

Combo hasn't

Helped yet.

Limbu-mirch,

Visited a witch,

Taveez too

Had a glitch.

Life's such

A bitch.

..

Everything has

Been put to test,

God knows,

When he gives

My case a rest.

Let him take 

His time,

There's no haste.

A new day is

Here, for me

To waste.

Lots of work,

I'll do my best.

..

There's reading,

There's Writing,

Physics, Chem,

Creb's cycle and

Fucking Sin

Minus cos theta.

I'm Still left with

A GB of data.

Incognito is on

Jai Vaishno mata.

...

Self Introduction

I'm a light
Hearted bloke.
Little drowsy.
Little woke.
Bit haughty,
Totally broke.

Too ugly for
That matter.
Insecurities
Are the only
Things I own.

Laugh at others
Is all I do..
Humour is the
Only emotion,
I understand.
Sarcasm is a
Routine attire.
My life is a
Tragic satire.

Through the ups
And downs,
Picking myself
Up very loosely,
I don't think, I've
Much to offer,
But, if you insist,

How about..
Another joke?

Dreamer

Today,

The winds are

Pretentious.

Moon, bit more

Narcissistic.

Birds, chirping to

Seek attention.

Trees, clapping

Out of compulsion. 

Somewhere,

A mountain

Must have died.

A river might

Have dried.

A shooting

Star to go in

Vain...

A lover might

Have cried.

A dreamer must

Have woken up

With a sigh. 

I'm just a

Disappointed guy..

Sometimes a 

Mountain. 

Sometimes

The sky.

A dreamer by day.

A seeker by night. 

War in Head

I sell mirrors

In a kingdom

Of blind.

Words of wisdom

To a crowd

Of deaf.

..

Finding order

In chaos is

One thing.

A knack for

Stoning the

Still waters is

The other.

..

Mundane choices,

Usual noises.

Between extremes.

Lost in the grey-

Hot iron's been

Cast in shape.

..

The sword 

That's cast has

Waged, heck of a

War in my head.

And the blood that's

Split has sung the

Same rhymes again.

.. 

Ummeedein

Dil ki baat,

Dil mein nai rehti.

Mann ke pinjare 

Mein bandh rehti nahi.

Teri nazar ki

Bansuri chalti rahi,

Purane ghavon pe

Waar badta gaya.

Thi talash 

Ummeedon ki.

..

Bhook mithi nahi,

Pyaas bhuji nahi..

Jis Roshni ke 

Talash mein,

Hum tere gali mein

Phirse chale aaye the.

Waha shaam ho 

Chuki thi.

Wounded Pen

Sometimes 

My blood gets 

Frozen,

Skin turns thick.

Mind goes blank,

Pain becomes 

Illiquid. 

Empty walls 

Stare,

Blank papers 

Mock.

Solitude turns 

Into a mirror.

My reflection, 

A failed 

Literature.

I keep stabbing

Myself to make 

My pen bleed.

Ink-trails are 

The only way out

It seems.

Wounds are 

Portals to

Freedom,

When the soul

Does freeze.

Quill is the key.

And the bird that

Flies away is,

A poem indeed.

Phoenix

Each day, 

I make your 

Effigies. 

And

Burn them

By night.

From the 

Ashes,

You're born 

Again,

By dawn.

...

Phoenix is 

A bird that's 

Born out of 

Love.

And burnt

In loss.

About the 

Prison

It cycles in,

It doesn't 

Know at all.

...

I think

That's how

I'm losing 

Each day...

Hope in 

A prison,

Is not good 

After all.

..

Poem is a Flight

Mind took me

Places.

Hovered on

Dreamy lands..

Thoughts took

A shape.

A Blue Bird

Was born.

It grew wings.

Was meant to

Fly high..

...

But my throat

Is a graveyard

Where words

Often die.

A standstill.

Fluttered wings.

Poked my mind.

And hit

Some walls.

A frustration

Set in. 

Each day an

Attempt was made.

But how do

You make..

A Dumb person

Talk?

A pen

With a paper

Was such a 

Plan!

And at the 

Behest of 

Ink trails,

Emancipation came.

Thoughts flew

Off my brains.

Peace is just

Another bird.

Poem is a flight.

Vulnerable

I hum over 

The mundane.

Sing when happy.

Seek ink trails 

When sad.

Carry stars in

Pockets to

Swim through

The darkness.

..

Giggles in the

Funerals.

Not so uncommon

Dark humour.

Melancholia 

At will.

Long stare at

The ceiling fan.

You know..

Just incase...

..

Quite unusually,

The radio plays

An unfamiliar song.

Maybe Italian.

But who cares

Right?

Death has 

No color. 

..

The crowd and

Empty rooms,

Are the same.

Silence and

Noise, 

No difference.

The same strand

Of thought,

Which gave me

Clarity,

Has recocheted 

From the edges

Of my brain.

..

The fine line

Between black

And white is

Now lost in 

Grey.

And right now,

Even if you

Stab and say

"Trust me".

Maybe I will.

Right away.

..

Topsy Turvy

Suddenly everything turns dark. Sounds fade away. You drift into a tunnel. A dungeon of unending narrow walls. Life seems to have suspended.

Storm of questions. Mismatched answers. For a moment a streak of light appears, then nothingness. A voice shrieks in head and suddenly throat clenching vaccum.

Then the ground from under your foot slips. What was in head gets a shape. The mindful experience turns physical. Tospy turvey, you just cascade down. Then a sudden jerk. A halt. 

A faint sound from somewhere hits your ears. You open your eyes. What a relief. You wish that was just a dream.

But was it? 

No Nut

November ends 

Tomorrow.

And I haven't

Written a thing.

Such a losing

Streak.

Or is it my

Way of

No nut 

November?

Either way.

Not having an

Orgasm is

Frustrating. 

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.

Monotony

With the roads 

And rhymes of

April and May..

Summer is

Gone.

...

Rooms and

Nights.

May and

Mights.

Through

June...

Monsoons

Bid goodbye.

...

With reds and 

Yellows gone..

Dust like

Thoughts brood..

On December now.

And I'm sure..

January will 

Stink the same.

..

The Late Night Rush Hour

It was past midnight and like any other night; I sat reading in my house. Facing the wall, sitting on my sanduk with a clipboard on my lap, I sat there trying to ingest whatever it was written in the book I was holding. All around me there were my classmate and juniors in their deep sleep. The winter that was set in was demanding some warmth from within me and it was almost time by then- I was seventeen- to give away myself to the hormones that were agitating inside me.

It surely wasn’t the first time I was sensing the poke of my beak. I knew its sensitivity but I had never really paid it any attention. I knew this word hasta maithuna from the adult books I had read. Which is a Kannada word for masturbation. I knew what it meant and what will be the resultant. But I hadn’t really had given it any thought until now.

The clipboard that was on my thigh had acted on the sensitivity of my thing. When I became conscious about it I deliberately started pressing it against my beak. It felt good. I could feel it stiffen against the fiber of my underwear; sending slight tremors around my body. I did it often while I turned the pages of my book. It was a novel relieving feel.

Then I turned around my head to check if someone was awake. Everyone was fast asleep. Then I wanted to explore this fantastic pleasure. Surreptitiously I pulled it out from the side of the shorts I was wearing. For my surprise, it wasn’t dark as it usually did. It had a light complexion, the color of my palms to be precise. I could see faint bluish-green veins through the foreskin. Which suddenly reminded me of what biology teacher had said, “Erection is due to rush of blood to the spongy tissue penis contains”. Then, I held it in my hand, pressed it gently. Good heavens! It felt awesome.

Now things were in a flow. Just like that, I was sliding it back and forth which enlarged it further. The tiny little dark thumb-like projection had stood up in an obtuse angle. All fluffy, tight and handful. My whole body had its center of gravity shifted at my shank. Now and then watching around for random eyesights that might put me in an embarrassment, I played with my shaft; as it was assuring a kind of salvation at that moment.

After a while of playing with it, I felt it might throw up. It felt like a strong urge to urinate like urine is pushing from inside. Not that I was that naive. I had heard and studied about the semen that comes out. But had never seen it. For that time I suppose I had only urine in my mind.

Before I spilled it all around my place. I covered it partially by the seam of my short and walked to the toilet. I stood there shaking it in its full glory, occasionally watching how it behaved. Each stroke added some extra pleasure which pushed me to shake it more rigorously. The moment was intense, heated. I was going into a kind of trance. While there was a strong push from within and my eyes were squinting, I was like ahhhh! The ooze came out. It was whitish sputum like. After the throw-up, I was out of the trance that had engulfed me for a very brief time. I was back to the drab reality of standing in the toilet. Then it started to shrink in a relaxed manner.

When I was back, I was exhausted a little and sleepy. The thing that started that day remains an addiction till date on daily basis. Sometimes acts as a sleeping pill.

War for Sleep

The loneliness

Has conspired,

With the dark 

Tonight.

Aloof,

My fluttering eyes

See myself reflected

In the ceiling.

Melancholia rhymes,

To the tones,

Of a long lost,

Past.

Questions,

Unrelated answers.

Made up scenarios.

Top class illusions.

Insecurity plays

Video games.

Anxiety,

A street dancer.

Nights like these,

Are tough. 

Rough.

Total fuck-ups.

I wage a 

Full fledged war

On myself to

Slip into sleep.

Imagery

Beyond the

Boundaries

Of flesh and 

Bones. 

Of your walk

And talk.

The radiant

Smile and

The playful

Taunts.

I've a imagery 

Of you.

..

Carved out of

Metaphors.

Cryptic

Paragraphs.

With carefully,

Chosen words;

There's a 

Dreamy 

Painting of you. 

..

A rhyming nose.

Rhythmic eyes.

Superlative

Cheeks and

A chin that 

Just fits fine.

A face full of

Melodies.

..

Van Gogh's

Starry night.

Rahman's 

'Tum Ho' laden,

A blend of 

Bukowski's

Wine.

Northern lights

To swirling

Westerlies;

An eternity 

Dances down

Your curves.

..

And

Through the

Lanes of 

My mind.

When you

Transcend

Down to

Thoughts.

You grow wings

To take form

Of an angel.

What's left

There after;

Is just your

Radiance and

My insignificance.

..