Sometimes, yearning
feels like such
a chore.

As if someone ordered,
"Go to work every day,
and think about me"

I saw you today
under a bright sunless sky.

You,
bathed in green,
by a demure waterfall.

And you
moving
to the peacocks' calls
trilling,
through the leaves
that enshrined our midst.

You moved without care,
and you knew I was there.

I found a pebble today
and tomorrow, I will drop it in your bag.

One day, when you are
lying alone on your floor
and your skin
feels like smooth, white plastic,
you will find this pebble
lying beside you.

One day, when you are
fighting someone to save your life,
this pebble will fly out
of your wild hair,
and land in that person's eye.

And every time you look at me
this pebble will itch,
stuck in the folds of the dresses
covering your body.

You might flick it away then,
but you will never notice
that at home, it will lie
quietly between your shoes
and give you company.

These days in college,
in my tiled box of a student-room.
In known people’s faces,
computer screens and cheap,
boring food; there is a voice
missing.

It says, “I’m ignorant”.

I’m ignorant about news,
about history and politics.
It says, I don’t know
what infects the homeless man I saw
scratching his rough hair on the road.
I don’t even know
which shampoo my friend recommended.

These days in empty walks,
in serious thoughts, slow books
and un-plucked guitar strings;
there is a voice missing.

It says, “I’m not sure”.

I’m not sure how these coins
landed up in my pocket.
It says, I’m blind to the ripped muscles
of the department store worker.
I get bothered though,
when the department store is closed
once, every month.

Somewhere between clean walls and a moving fan,
amidst loud horns, dust and bustling traffic,
I’m missing.

Sitting in a yellow room
I look at your face and your mouth.
Your lips move and I hear your story,
I'm interested, maybe,
only for a while.

I like to talk about myself,
I talk and I see you smile.
But maybe you get bored soon
and we're sharing nothing but time
together, sitting across each other.

Two hours pass and your duty calls
or maybe it is saturation.
It could be that you've had your fill
and need to leave me right now.
I wonder how I'm always left
empty, somehow.

I close the door after you,
the door with the white paint.
It stares at me with an expression frozen
blank,
articulating nothing.
How is it that the closed door
seems to understand me
more, than those I cherish conversations with.

Are you my friend or just some time
spent, in discovering myself?

Your memory is young
but it walks on crutches towards me.

I remember
your raven hair
the most, amidst all your
drowning grandeur.

I see your hair,
bound in your eyes,
flowing in your thoughts.

It is like a dense, dark forest,
nobody ever goes there.

The birds in my heart
are chirping,
orchestrating
their last song.

Don’t let it end.

Sometimes, I feel like
letting go of knees,
arms, neck and spine.
Like red satin splayed
across the floor,
the light embracing its folds.

Today, your eyes were pools.
I took a careful dip,
and it burst open
the levee in me.

Today, your fingertips were candy.
I drooled at their sight
like a child, unassuming,
about the wonders of life.

Today, your smile was fresh.
Like a fresh sprinkle
of salt, on my paper-cut fingers,
after all those words about you,
I had frantically put down.

I’d tell you the truth,
but I’ll save it for tomorrow.

Many times, when daydreaming
feels like a task.
I think of you,
and everything that was,
before it couldn't be.

There might be some truth
in the beauty of my images,
my imagination, my savior
from enjoying lovelessness
too much.

There might be a kind of
person who
would mirror my thoughts
in a different skin
and that could be bliss.

There might be a field,
wide and sunny, with
the armor of intellect
crashing with purpose,
both so strong,
the ground never shakes,
never moves.

An image.
Frightening, how perfect it is.

When blue ink on paper
is so well imbibed,
that I'm deluded into believing,
I've cried,
that's when I need someone.