Buildings above the leafless trees
Loom high as castles in a dream,
While one by one the lamps come out
To thread the twilight with a gleam.

There is no sign of leaf or bud,
A hush is over everything—
Silent as women wait for love,
The world is waiting for the spring.

Its her
and its a:
*******
its a:
Lost Breath
its a:
Weak Knee
its a:
Barely Stifled Smile
its her
and its just started
luv ya x

It’s all about remembering the calls of the blue water and stories when the golden globe sank inside happily to be born somewhere else with apologies for the rejected words and love and a reminder to nail the frail blank papers!

It’s all about carrying picture albums all the way round in the school bag and holding the panic of leaving the heart possessed things, to leave foot prints at the door steps with sonnets in heart and ink stains on the skirt with the word ‘forever’!

It’s all about the crisp wind easing the whine of heart and the effortless glad crimson scars of life, drinking coffee and lobster watching rain through the cracked window pane searching for the adventures of beauty!

It’s all about becoming a part of the unwanted yellow note book pages breathing the never spoken emotions, ******* the tiniest memories with echoes of time and dust and whispering to your silent soul about your lessening autobiography!

It’s all about being the ballerina when melodies played late night, to see things scattered all over the desk and lay by the window on the crest with memories pasted on walls filling stillness all around the corroding iron ramparts!

It’s all about searching for the dried out basil stems and binding them with a thread and wishing that someday they’ll fuse together to swim in sun lit mornings for the dragon flies to bind the kaput dreams together, to live life!

It’s all about waiting at the familiar doors with the falling petals of memory and still trying to figure out the moist waited face with a screaming brain, aching veins and wrinkling skin ;the fingers searching in the wet mosses for the familiar shadow!

It’s all about dying with a dream of the familiar imperfections with the stony silence of the skull and dreams of a twilight graveyard with darkness all around a red rose faultless among the dried damp flowers!

I went there again today,
The plants I taught my-
Third standard lessons,
Tiny rooms with choir mats
And a long verandah that looked
Almost like a dream
My mother wove,
They've all remained the same,
Without alterations.
I walked the backyard with my aunt,
The new lotus pond and
Her kitchen garden
The temple that overlooked
The huge mango tree
Has become affectionate remains
Of an off-track history.
Bartered land and
English medicines,
A new plastic tap,
A European closet
And few glass plates their-
Souvenirs.
I remember the days,
The sleepless summers
They collected mangoes under
Persian torch lights,
The occasional scooters
And auto-rickshaws
That scated the narrow orange road
And the bubbles I made
With kids next door
From gums of little plants.
I have outgrown those images
But nostalgia is a nice feeling.

September 30th 2015 5 am

Unwind, unwind, unwind, unwind unwind, rewind, look at your hands. Do you even recognize your own fingerprints; you never did.
But you recognize theirs, every uneven swirl and pattern.
Now burn them off.
Can you recognize their fingerprints on the body that was found dead behind a 7-Eleven dumpster?
Can you even recognize that the body is yours?
This is what you asked for. This is what you asked for. This is what you asked for.
Hands, fingers, hands, fingers, nails, knives.
You made this mistake.
They found your fingerprints on the shovel that dug the grave just for you.
Your mistake, don't give second chances.
Your mistake, no fingerprint will ever the same.