Darling,
you're much more than
those three little words.

Do you see
the generation today,
my generation struggling
emotionally
having jarred into their heads
that it's not okay to cry
that it's not good to cry
that it's going to be alright
if you would just stop crying
if you would just wipe the tears off
that crying is for the weak (oh my son is not weak)
that crying wouldn't help
that crying is for the enemies
my generation
was served a lie on the platter
and we gulped it down
our throats without a thought
so that if we ever choke with tears
we'd gulp the lie over and over again
but mothers and fathers
look yourselves in the eye
and tell me if shedding a few tears
didn't turn down your grief
and tell me if shedding a few tears
made you any less a man
made you any less a woman
made you any less a human
Mothers and fathers
look your children in the eye
and tell them
crying is just another emotion
that has the ability
to sit down with your heart
in moments of grief
and be the friend
it needs the most.
tell them
crying is for the strong
crying is for those who feel
crying is for everyone
tell them
crying is okay.
crying is good.

Listen to me,
Never give up on love.
Even if you break down to a point where
you can hear the cracks in your bones
yearning for the sunshine because they've been in the dark too long.
Even if you break down to a point where
your can hear your lungs gasping for breath and all they wanna do is take a walk in the ocean.
Even if you break down to a point where your poems only speak the language of pain because they've been taken away from the moon.
I want you to keep
your hand on your heart
and repeat
there's always love
there's always love
there's always love
until you give up on the idea
that you can give up on love.

And what I see in her
is beyond the moon
for she doesn't need rain
to form rainbows
but only her smile.

Once
I used to stay
on the second floor
of a worn out building
which had only half a window
and a small view of the
nearby quiet street
which had one tea stall
where worked Raju,
the boy in striped pajamas.
There wasn't a day
when he wouldn't smile
or sing his favorite
Kishore Kumar songs.
There wasn't a day
when he wouldn't get
beaten up by the owner of the shop
for breaking a glass or two
when he would bring back
the empty ones spellbound
by the tunes of Lalita aunty,
the 70 year old classical singer
living on the ground floor.
There wasn't a day
when he slept on a nice warm bed
instead of the footpath
adjoining the shop.
I would always wonder
about the secret of his happiness
and everytime I would ask him
he would laugh and tell me,
some other time.
Time passed and
I moved to another city
trying to find my peace
between changing jobs
and finding love
and all this time
I would wonder
what made Raju so happy
so one day I went back there,
handing Raju a 10 Rs. Note
and told him,
today I'm not here for the tea,
I am here for the secret.
Before Raju could say
some other time
I told him
not this time.
Raju smiled, sat beside me, and
said - "I am content with what I have. My mother loves me. I am helping my sister study to become a doctor. There's not been a day that I didn't have food to eat. I have all I need - family and love. I am sure you'll find your peace one day."
After that day,
I stopped searching for peace
in all the places it wasn't there
because it was always inside me.
I was my peace.

One day
I met a man
tall, lanky, and grey.
He would smile
if someone looked at him,
his hands moving
in every direction
when he would talk,
his legs shivering
from the weight
of his shoulders.
He would fidget
with his clothes
trying to perfect them,
scratching his beard
picking it apart
hair by hair,
sweating his heart out
sitting in an
air-conditioned room,
but his eyes,
his eyes had something.
As if,
they were tired
from the all grief
he had been carrying
not shedding any
part of it
as if a mannequin
came to life,
As if,
his eyes were tired
of the weight of
the tears he had been
carrying all this time.
He learned all his life,
how to be a good man,
how to be a good son
how to be a good friend,
but one thing he couldn't learn,
how to face his grief.
One thing he couldn't learn
is how to be more human.
Because it's only human
to grieve, cry, and then
be able to feel other things.
It's only human
to be human.

This morning
I woke up
and thought
all my poetries
were over
but then I saw her
smiling in her sleep
and there it was,
love, yet again.