superficiality in my bones
in my thighs
in my smiles and hidden lies
a double ghost, I lost my flesh
somewhere in the unsuspected mess-
Wait a second, don't go yet
I'll lure you in with my black turtleneck
Black Turtlenecks and Kanken Backpacks,
Oxford shoes, Casio watches
Can't you see I'm too cool to forget
I'll carry around this 800 page novel that I haven't even finished 1/10th of
I'll risk the weight to carry on my show
If you haven't deducted quite yet
This is my artwork I'll force down your throat-
A walking masterpiece printed of the internet.

As the laser rays from Science City lit up the night sky in a resplendent rush of colours, I watched on,  quietly , from the balcony; my mind racing back to the class 9 Basics of Economics book and to that class.

Utility. A major concept in economics.
I had understood it so well then.
I had paid full attention to the teacher when she had explained that once I had had a spoonful of Biriyani, a little bit of my hunger was satiated and I would enjoy the next spoonful a little bit less than the first.
That was how utility operated, marginal utility diminishing with every spoonful.
Today, as the rays light up the sky, I think of him, and of the principle of utility.
Does the principle apply to first love as well, as it does to the first taste of Biriyani?
As love's bittersweet concoction explodes, does it render the following loves as only marginally utilitarian then?
As the first rush, first blush fades, as love's faces change,  do we begin to get satiated a little less than the first time?
And is it really because we are already a bit full, a little satiated?  
Or is it because the hunger gnaws on, craving that first rush, once again?

Its all about respect
You'll never get it
If you don't give it
And its not some opaque charade
You have to live it

And your ideas
Can be on a level
Higher than others
But it won't really mean so much
If you can't learn to love your brothers

Once a stranger, now a "mother" had given birth to *a daughter —
A daughter, unknown, untouched like a stranger —
A stranger to the world and all that was known —
All that was known was duplicated thereafter —
Thereafter, duplicated by all those she encountered —
Encountered by all those who had been duplicated —
Duplicated in a world full of knowledge —
Knowledge, that had been corrupted —
Corrupted by those who had pretended in fear —
Fear planted by the world and, mother and father —
Father was so-and-so —
So now, let’s be so-and-so —
And so, on-and-on; the chain continues —
Continues until another mother gives birth to a daughter —
A daughter, gives birth to another daughter —
Another daughter gives birth to another —
Another, unknown, once a stranger —

Where is the place where the numbers begin to change?
Tell me why the small of my back is the only open space
The place where hands find themselves
Hands dance fine lines
Hands dance intertwined
Hands in tangled hair
Hands open to fill the gaping spaces in the air
Hands changing numbers
Hands changing names
Where is the place where the numbers begin to change?

we both held the fire,
shared a look
then swallowed it whole.

destroying ourselves had never been so fun.