It start in my ear
leading to a shuffle
of my thighs
the sudden focus
of that one touch
centered
pinpoint precision
and the rush
which spreads across my body
in shivers that break out a sweat
cold and hot
fire and chills

the aftermath is only
the lingering sensation
while sounds return
to thumping of my heart

nothing compares to the rise
the mighty rise
of something as potent
as coming alive

collected flyer miles
for 27 years of
to and fro
from distant places
and the many faces
who sat by me
during the journey

memories remain collected
the smiles, gestures and hugs
all together in one coupon
ready to be redeemed

I'll be moving on now
away from the small world
to see to places, new faces
into the unknown.

give me a memory,
any memory,
where you are happy,
and it can mask,
the worst thing ever said,
the meanest thing ever done,
the crudest thing you ever saw
and I'll not write anymore.

my knees have grown
a little brittle,
my feet,
a little worn,
my elbows hurt
from tucking them in
tight,
my neck hurts
from not holding it
right,
my shoulders ache
for the burden,
is sometimes just too great
my heart is weary
and often
forlorn,
my soul is silent
I think it too
feels that,
it can't bear anymore.

Like ghosts they haunt,
silent but present,
eerily felt
strongly sensed
when remembered

the words, gestures
come rushing back
hazy faces
cold places

you think
you've left it behind
walked forward
have let it go

to only know
one blink is all it takes
one tear the only witness
one moment to completely shatter
to be afraid

you've made a mistake.

Sweat pooled
above my chewed lips
while my ears turned pink,
toes curled
inside my shoes
sweaty fists
opening and closing.

Flat eyes watched
and waited
while I grew deaf
with the silence

I have no reason
no reason
to claim,
I know the secret
the secret
to joy,
But I hear the mystery,
the mystery
of love,
Is to forgive and be forgiven
be forgiven
for distrust,
So I know my lacking,
my lacking
of love,
Is my yearning to pursue,
to purse,
my joy,
When I should be empty,
be empty
of claim

The shield gets thicker
and the hand that wields it
stronger,
and in foggy nights,
even blind with sleep
the left arm is ever ready

and so easy is the foe
who comes from friend
making reason politely

every gesture turned
words said undone
eyes disguise intent
spies in fellow ones

this is war, the real deal
that is seldom revealed
it is the lone warrior who knows
stories always left untold

I forgot how to breathe
underwater; serenity
inhale-exhale seemed like exercise
the wheel chairs moving
on white lawns
like exile

life behind lenses not tinted
but rimmed thick; reality check
felt like harsh sunlight

leaving bokeh lights clouding
my judgment
and I grew afraid

of insight - behind clouds
shrouded but certain
the windmills continue to rotate

left - right
left right

love is pain
so deep it shrivels
everything it touches

mighty,
to spread waves
of heat and chills

selfish to evoke
memories of the time
the soul pulsed

devious
to throb in places
the fingers can't trace

love is death
of the concept of self
and the emerging after-self

soaring
to heights beyond measure
and fall in a blind rush

crippling
sounds and voices
to mourn in silence

love is life
of a buoy left at sea
after a raging storm

drifting.

I feel the rumble
of the groan
tremble through your body
sending shivers
delightfully
down my spine
while I arch my neck
and ****** my face
while you spill
your desire,
coaxing heat
to spread through my veins,
the feel of rain.

I miss our walks in the rain,
when we used to live
in wonder and anticipate
the future, when we used to step
on water and laugh,
happy in that moment
of togetherness
and completeness,
away from the abject world
that poses questions
and answers,
in our own little
wonderland,
seemingly unaware
of the possibility
that things may go wrong,
and conscious of the faith
that great things are to come.

I miss our walks in the rain
holding each other's hand,
only to wriggly free
and skip ahead,
only to hop in merry;
leaving one to watch,
one to wait,
not always together
in battling life's
undue favors of time.

I miss our walks in the rain
for when it poured,
we'd wait,
holding time still
by sheer will,
unafraid;
not of the consequences
but of bearing them,
for isn't that what
the walk was all about?
It was us preparing
to march ahead,
with our head held high
into the storm,
unswayed.

to be conspicuously happy
feels like riding a bike,
backwards,

you've been told it is fun
(and you assume it is too!)
but the mechanisms
are so faulty
your feet refuse to rotate wrong,
your brain is confused and takes long
to right itself,
and eventually its forward-backward again

because that's the right way,
that is how your feet have been trained.

let me write two lines
which leave you blinded
in my grief
of not having ever written
something more potent
and lengthy
and in those two lines
you may read
my entire, complete
and exhaustive story.

Worn shoes
fall apart,
on a road smooth,
the despairing threads
and mended stitches
in pain for tomorrow,
never to claim,
they didn't try,
but to only claim
it is not always
for the strong
to survive.

It whips you in the face
or carries a flighty leaf
like the tide of the wind
it varies

sometimes enshrouding
is its twisted volition
aftertimes a soothing caress
most times, which comes
amidst the debris
of guilt
and trepidation
and fear

and this is not a measure
of Richter but the abyss,
which is carved deep
and has the potential
to acknowledge
the possibility
fervently,
that this is not
an existential anomaly.

the horizon
claims its mortality
by consuming the sun,
the sky
pronounces its existence
by littering stars,

bound by no one
two infinites collide
ear-marking the spread of time
on a time sheet,

with grids and figures
and algorithms,
innocuously designed
to measure oblivion
set lucidly aside.

Like a shrub among trees,
I seem too have become attached
to my past,
roots so deep
they linger, poignantly
in every breath of my leaves.
Strive as I may
to reach the sun
and grab at air
my arms fall short
my legs too nimble.
To keep strong,
I’ll just stand still
and hold this poise
till I touch and sky.

We all need our stars
here and there,
across landscapes
even and jagged.
In the glow
of the buttery sun,
they are hidden,
blinded by the sparkle,
awaiting the sweep
of darkness,
when we seem them out.

But, they are every present,
our stars,
in our days and nights,
always ready to be sought,
found,
and guide.

We all need our stars.

I keep flipping through
photo albums,
smiling fondly at pictures
of me taking my first steps,
playing in delight,
holding hands
once in a while.
I keep flipping and they seem
to come to life;
the colors glaring,
the rush of the sounds
and smell
embrace me for comfort,
it seems like yesterday
I stood there,
smiling a toothy smile,
thinking this was the best day
of my life.
It feels good to flip through
photo albums,
they never fray and serve
to remind.

It will be alright.

The only worthy qualifier
is hope,
everything else
in transient progression,
infinitevly split,
apropos.

There is a transient moment
most profound
and necessary.

It is that line
which borders the sky
and the water,
the umimaginary,
factual,
tangible edge
of reality and perception,
past and future,
mirror and reflection,
which develops insight.

A transient, effervescent moment,
of delight.

It is in in stillness
that chaos loomed,
reaching for the edges
in varying degrees,
mounting that peak
of every climbing emotion,
in stillness,
it is like streaks
of the most glaring hues,
subdued; weakened,
uncouth.
Do not be fooled
by the stillness.

The flower dripped red
to the crusted ground
shed its wings
and broke to death
crumbled
to not be found
while the sky howled
turned green with rage
and cast a hue so gory
that the little humans
who crawled didn't seem
all that ugly.
They lashed their whips
and clanged their chain
growled in anger and pain,
howled the wounded
like the dog they sat next to
and licked the healing
scars they sheltered
from that ball of fire
which sputtered every hour
and darts of flame swept the sky
the human roamed naked
on their claws and feet,
they shed their clothes
when they faced the heat,
their face twisted in frowns,
they'd left their polyester shoes behind
they didn't need anymore
to cast the dye

Its like having a song stuck in your head
that plagues you at the oddest times,
when you forget,
when you forgive,
when you are about to lose your mind.
There are pieces which hollow out,
parts which blare like a horn,
and you whistle a tune,
to cover the blanks,
and keep repeating that song.
You twist the words,
to make it your own,
hum the stretch which lingers,
so much that you breathe in tune.
And you play it over and over
to comfort the oddest hour which peaks,
because nothing really,
is as comforting,
as certainty.
Even that of an annoying song.

Let me grab that blanket
to wrap around ourselves,
a pillow for the head
and feet,
a bear to cuddle perhaps,
hold on, this needs to be done
properly!
I'll make a quick dash
pass those shoes,
bright by the wall,
to grab something to eat;
something easy, fast,
comforting and plenty,
that'll never make me
feel that pang;
go hungry.
Under, now! Hurry!
It is the perfect dark,
it is the perfect quiet,
to settle under the canvas
and fall into sleep.
Away now, from that cut,
crawl further up,
and their sounds will fade,
they'll even stop flashing lights,
and patting our walls
to pull us away.
Hold on tight, don't fear
they can't get to us anymore,
we have been here too long,
we have come in too deep,
see, that rent in our home
can't even be seen.
Let us sleep.

The flowers
don't change colors
with seasons,
that bold yellow
mocks my instinct
to adapt
while it willfully
dances
daily.

Blank face
stares at a blank page
there was so much to tell
the thoughts whirling in space
within that mind,
confused,
edgy,
but nothing would spill.
If the finger could be pricked,
and blood poured,
its dark mad rush
could exhibit,
the craving contained,
but there was no puncture
that could let out the rage,
and let in air,
that could whistle through the veins
and fill the hollow gut
that remained.

It is after the fight,
and the other members
of the family,
ones without a heartbeat,
go quiet,
and there is a silence,
hesitantly found
discomfiting;
for we are used to
the bickering,
the nasty snarls
and grunts
snorts of disgust
and the occasional giggle,
always in confidence,
it is then that I realize,
it is only home,
when there is noise.

I have a coffee machine
which spurts and groans
in the morning,
while I sputter and grunt
in wait
for the liquid that
dissipates
the clouds which surround
my brain.

It has a faulty handle,
and needs to be held just right.
I learnt after two stained washcloths,
and three fingers
which turned pink
on sight.

It also has a button,
which turned on sometimes
shoots sparks,
I feel the current,
(I can see the ****** thing!)
but do nothing,
will do nothing,
till it dies.

It has been months
with my machine,
but I like this routine,
of it and I,
I have learnt a lot about myself
about my discomfort with change,
about my unchanged need for comfort,
about the degree of my laziness
and about how I'm willing to
make things last a while,

I have a machine that teaches me lessons
all before I have my first cup of coffee,
I mean, what more could I ask in life?

The vacancy
within my body
giving room
to laaazzzy
living

I need residence.
I want it to say,
"Occupied!"

I had a star (bright!)
which dimmed a little
some nights
I may have used it too much
on the twenty something wishes
I had listed (such a rush!)
Once the wishes started
to come true
not all (of course)
but a few
my star disappeared from sight
I dare not think it died
or that I may have killed
(noooooo!)
the star that had
made me wish.

Holding on to the spool
gets difficult
when the thread gets tugged
from behind
and I have to stop.
Turn around, look back,
and wonder how to get it
un-stuck.
I can't stay and get loose,
I can't move forward
without.

I walk back
re-trace the path
that got me so far.

I wish I had tugged instead,
and severed the bond,
I wish I could drop the spool
and just keep moving on.

It is like watching a plane land
while you're in it,
by the wings,
seeing the end drawing close
and feeling the ... feeling,
in the pit of your stomach
in the edge of your toes
and you clench,
well, everywhere,
bracing yourself
(as if that'll help)
for a rough landing
that'll shake you,
startle you,
but what you really fear
is what comes after the jolt,
for it is momentary,
sometimes absent
(when artfully done)
but sometimes
the jolt only begins
the turn for things
to go worse
and go wrong
and for the ground
to slide from beneath you
and for the plane
to slide and fall...

It is like watching a plane land.

I tumbled down a hole,
and found a barren land
ridden in a mist,
so thick,
I can't see my stretched hand.

There is no sound,
but that of my wary feet
trying so hard to find steady ground
while I step over debris,
so jagged,
I can't stop my ankle from turning wrong

The sky looks pale,
almost uncaring,
like it too withstood too much,
and time lies stoic,
un-moving,
it seems to have lost its two hands.

I feel no presence
of a lingering soul
but only of doubt,
like a constant shadow,
that I'm in a demesne
of someone else's dream
that has been left
long forgotten
and I am, now,
to seek.

I had reasons to doubt
for she had led me astray
one season
and like barnacles
she caused unease,
I did have cause for worry.
Her lure,
akin to a siren,
rivaled the beam of the lighthouse
reaching beyond the horizon
I was convinced
was made to keep.
She ebbed to only surmount
and sheath me in her charm,
her scent had me follow
like a puppy does its master
for she was to lead,
and I was to be lead,
that was the way,
this is what she
always
said.

There
are no
words
I can rote
to eloquently convey
what I can
with the rise
of one finger
whilst on the stage
under the spotlight
and the silhouette'd audience
titled.

The finger trembles
in the dark.

The silhouettes blurs
after the spark.

Why do we catch fireflies in jar?
Why do we carry a net and chase
butterflies?
Why the need to capture beauty
then gawk while it dies
seeps away like the dwindling pleasure
which gets replaced by something wild.

Why do we blind ourselves
from our intricate dark side?
Why do we attempt to disguise
our malice under the robe of
the 'civilized'
when we are id, we are insane
we are the cutters
we are the chained
and we drown while we bury
and we crumble while we push

in layers and layers we carry
the agonizing truth

monsters we made, in mirrors we see
evil isn't another, is it underneath.

There are trails of red
like the threads
of a scarlet dress
that reaches for the floor
on the walls
gripping the paint
dragging its name
telling a story
of how things break,
fall apart and come together
to create something
that makes us
all
afraid.

It is with
the sweeping abandon
of thunder
and the stinging bite
of lighting
that the heart leaps;
beating wild
to a conundrum
that is offset,
which fears and thrills,
encapsulated
by the release
of passion,
so severely withheld
until the roar outside
provokes the flare inside,
and in the heady mix
of fierce power,
spirited temper,
propositioned fear,
and debilitated living,
does the soul tremble,
does the skin shiver
and the body
comes to life.





,

Smile
and make merry,
fool the world enough
to not worry
about being polite.

It takes them a while.

No burden is as heavy
as the regret borne
of not learning
how to let go.

Come,
Lay a finger on my pulse
And tell me I'm alive.
Come,
Feel the weight of my sigh
And tell me I'm alive.
Come,
Test the flutter of my heart
And tell me I'm alive.
Come,
See how clenched is my jaw
And tell me..

I'll survive.

In the dark
I fear the unseen.
In the day
I see,
what I fear.

Silence
the
nerves
churns
mutters
and
calls,
murmurs
whispers
scr­eams
and
falls,

with
silence.

The last word was of the rain
and it soothed my aching heart,
I felt its pain, when it shattered
to bring two lovers apart.

I'm afraid
I shall never be that butterfly
which burst into flames of color
and was adored every hour
it lived its flitting life,
I am too wise,
to know I'm the caterpillar
that crawls through nature
in pain, it is never vain
to realize,
the day it is most treasured,
is the day when it dies.

Is there any other drug
as potent as love
to transcend the boundaries of time,
and to ever match the shine
of a lit up Christmas tree
and spark like the silver strike
of a match that lights the sky
and the universe weeps
for you and me
who ache for an ounce of love
or enough to tell a story.

I tried really really hard
but it just wouldn't stop!
I crushed the corners tight,
thinking it would hold it back,
but I couldn't,
they still slipped
and fell like they always did
warm and painful and soft
leaving a trail in their wake
of dirt and destruction and heartbreak,
and it disappeared,
with only faded tracks
to lead astray
anybody who wouldn't see
how I tried really really hard,
but still couldn't stop.

It is fear that chained my feet,
and here I thought it was my past,
when it was my future made me afraid,
how foolish, knowing that
it is only on me, and not destiny,
that I lost faith.