I might not be the best with words,
they tumble out of my mouth in leaps and bounds
without warning me of where they’re going.
Maybe I can’t control my blush
and my cheeks tinge pink at just the thought of you.
I guess I could be more elegant,
stand a little taller,
be a little gentler,
curse a little less.
My constant fidgeting gets on peoples nerves
and I never make eye contact.
But all these things didn’t stop you from loving me.
I might not be a love poet
but I could write about you for the rest of my life.

A smile like gold,
A heart like dust.
Eyes like the rain,
A face that will only bring pain.

He tells you things,
Like how you look nice.
He kisses your cheeks,
And makes you blush.

Uses your body,
Like you're a doll.
Tells you sweet words,
To make you fall.

Pushes you down and takes control.
He doesn't care about you,
Or anything in this world.

He tells you he loves you,
He tells you he cares.
He tells you he will always be there.

His lips only speak lies,
His hands only do what they know how to do;
They softly brush your heart,
And then they tear it apart.

I’ve been burned
by fires of men
who got carried away
throwing words and
sentiments around
like arrows,
piercing feelings
deep like flesh.
I have cried
rivers running
into waterfalls
creating black
mascara mudslides
rolling down
these full cheeks,
feeble attempts
to extinguish
the blaze. But
it won’t go out.
it smolders on,
embers glowing
dangerously bright
and beautiful
and too hot to touch.
and I am left with that:
a lingering reminder
too hot to touch,
too much to take.

The last few passengers hopped on catching their breaths with a huff and a puff and taking the remaining seats where they could, while handling their bags in one hand and their mufflers and hats with the other. It was just an ordinary day for them. A day when work and reaching their office on time was the only thing they could think about. A day when half their time on the launch was spent worrying if the Tiffin box packed so lovingly by their wives toppled over to create a mess. A day when they couldn't stop and stare. A day when materialism came before appreciating nature’s beauty.
Kolkata woke up one fine chilly morning to a sky set ablaze. There was always something about Kolkata and its lights that intrigued me. The perfection with which every corner was lit just as much as it should be, the hidden eye candy which could only be seen if you look into your soul to appreciate. Worshipers from all over flocked to the ghats to offer their prayers. And with the mindless honking of the city behind them and the open river in front, they dipped themselves in continuously to be forgiven of their sins. As they lifted their folded hands above their heads to pray and dipped themselves, they made the water all around them make huge ripples which were lost in the vastness of the mighty river. And with that, they were forgiven of their wrong doings, or at least that’s what they believed.
The engines roared to life as one of the crew, miserably opened the ropes and threw them on board after ringing a bell. I stood in one corner of the launch eyeing Kolkata, taking every bit of it in - its morning awakening, its old red bricked buildings, or at least the ones which still stood straight, its ghats green with moss and over crowded with devotees, its icy cold winter morning, and the current of the river beneath the launch floor. Kolkata had woken up to one of the coldest days in recent history. 9 degrees and the wind was up. On the Ganga it felt as if I had come away to some faraway land, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, to find peace.  Silence surrounded me and the only sound faintly audible was the low whistle of the breeze brushing past my cheeks kissing them which felt like tiny needles poking me all at once.
The water looked like liquid glass, floating away to infinity and beyond, as far as my eyes took my vision. As the launch turned to face its destination the Howrah Bridge came into view. Standing tall with its two gigantic pillars the sun peeped from between the cables to shine on the water creating a river of gold while the sun’s reflection seemed a ball of fire just within our reach.  The bridge cast huge shadows causing a sudden darkness to arise in the water which otherwise seemed ablaze.  

Across the river the world waiting for me felt distant. Was civilization actually that beautiful? Or did nature just wrap its covers around to hide the flaws of mankind, his ruthlessness, his ignorance towards other beings and its lack of humanity? The dashes of green popped out of the corners of towering buildings, as sun cast its golden rays on them creating shadows on the opposite side.
The small boats sailed on as the launch took me from bank to bank. The rowers sat at the back on the edge with their rows half immersed in the water. And as the currents made them flow by, the ripples came and hit our launch and travelled back into the vastness and disappeared. They sailed through the disturbed water, and its shadows sailed alongside. The rivers serenity was contrasted with the blobs of weed floating by, entangled with driftwood and mixed with shiny cloths, probably the leftovers of the previous durga puja celebrations.
The sky was a game of colors by now. The sun, still a ball of fire, was slowly creeping upwards, the light grey clouds just behind it shot rays of gold down through the gaps they found on the world below, the sky otherwise was a play of grey, blue, red and orange set in order from the ground upwards without a definite point of distinction. A group of three birds, crows most probably, flew overhead enjoying the sun’s late arrival to the cold morning.
My hands reached for the railing. I gripped the rods tightly looking for security. I looked around me to spot the different lives sailing with me. Some on their phones, some sat with their eyes glued to the cold blank floor, as if they didn’t deserve to be uplifted by nature’s display of her beauty, some staring down at their watches to scrutinize each second to realize how late there were while others stood with a blank expression staring out onto the river, probably going over what they did wrong, playing the images on repeat, making themselves miserable. Me? I stood leaning on the railing looking out also. But I wasn’t in my misery. My misery was behind me. I looked forward to life. And for now I looked forward to my destination. And amongst the crowd I was alone. This was my moment and mine alone. No one could have robbed me of this moment, and no one can make me forget.  
The river gave me peace of mind. Its tranquility and its continuity made an energy of constancy flow within me. A belief that this too shall pass, that every moment shall pass. Never ending was its path. A path which life had chosen. Who are we to disrupt it? Who are we to stop? Life flowed on. And times were not always smooth sailing. There will be waves rocking you, making you lose your balance, there will be rocks at the bottom, sometimes holding you together while other times damaging your base. With time and distance the river will get polluted, but it all depends on what you want to show and what you choose to see. It will be used, to its maximum capacity, with only a handful of souls to stop and think about it and do something about it to the best of their abilities. Things varying in all sizes will cross it, sail by without paying any heed to the water beneath it making them sail smoothly, never appreciating it, and soon it becomes a part of them which they pay no attention to it. It will always be there though. Its existence will always prevail over it being ignored. And when you stop to think, it’ll be there pushing you along the way, to your destination, where you will have to say goodbye to the picture perfect moments, the soul touching feelings and the voice within you which screams in its silence to set yourself free.

You were mine before you were born.  You belonged to me.  Before your daddy and I shared a cherry coke at the dollar theater.  Before I said yes.  To anything.  To everything.  You were mine.  And I held you for the first time at 2:38am.  Your face scrunched and red.  Still the nurses said:

“She is so beautiful.”

Even before then,

You were mine.

And your pain, your struggles, your burdens would be mine.  To carry.  To burry.  I lift and will lift the world for you, baby girl.  Put you to sleep.  Hold you as you weep.  For that boy who will shatter your heart to pieces.  I will pull the hair from your cheeks, wet with your tears.  As you cry to me that love, “Mom, love isn’t real.”

And I’ll smile and tell you “one bad apple doesn’t really spoil the bunch.”  I’ll smile and I’ll say “I know that much” – because I was there too.  Before the flat cherry cokes and your daddy’s corny little jokes.  Love is as real and true as I am me and you are you.  And it was here.  You were here.  Before you even existed.  You were mine, growing in my heart.  

Love was mine, growing in my heart.

And before you fall asleep in your bed, soon after the tears have all been shed. I will tell you this: “I have learned to keep my heart tender.  To love wisely; but know when to surrender.  The way I surrendered with you.  I have learned to claim love as my own.  And your love, baby girl, is the best thing I’ve ever known.”

You have always been mine.

sometimes, you are simple.
sometimes.
sometimes, you are the dimples in my cheeks.
the warmth in my knees.
and i could write lines forever.
other times, you are the moon in the sky.  
present. inviting. far. lonely.
and i fall asleep. hoping you are there in the morning.
but you aren't.
you are never there to wake with me.
so i wait.
i wait for you.
and the sun is there to dry my eyes when i wake.
to hold me right before it grows dark again.

They said she was saved
Sanctified
Oh but she's a hell raiser
the pages in her Bible don't flip
but her hips shake
faster than a whore turns tricks
they say she was baptized
by John the Baptist himself
but she came out to her mother
in a christian book store
her cheeks blushed
pink red
They say she flew with the angels
but seduces demons at night
Gods her captain
but she missed the flight
she didn't wanna fly to close to the heavens
But she kissed her rosary
as she clutched the book of Mormon
the star of David tatted across her shoulder
A hell raiser in the true
saved
Sanctified
But she seduces Satan himself
with the holy water sprinkled over her lip gloss
because her kisses are heavenly divine
The scriptures in her Bible
Have no name
unrecognizable from her pain
Shes just Rose Marie
the daunting seductress
dressed in nuns clothes
Flying in religion
to hide her shame

There's only so many ways to cry
and only so many corners to hide in
outside your illuminated little head.
When the tears kiss your ruby cheeks
or trickle to the concrete
the realness will inevitably snap back.
But, if you truly try to,
you can sob and wreath forever in your mind
and still never have to stop to breathe.

Pixie stick kisses
And a sticky tongue.
Pigeon pointed toes
Curled in triumphant approval.

Buzzing eyes and flushed cheeks
Making a grand entrance
On your face.

Let's reenact
The age of innocence
We tossed out with
The trash so long ago.