Then there are days
When with a sulking face
I go through everyone's poems
Including my own
And wonder with bitter scorn
What kick do these people get
From all this rhyme-rhyme business
Just say it all in one line, no
Why coat it with metaphorical prettiness

Don't worry friends,
I hope to self-heal out of this strange daze
Probably just going through
A grumpy phase.

The reason I don't wear makeup
Is that I don't want there to be
Anything on my face
That distracts you from Me.
And no, I don't look pretty
Buried beneath the layer
Of foundation and gloss.
Because then, I'm barely there.
Only when unadulterated, untouched,
Does my skin look perfect,
Adorned with the best rouge there is-
Which is, my Self.

The age of letting time take its
own, slow course is gone, perhaps
For every hour is rush hour,
Every meal is a quick-bite,
That cup of coffee always instant,
Honking even before the signal goes
from yellow to green, the rule

The age of savouring the moment
to its delicious limit is gone, perhaps
For every flaw is now a breaking point,
Every argument cause for a split-up
Every mismatch provocateur of second thoughts

In the age of waiting being obsolete,
Patience becoming a virtue redundant,
The plain, small joys of life becoming insignificant,
The material replacing the abstract,
The direction of the swipe on a touchscreen
Becoming the decider of the fate of love stories,
I'll never find you, perhaps,
If this world continues to function
Like a real-life dating app

Flavored hukkas are passed around,
Alcohol and paan bring the mehfil alive,
The Ustad ji sits down and flexes his fingers,
He knows he’ll be working all night.

Dha dhin dhin dha, dha dhin dhin dha
Na tin tin ta
Ta dhin dhin dha,
Move the Ustad ji’s fingers on the tabla.

While with a veil on her face,
And feet dipped in and henna-colored,
Lips in cheap red lipstick covered,
She unfalteringly, gracefully enters.

Her steps are matched by the chhan chhan
of the ghungroos tied around her ankles so slender.
Eyes set on her, feast on her youth,
Just right for the taste of all her customers.

Bejeweled hands placed on waist,
She stands at the centre of attention,
She lifts a foot, readies to dance,
And begins the nightly convention.

Skillfully, perfectly, sensuously move
Feet well-trained since childhood days,
Harmonizing with the timbre
That the Ustad ji creates.

Tin tin na dhin na dhin na
On the tabla, experienced fingers beat.
Chhan chhan chhan chhan,
She dances, repeating the rhythm with her feet.

Metal bells strike against one another
And chhan chhan chhan-a chhan she goes,
Making breaths prance and jump,
As she strikes on the ground her heels and toes.

Then suddenly she stops and gasps,
Over disgruntled, impatient groans she tries
to hear the sound that flows in, only to her ears.
Several rooms away, a baby cries.

Naach! A voice booms,
Arey naach! More join in.
A glass of wine is shattered by an irritated one.
But she stands still, clutching her chest, frozen.

One sways up to where she stands,
For the veil covering her face, his hands dive.
He uncovers her, but is blinded by the sight of her beauty
And her tears that fill her kajal-smeared eyes.

She’s shaken back to reality as she looks all around.
Her sparkling pall is off her face.
She sees all those drunk men who’ve paid to watch her dance.
She knows she has to make the sound of the cries fade away.

So she stomps her feet on the ground till it hurts.
Hair flying out of braid, bangles clanging,
Anguish replaces her innocent loveliness,
The music in the air is now shrill,  jarring.

Her steps match with the tabla’s rhythm no more.
But she dances, planting her feet so hard they weep.
She silences every sound with the noise of her ghungroos,
Praying that the night will lull her wailing son to sleep.

I think
The reason I felt
All tingly, when you asked,
"Ma'am, have you fastened your seat belt?"
was this Uniform of yours.
Why else would I blatantly stare
At you walking towards the cockpit,
Wondering if you'll look as good
Without it?

There's so much you hide
Behind that opaque mask
But for the sake of love, dear,
I do not ask.

Too many expert voices lay a claim on your shape,
You are either too full, or
You have gone too far,
Too many moulds get thrusted at your face,
To some you resemble a pear,
But they feel your should look more double cherry,
And whichever fruit you succeed in turning into,
You still, are a tad too hairy
But then does anyone ever tell you,
That sometimes ice cream will be the only answer
And that is just fine?
That a bedtime prayer can be enough night-time routine,
Which needn't include expensive lotions and creams,
That you need fats as well as you need protein,
As also each little gift that Nature crafted lovingly
For this marvel of a creation that is your Being-
So that your skin is fed and living,
And your knees are lubricated and sprightly,
And your blood is rich and active,
And your soul-
No one will give you
"How I brightened my soul in 4 weeks" tutorials,
But you ought to set your happy soul-goals,
A tummy rub in a sunny lawn on a lazy winter afternoon/
A drenching bath in heavy July rains/
A spontaneous poem effortlessly jotted down on a napkin
Level-happy!
And when you're that happy you will know
That you aren't a cut-out on public display,
Not a fruit,
not a diet,
not a fad that peaks and wanes,
You are an everlasting uniqueness,
You are an undefined shape,
You are that collection of rare energies
That only comes custom-made.

In a land where the sun will shine
Softly on our bare skins,
The cool, calm water will flow over
Our feet dipped in-
Sparkling, soothing, tickling,
While we’ll both lazily lie,
Arms spread out, time stretched out,
Truths and worries left behind,
Where the only possible distraction
From each other’s sight could be
That of a butterfly fluttering by,
We'll track, over lilacs and yellows, its flight,
Then suddenly we’ll catch each other’s eyes,
And once again forget the presence of all life,
Just soaking in the profoundness,
Of being side by side.
And my fingers, freed from
All shackles of wrong and right,
Will slowly move over soft, wet grass,
Eliminating whatever distance before us lies,
I’ll touch for a moment, your fingertips,
And I’ll test you, wait for your reaction,
I’ll see it on your smiling lips,
And at last with your heavenly fingers,
Mine will entwine,
To finally fill that love-shaped void in our hearts,
For the union of our souls to never grow apart.

Wait for me in that land, my dear,
Wait for me; I’ll meet you there.

His situation was dire.
Despite having taken shelter
Inside that ring of fire,
Fuelled with whiskey and ****,
And ****** with flesh,

She still held in her beautiful hands
The end of the rope around his neck.

Stepping into, and out of the flames
With unbelievable, unnatural ease,
She would tighten and loosen
That noose of her deadly love,
As and when she pleased.

Incipient Love*                  
Putting forth your best face, yet
Searching for what their eyes say

Seasoned Love
Going through your worst day, yet
Knowing you take their breath away

He had suddenly spoken that day-
Gaze fixed at the cup of ice cream in his hand,
As his other hand caressed my hair,
In the gentle coolness of October air-
That whenever he saw half-melted, half-scooped out
Strawberry- soft, thick, flowing, pink,
He would always think,
That when a spoon would run over,
Its smoothness to subtly scrape,
How sensuously it would fall like a poem,
In graceful curve, in rhythmic shape.
"And over the cold, ragged edges that remain,
I run my fingers", he said,
"And I get that feeling- you know?-
When you rub your palm against red velvet?
Yes, that!"

I nodded, feigning understanding, but oh!
How there could be poetry in strawberry,
I had not the slightest clue,
Until he smeared some with his fingers,
And slowly kissed it off my lips.
Then, I knew.

I am the cushion that life first rests in,
The crib meticulously created layer by layer,
The soft bed of flowers, glistening like blood,
The protector of all beings, the seat of care

My love is fuelled by the silver calmness
I gently extract from the first lunar night,
When the moon emerges from its dark sabbatical,
Armed with tales it gathered from the other side

Each day, its luminosity deepens, its stories
Turn more vivid, more wrenching, more morose,
I soak it all in- the pain, the suffering, the injustice,
And colour myself, in the darkest shade of rose

My red is no ordinary red, it is the
Culmination of every sister's deep cry,
It is the crimson of anger that can only be felt,
By the cradle entrusted with preservation of life

I am full and brimming, with pangs too strong
And hues of vermilion too dark to contain,
I rock back and forth, my cot full of stories,
Twisting, flailing and writhing in pain

And then I burst out and let freely flow,
The dam I created with laments of loss and love
Painted with conversations lasting until twilight,
With my cratered friend in the skies above

Petal by petal, as I lose my form and disintegrate,
She is connected to each woman's cry that I assimilate,
Flexed at the pelvis, helpless yet so strong, she listens,
And understands the lore I sing about, every twenty-eighth.

Who are you?
The you we keep writing about,
We- the poets; poets around the world,
Across time immemorial and
space immeasurable,
We write about you,
We shape your skeleton
With the strength of all the pain
We've borne, and we sculpt your flesh
With the wistful beauty of our tears,
We bring you to life with our words
Make them course through your body
Like blood,
Who are you?

The cry of our first heartbreak?
The joy of a lover's return?
The stunning silence of absolute loneliness?
Of turmoil and torment, the stinging burn?

You're all of the above,
and more- profoundly more,
You're a piece of every poet's heart,
Infinite power, immense emotion,
You are the cumulative of every drop of blood
The poet has shed through their pen
You are the story that stays stifled inside
the confines of paper, until someone comes along
And unlatches your locks,
Absorbs the burden of the poet's grief,
And at that moment, brings you to the form in
which you had been intended to be.

It is then, that you, the very essence,
the very soul of the poet,
Can take flight, blissfully relieved,
When you are read, your creator is finally free.

I close my eyes
And gently trace
A finger on my lips
Vivid memories awaken
With a sigh,
And lazily eclipse
All reality
Now it's you and me,
My senses in your grip
Intoxicated, electrified by
Your finger on my lips

Untamed!*
Its landlocked audacity!
My arrogant city
Needs a sea.

With guilt writ all over your face,
Twiddling your fingers just like you would
When as a little child
You'd make some mistake,
Shuffling your feet nervously
Like you would when you'd fail a test
Or get a note from school,
You stood in front of me,
My precious, my beautiful,
Who I'd caught hidden under the quilt,
Head buried beneath pillows,
Crying muffled cries of pain.
You finally made eye contact, I know
You waited for my trademark eye roll
For an admonishment, for a
"See, I told you so!"
But dear, before you declared me
As your fiercest enemy, did you ever wonder
That you, the girl- broken, shaken, yet defiant,
Once lived inside of me?
Love created you
And for the following thirty seven weeks
And twenty two
Days you grew within me,
Bit by bit, cell by cell,
Each moment we spent together,
Sealed our souls,
We were best friends even before you were born.
I'd be lost, forlorn all day at work
When I'd leave you behind at home,
You too would find contentment when finally
You'd feed from your mother's *****.
I've seen you crawl,
Seen you stumble,
Helped you on your feet when you'd fall,
I've laughed when you've cackled,
I've cried when you have shed a single tear,
I'm a being conjoined to every emotion you feel,
So, my Inaayat dear,
Instead of crying behind closed doors,
And saying "It's okay" without
meeting my gaze,
You should've walked up to me,
Informed me about the time and place,
And mother-daughter, we'd embark
To bash up that ruthless villain
Who broke your delicate heart.

12 am
Choose a profound song,
Play it on repeat,
Study feverishly while the song plays.
Go away, Sleep!

2 am
Let the song still play on,
Guiding your thoughts to the very deep,
Telling your heart that the night's
Too young still, to sleep.

4 am
The loop is never-ending,
Mind numbed by racing at top speed,
Yet thoughts and memories charge on,
Musically gnawing away your sleep

The birds have awoken now**
Nothing feels real anymore,
Life/love/promises-you want none to keep,
As soon as you "Stop" the haunting music,
Realising again tonight, that all that matters, actually,
Is a beautiful Sleep.

The fortress is soundproof no more,
And the voices I had once blocked out,
Are creeping in, seeping in, towering over me,
They accuse me, they shout.

Peaceful silence marred by vengeful shrieks,
Blissful ignorance quelled by demanding questions,
Pristine air darkened by black tears,
And surrounded by all, I stand in the centre.

A spotlight of love-turned-ugly encircles me,
And for the first time, I feel insecure, alone.
I take my hand and place it on my chest,
Trying to feel, in vain, my heart of stone.

Silent  heart.
Pulselessness.
Vacant chest.
Airlessness.

Such a curse- this emotionless machine
that swells up on others’ despair!
The robotic pump that never breaks down,
That’s never needed any healing or repair.

I hear the frantic beats of all the hearts
I stomped upon, nonchalantly broke.
Then, smothered by the darkness of my own being,
I gasp and wheeze, I choke.

When will my veins distend with passion?
When will my heart spout unhindered blood,
And add into my lifeless existence-
Fire and pleasure, pain and love?

I’ll unlock now, these strong iron gates,
And stand outside into the hot, harsh light,
I’ve been huddled up in the dark all my life,
I’ll expose my soul now, to set my wrongs right.

And for the one-
Who’ll unfold, unfurl, enter, penetrate,
And my stony abrasiveness, slowly grate-
I’ll tear open my chest, and silently wait.

It kills-
Knowing I'm the pain
flickering inside
your eyes.

Don't go by convention, na!
Grab a chair and sit next to me,
Not at the opposite side where
So distant you'd be,
No! I'm not saying so because I want to
hold your hand or something-
not that I would mind, but no-
Just sit beside me, so I could
lightly punch your arm,
secretly stare at your dimple,
watch your eyes mischievously twinkle,
also take a spoonful of your slice of cake-
so be near me and,
let closeness be the highlight of this first date.

Okay, so you waltz right in
Wearing this summery white shirt
Slightly but tantalisingly
See-through, and if that wasn't enough,
You do your little forearm display show
By intelligently folding your sleeves
And then you expect me to be careful
Because you don't want a crease?
Darling, you can't have the best of all worlds.
So, while I do my thing,
Excuse me, please.

Cinderella-
She left her shoe behind as she ran,
Barefoot, unthinking,
she hurried on dewy grass
towards greener lands
and castles grand,
and chandeliers radiant,
and jasmines fragrant,

Cinderella-
did you realise that the
bloom which beckons from afar,
in reality, will only hurt and jar,
the sun, the glitter, and the stars
are faces of a deceitful mirage?

Cinderella, return!
You left your shoe behind,
You left your heart behind,
You left your prince behind,
You left yourself behind,
Save them all before they go ****!
It's only minutes until midnight.

Cities aren't cities,
The people are the cities,
she'd say, and I didn't understand
what she meant until I realised

That Hauz Khas was our first stroll ever,
Khan Market- our best cup of coffee,
Humayun Tomb- our first stolen kiss,
Dilli Haat- our first quarrel,
The Lodhi Gardens- our biggest quarrel!
The Jama Masjid was where we'd always make up.

Now I know which market sells her favourite
bags, which gully keeps the anklets
she loves most, which discrete stall in the
by-lanes of Old Delhi is her best chaat-wallah ever,
Every nook, I know by the fragrance of her memory,
I try forget, I try erase,
But oh, I remember,
For she is my Delhi

Delhi is her, only her,
The city of first love, first dreams,
a million rights, a devastating wrong,
The city that now stings with the thorns
That make my feet bleed when I try to enter,
Even with my back turned,
The city hurls
Stones at my fragile heart and screams at me
to never return.
*I'll never return.

The marks of her tears are
Etched permanently on her pink cheeks.
Her beautiful lips ******
Even when she shrieks.
Her desperate cries go on and on.
Her voice is now hoarse.
She begs us to stop but
Ends up provoking us even more.

We **** her.
And watch her bleed.
Beauty itself invites destruction.
So isn't she responsible for our deeds?

She flails her arms.
She screams.
She tries to fight.
She cannot challenge our iron might.

There will come a time when everyone will know, she says.
We slap her across her rose-tinted face.
Everyone already knows, but there is no one to fear
Because everyone is an animal out here!

Someday she will fall silent forever
After cursing and begging in vain.
And though we are the plunderers of her treasures,
Do you think we would bow down our heads in shame?

We wouldn't mind pressing, for the last time,
Her dead woman's arms under our iron hands.
Yes, we would **** for one last time, her wealth.
She is, after all, just a piece of land.

Screeching screaming
Flat tire
Halts journey!
Menacing night-
Fangs bared,
Nastily stares
~Crouching~
Stares nastily,
Bared fangs,
Night, menacing!
Journey halts,
Tire flat,
Screaming, screeching.

Holding on to dear life
Falling each moment,
More and more
In love with you

Do not shout, or else, I will shoot,
My voice rings out loudly, surprising me too,
I wield my gun, my little black toy,
I know for sure, what magic it can do.

My friend signals me to enter the cockpit,
I feel menacing, but I know my mission,
With some help from my friend, we seize control,
Everything is going as planned, he tells me, giving me the honor of a promising fighter.

Yes, fighter I am, a fighter for the good.
And for goodness to reign, do we not have to finish the bad?
My teachers and my leaders have taught me the distinction between the evil and the holy,
And today, I stand, to accomplish the most prime task on our hands.

The plane has been hijacked, and we are on track,
It is our own toy now, and the game is, to take lives…
This plane is our missile, and our target-the oppressors,
Those killers who deserve to be beheaded alive.

Our toy will now crash into another one, this time, a huge building,
And we will lead to the fall of those wicked souls.
Malice will shriek, and shout in despair,
And victory will be ours, and ours alone.

This is the moment, where the excitement of the game begins,
We are flying at breakneck speed, bracing ourselves to witness our triumph,
My heart beats fast, and my blood flows faster, but then suddenly…
I hear someone’s voice screech into a wail…

I run to see where the sound comes from,
And I see a little child crying,
His head rests in the arms of another little girl,
Who rocks forwards and backwards, shouting, “brother, we are dying!”

We are dying…these words ring in my ears again and again….
We are dying…yes I too am going to, but is this not, part of our game?
We are dying…little girl, why cry, when our mission is about to be accomplished?
We are dying…no! these words are about to turn me insane!

I see innocence yelp in desperation,
And I realise what a killer I am,
For my own game, I am eliminating others’ lives…what have they done?
What right do I have then, to call my work holy, how can I say, that a fighter I am?

My other friends shout at me, that we are very near our target,
I look at them, their leering selves, and think of how they betrayed me,
I was their soldier, I worked in their army, but this was an army of killers!
their baseless philosophies, their gory ideals, had strayed me!

Somebody from the cockpit, shouts, that God has won, we have too,
But have we really won? How have we?
I know not, what God wants us to do…I just know, that he loves us all,
So how can we be triumphant, in killing the ones he loves?

It’s a matter of seconds, I can save no lives,
But I know, that I can die with realization instead of dying a killer’s death,
I am sorry for those who will lose their lives because of me,
I was simply ignorant, but I am still guilty, and my guilt has only one outlet…

My sweaty hands grasp my gun tightly,
I smile reassuringly at the crying boy,
Who I am helping by this action, I know not, but I am freeing my soul,
As I place on my very own forehead, the deadly mouth of my little black toy…

How
many
people
Am I?!

I’ll take you on a journey,
Holding you by your hand,
I’m the first girl to hold it, right?
I’ll grasp your trembling fingers tight
And lead you into the unknown,
Whispering in your ear words
That you’d only fantasized about.
You’ll whisper back, that without
Me you can’t imagine living anymore,
And I’ll carefully twist my words,
So you won’t notice that I didn’t assure
You with the promise of being by your side forever.
Together we’ll walk towards that black hole,
Whose door I’ll have decorated with color,
And you, unsuspecting, will lean on me,
Will smile at me, will thank God you found me.
A minute more of contentment I’ll give you,
But that’ll be it.
And before you’ll even realize, I’ll push you in.
You’ll turn around.
You’ll be all alone.
Surrounded by pitch dark silence.
Trapped in the emptiness of betrayal.
Caged in your thoughts and second thoughts.
Entangled in the web of self-doubt.
Tossing and turning and hitting invisible walls.
No one to answer your cries and calls.
Kneeling on the abyss, filled only with anger
For the girl who pushed you into black infinity,
You’ll lie in there, helpless, still unsure
Whether you hate me, or you love me.
(Or do both).
While I’ll be gone, ****!
And my world is soundproof.
So, oblivious to your travails,
I’ll sit comfortably,
And will flip through the pages of my diary,
That records names of all those who had before you,
Fallen in the very same manner, for me.
And I’ll pen your name down, another one in the list.
Then I’ll think of that girl in my school bus
who’d once mocked me-
“No one will ever say I Love You to you”.
I’ll scoff at that decade-old memory,
Setting out on the search for a new casualty.

I don't tell Ma when
I put on this gooey, yellow,
Besan-turmeric face pack.
Too embarrassing to let her know
That her daughter finally bothers
About those useless things
Like oily skin,
Like ****** glow.

“Yes, kid, I speak no lie when I say
That I’ve seen the whole world with my eyes,
I’ve sailed through waters, trudged barren lands,
Climbed tricky mountains, dived from high skies.

Different masters, different  creases pressing
Into my not-soft but not-so-hard skin, I’ve graced
Different shoes of different colors,
Materials, textures and shapes!

A hundred years I’ve lived in the best shoes, yes sir.
Finest, smartest leather sole, that’s me.
Don’t go by the frayed edges, kiddo,
There ain't no place where this black body hasn't been.

Ha! Look at those young eyes grow big already.
I hope you don’t faint in awe when I tell you
The story of the famous hunter who would
Silently surf deep jungles in his pointed boots.

Lions would yelp and tigers would weep,
For he'd never miss a mark when he’d shoot!
Or the one about that daring pirate whose lucky sole I was!
Only with me would he climb wealth-laden ships to loot.

Or maybe, that one, about the valiant soldier,
What an honor it was, kid, to accompany him as he ran,
Gun in hand, grit in heart, yours truly in shoe,
Single-handedly slaying armies for his Mother Land.

And you must have heard about the mighty landlord?
No? the one with the bungalow with a thousand rooms?
No? the one with the gold and silver in piles?
No? oh I was there too, inside one jewel-studded shoe!

Your ten-year old imagination can’t even wander
To where I’ve been for real.
And after an exciting lifetime of adventure,
I just decided to retire, and so I ended up here.”

Little mouth opened and shut in wonder,
As the tattered sole lay in his hands covered with dirt,
He listened in rapture to stories of victories and riches,
The tales penetrating his innocent heart.

O great leather deity, come with me, I’ll take you home,
You’re going to have fun with me too!
He squeaks; takes a piece of rope and ties the sole
Around his uncovered right foot.

And walks away, pleased, hitching up
His rag-picking bag on his thin shoulder.
One foot strapped with discarded, torn leather,
The other, dragging bare over the earth.

Return she will
As the evening draws nigh
For now, Mama Bird,
Let her fly

Seeing you so persistently vying
For that one perfect selfie
While I ruined the picture everytime,
Conveniently, secretly enjoying
That feeling of your pudgy cheeks
Pressed into mine!

Exam time,
Stupid exam time
Think you're so formidable, do you?
Well I'm about to erase that
Leer off of that ugly face,
I'm going to grab you with
These hands covered in
Tired ink stains,
And mercilessly squeeze you
And extracting a handful words out,
I'll create a Poem out of you.
Oh, how much you'd hate that, right?
But yeah, that's what I'm going to do.

This is for the dear teacher
Who was once training me
For a programme where I was
Going to recite some beautiful poetry

To a girl all of fourteen,
Fresh, energetic, and naive
She gave a piece of advice and inadvertently,
Changed the course of her life

Yes, life!  
Here's roughly what she said-

Ghazal, you do NOT have to
Pause at the end of each line!
Because sometimes in poems
The sentence may continue
Beyond, so let the words flow
Like a Conversation,
And you'll notice how much better
Will sound your recitation

Something absolutely plain, yet
So meaningful, that today I wonder,
If she hadn't told me this simple secret
When would I, by myself, discover
That my words were allowed to spillover
Into the next line!
I can only look back in amazement
To thank her, and thank her some more
For saving all of that precious, poetic time

I never
heard you
    *Sing

Vermilion spread across
her forehead, like clouds
over the dusky sky,
Love perspired,
and frantically rained,
Her Earth quietly sighed.

Light me up, baby.
Spread your sunshine over my dark sky.
Ward these sinister  clouds away, please!
I need you, my rainbow, glimmering before my eyes.  

It’s a white, plain piece of paper,
This dull life of mine,
It needs the ink of your passion to write over it,
The colorful story of our union, sublime.

So mix into my insipid existence,
Some of your sugar; it needs your flavor.
Sweeten it with a smile, and the twinkle of your eyes,
Wouldn’t you do me this little favor?

I wander, like the solitary stream of water
In the mountains, searching frantically for the river.
Like the tide trying each night, to reach for the moon,
My soul too restlessly thrashes hither and thither.

Like the still boat floating in the silent, dark waters,
In solitude and quiet, I want to lie with you.
Like the green grasses awaken, glittering in the morning,
I want to wake up with the glow of being enamored by you.

Embrace me, like the orange-hued sky
Caresses, at the horizon,  the lonely sea.
Like the rustling leaves that whisper to each other in the  breeze,
Lean in and speak softly, sweet-nothings to me.

Come to me now, let all of time converge into that one moment,
When your lips will, for a second or two, over mine, teasingly hover,
Then kiss me for an infinity, and let me melt into the arms,
Of you- my hero, my paramour, my eternal lover.

You probably saw her sometime, but
Didn't spare her more than a second look,
Demure girl, purple kurta-white salwar,
Quite routine, nothing out of the books.

Oh but I saw her, the true her,
Slender hands controlling a sturdy Enfield,
Salwar flapping wildly, freely against the wind.
Must admit, I couldn't stop looking!

Fumble in the dark,
Become a tangled, clumsy mess,
Then laugh at it all hysterically-
Oh how deeply I relish Awkwardness

Awkwardness in love,
In little things I do- in everything I do,
The 'neat and clean' ones won't get it,
But it's known to us blundering fools

That tidily cutting slices of cake
And eating them in plates with spoons
Comes nowhere close to devouring cream
In fistfuls and untamed scoops,
And licking the blueberry syrup
As it trickles down your hand,
And fighting over the part
With most icing,
Getting some on your cheeks in return.

Shyly wiping it away from your lover's face
With a tissue comes nowhere close
To kissing it off his skin,
Don't you think?

Awkwardness is real,
Proof that we are alive, not merely living,
So, taste the deliciousness of it,
Let go, and dig in!

I found myself rooting for the tiny ant
The spider was trying to trap in its webbed snare,
No thoughts did I spare before swiping a finger,
and helping it make a dramatic escape

As I looked at the spider, left food-less,
Rearrange itself in its meticulous net,
I wondered at the strangeness of this
Little world of ours, and also its pointlessness

We make it seem so rosy and pretty,
Embellish it with garlands of emotions,
But underneath lies the truth of its existence,
Made up of cruelty, chaos and commotion

The Designer painted it beautifully,
But gave it finer embroideries of pain,
He threw in an entire cosmos together,
And arranged it into a food chain

Compartments and more compartments,
Of colour and country and gender galore,
Hustle and bustle to stay put in a labile balance,
That is forever tipped at the cusp of war

We fool ourselves with the sham that our lives
Depend on friendships and love and such stunts,
When what we are, if we think about it,
Is a part, of one gigantic hunt

A hunt for alimentation,
And monetary satisfaction,
And physical satiation,
Does being conditional deserve glorification?

I wonder if I've turned into a permanent cynic,
It may very well be just a phase,
Though the spider would be cursing me for sure,
Not too romantic it is, sabotaging a prey!

Writing about him
Is an addiction
That I convince myself
Is in remission,
But my heart knowingly
Sees through the deception.

Writing about him
Is an undying compulsion,
Just like loving him is.

Kneeling, I cower
Seeing my merciless Lord
Looking down on me.

I sit, still surprised
At witnessing His greatness,
Oh so fortunate,

To be permitted
In the sanctum sanctorum
of His holiness.

My lips are eager,
But cautiously, taking in
The scent of His feet,

They plant tenderly,
On His wrinkled skin kisses,
Kisses more and more.

Losing my own self,
Forgetting the universe,
Immersed in worship,

My hands in fondness,
Move up His body of stone,
Wishing to please Him.

All fervent prayers
Are at last answered, when my
Deity shudders,

As my tongue reaches
The root of that blessed fountain
Which seeds all of life.

I cannot help but lament at
The futility of being a word-weaver,
As I try and search for the
Perfect topic that could steer
My blundering, fumbling conversation
With you to something more than ordinary
Alas, hours pass and I fail miserably, so,
Dejected, I lucidly write about it on Hello Poetry.

Lie in prostration, child,
When life bereaves you
Of all truth, all inspiration
All light, all the ways.

For they'll find you,
They'll come to you,
Bathed in glory,
Unreal beauty and grace,
Twin guardian angels,
Soft, tender glow
On perfectly sculpted face
Capped with sparkling halo.

All you'll need to do then,
Is to rise, lift your arms,
And you'll feel your pain
Start to slowly dissipate,
As you'll cup your weak,
Trembling palms, to
*Reach out and touch Hope,
Reach out and touch Faith.

How can you forget him
If you keep seeing yourself as
A martyr?
Stop glorifying failure.
Be a **Survivor.

This* big a commitment,
And this tiny an assurance!
But I guess when a guy
So tall, so tough,
Takes his finger
That too the littlest,
And with a face
So earnest,
Curls it around yours,
While making a side remark
On how easily the two "pinkies" fit,
He means to keep his promise,
Oh yes, he means it.

Well, today's the kind of day
When I can just sit at my doorstep,
My chappals splashing into the
Little puddle of rainwater that's collected.
Today, I can breathe in fresh, pure greenery,
Feast into this inviting scenery,
And break into a little poetry!
About?
Maybe about how loud the clouds were!
In expressing their happiness,
Their love for us thirsty souls?
Maybe about how the cool breeze
Whizzed past our parched skins,
Blowing to us, its cool Hello?
Or about how squealing kids
Shirts thrown away, drenched skins,
Raced along their paper canoes?

Oh I can write on anything I want,
Oh I'll just hum along Mother Nature's song,
Today is the day for poetry,
Today's rhythm can never go wrong.

I lie with my arms folded on
A white sheet spread over an iron bed.
My bulging eyes sit over my reddened face,
I am ruined; I am dead.

Then I see them, they’ve come for me!
Clothed in crystal, flowing white.
They look down at me, coldly,
And I look back at their unblinking eyes.

I’d waited for it; I’d fought for it-
And now that time has arrived,
Of my freedom, abandonment,
My true birth, after this fickle life.

But then I see more men around me,
Invisible behind their aprons and masks.
They remove the killer rope from my neck,
And a finger traces along its mark.  

And so, I lie on the iron bed,
Lifeless, but not soul-less,
Surrounded by Angels and humans,
Both of whom had arrived on the occasion of my death.

Take me home! I lift my translucent arms
And plead to the Messengers of Heaven.
I don’t want to stay and see my body being
Split into halves, divided into fragments.

“But how can we, so easily,
Rid you from your life?
You made the mistake of doing that,
Of which no man has been given the right!”

As the Angels speak, the scalpel starts
To burrow into my skin.
Deftly my flesh is peeled away,
Revealing my organs of vitality within.

My heart no longer beats.
My blood no longer flows.
My lungs no longer fill with air.
My anxiety to leave suddenly grows.

O Angels from the bountiful Heavens,
You do not know how exhausting life can be!
I’d got tired of breathing and gave up,
Because God too had given up on me.

So, liberate me now and take me
From where I came and to where I belong,
Where questions are asked and justice is done,
Where the rights are weighed against the wrongs.

A hand enters my open chest,
And forcibly pulls out my heart.
And just then, the Angels too relent,
And wrench my soul and body apart.

Angels and humans scavenge over me,
On my spirit and flesh they together feed.
But I’m happy, because morsel by morsel,
From the shackles of life, I’m being freed.

*I’m finally out, I look back slowly,
They’re stripping my face off my skull.
I look ahead, and float away in thin air,
No sign of my existence remaining on the Earth.