The diffused gleam of jaded dreams
like a siren call upon our desires deep
to sink again in their harrowed streams.

We walk on towards better things
trailing the hummingbird of hope.
Onward, intrepid on rainbow wings.

We live to die another day and begin
with a fated end. Till then we spend
our hours fueling the fire held within.

Why settle for being the fallen fruit
when we can sprout, lush and green?
Again, we will grow; we will take root.

I was a little older than six
when you came to us,
ruddy cheeked
with a shock of curly hair,
tiny fingers that wrapped
around my pinkie
and squeezed
happiness into my heart.

You were (and still are)
the epicenter
of the world forever changed.

To be honest,
my childhood began with you.
I don’t have any memories
of being anyone
before I was your sister.

I know you will say
that’s just because I’m dumb.
That’s not the case, idiot.
Mom always tells me
that I was a lonely child,
neither sad nor shy,
just content playing by myself.
I choose to think
I was waiting… for you
to join the fun.

And what fun we’ve had!
Making up dance routines
to our favorite songs;
Smuggling snacks to bed;
Adding new levels
to invented games.
Remember “Sleep, Sleep”?
Competing to see who
could pretend to sleep
without moving the longest –  
I’m sorry I tricked you, boo.
I knew you would drift off
and I’d be able to read in peace.
You caught on soon though
and I had to think of other ways
to keep you still.

So I began reading to you
from books I loved,
stories and poems,
of adventures so epic
they called the magic to the skin  
and you listened,
tickled pink.

You listened, enthralled,  
to the gibber jabber
I came up with on the spot,
often asking for more.
To this day, you listen
and pay heed
to every word,
every notion
like it is really worthy
of your attention.

If you let me sleep
I will not ask to be free.
I will don the chains
you insist are not a leash.
Allow me to drop
deeply, slowly, in rapture
without the plummeting end.

If the long tunnel
must bait me with the promise
of light ahead while
its long shadow weighs me down
I need to lie here
and rest before I accept
the white untrue hope.
If tomorrow must arrive
and I have to greet
the blue rascal with a smile
let me say goodbye for now.

The squall rousted the last of the roses,
a flutter amongst the mango blossoms.
The storm billowed with savage abandon,
a waterfall cascaded down the wall.
Lightning graffiti scrawled across the sky,
charcoal thunder rattled the fogged windows.

I held her trembling hand and stroked her back
as she leaped at the sound of every crack.
We breathed in rhythm — a steady tempo —
in-out, in-out, our tempest ritual.

He came to report a discovery
of roe while cleaning the rohu for lunch.
Spicy fritters added to the menu —
swift improvement to inclement weather.

Have to forage for words that I can weave
into cogent verses that sound sublime.
Try to hatch a suitable scheme to rhyme,
strain my murky ideas through a sieve,
count syllables – my secret pauper’s peeve.
Must stop watching this TV show and climb
out of bed. Holy smokes! Look at the time!
I need to start writing now, I believe.

C – me, slumped over in bed,
       tousle-headed, still half-dreaming.
O – the yawn, long as it is wide,
       accompanied by copacetic stretches.
F – a familiar pose,  
       bent over my phone, browsing.
F – the faucet gushing,
       my toothpaste dislodged unceremoniously.
E – the stack of banana pancakes,
       doused in honey, decimated briskly.
E – the coffee maker beeps,
       the ****** to a routine morning.

I
smile when
she says she
loves me simply
because that is what
all mothers do. She nods,
indulgent, when I explain
that blood running in our veins like
a river and its tributary
can’t fathom the depth of her ocean heart
Her kindness, her patience, her forgiveness,
her pride and joy, her laughter, her tears,
her kisses, her embrace, her smell,
her strength, her sheer existence,
everything else unique
to her is the tree
under which I
take shelter;
I am
safe.

They said I blew
it out of proportion.
I was told to let it go
so I did the mature thing
and looped an uptight string  
around its neck, strangled
it in a vexed snaggle,
before setting it free
to float. I let it go;
(though, not really).

Good advice must be broken
into bite sized pieces
so as to avoid choking
on its well-meaning intent.

Now,
I carry it with me every day
but it is a weight off my shoulders.
They say it suits me.
I agree.
What a facetious accessory it is –  
maturity!

i am tired
not allowed to sleep yet
i must wait
and breathe
heavier every second
empty still
nothing to give
so much to steal
i will wait
unseeing eyes fixed
on the frozen hourglass
i will speak
of birds and sunrise
the relentless vice
of waking
i will wait
until i cannot anymore

This is a poem
only because
you deem it worthy.  

Without your gaze,
amenable and open,
it is a line broken
in erratic fashion –
a skeleton
awkward, unbecoming.

You take my common words
upon your clement tongue
curiously tasting every emotion
compassionate, kind,
with your all-consuming spirit.

You magnolious stranger
with the soul of a friend,
we may never know
each other’s life or pain;
unable to console
or hug
or even wave hello.
But you paint my sparse canvas
with so many inimitable layers,
your perspective,  
your experience,
your empathy,
and the brightest color –
imagination.

This is a poem
only because
you see it as one.

Soon, almost, tomorrow, maybe, later
are polite ways of saying no, never
Easy words I often use to cater
to persistent questions I don’t savour

I answer one query with a question
of my own. Before you know it, I change
the discourse with a subtle suggestion,
still manage to have a pleasant exchange.

I must confess though that secretly, I  
always harbour a faint hope that someone
will see through my feint and try to be sly
so we can tease and toy and have some fun.

Please pardon my disingenuous ploy;
my ennui struck heart enjoys being coy.

We call them heroes, send them to fight
armed with plastic armor, much extolled valor.
They are isolated inside the veil of gratitude,
Drafted in a terrible war they never asked for.

We call them heroes, our robust knights
who will slay the beast, shield us from its fury.
We try to forget the open secret that they were,
in fact, robbed of a choice, ****** into glory.

We call them heroes without ever knowing
the face behind their masks and elastic bands.
These worrisome times will come to pass;
meanwhile, we stay inside and wash our hands.

Scratch-scratch-scratch the effing itch;
today, I really need to wash my hair.
Dry shampoo does little to tame the twitch,
scratch-scratch-scratch the effing itch.
No plans mean no washing days to switch –
it’s not like I am going to go anywhere.
Scratch-scratch-scratch the effing itch.
Today, I really need to wash my hair.

I wish you would come
to see me. Only, I am
glad that you haven’t.
I have some healing to do.
I have some blooming to do.

Respect
does not
warrant meek submission.

Loyalty
is a
two-way street.

Obedience
cannot be
mistaken for assent.  

Justice
should be
free of prejudice.

Being human feels
like a compromise.

After much thought, I have adopted a smile.
Everyone always said I needed one to be complete;
absolutely could not have a full life without it.
As if life is a glass of water
standing on time’s table.

Do it sooner, they said,
so you both can grow up together.
It’s easier when you’re young
and still have the energy.

I had already raised a few little monsters.
My frowns and pouts and scowls
were in full bloom and flourishing.
How much harder could this be?
Smiles are easy to babysit.
I liked the idea of nurturing one as mine.

So, we brought home this shy wee thing.
She’s still getting used to the place,
nervous around her siblings.
But I am happy to report
every day her confidence grows
and soon, I hope
she will call us her family.

4 a.m. —
and I am the king of the world,
queen of all things feral.
I burn brighter than the stars,
a galaxy full of possibilities.
My reign eternal;
I am the only one alive
and I want to live dangerously.

Want —
with one word the light goes out,
the stars dip beyond the sea,
my crown tumbles to the ground,
I am pulled back to reality.

Back —
here and now
I rub my eyes;
feel my lambent desires die
as morning resurrects
all of my insecurities.

Blue bird,
every time I set you free
unfailingly, you fly back to me.
Perched out of reach
never out of mind
evermore locked in my gravity.

I know, blue bird,
the quandary of a heart
so willingly ensnared.
I remember the soothing drum
of its unquiet content.

I have longed for the keen
euphoric sting you bring
even as I banished you.
Without you
I am an empty nest.
I am so… heavy
with you.

Only I can let you go.
Only you can return to me.

I have learned the importance
of self-care in my darkest moments.

I have learned not to chide myself
for the past I have left behind.
I have taught myself not to belittle
the seemingly insignificant ways
I take care of myself every day.

My body that continues
working, every cog turning,
no matter how I am feeling
fills me with wonder.

My mind, a juggernaut,
surprises me every time
with its resilience.

So I do all I can
to make myself feel better.
I try to take care of things now
so I am not overwhelmed later.

Sometimes I have something to say.
Sometimes I want to say nothing
about what I really feel –
I bury it within layers.

It is easy to write because
sometimes I have something to say.
Every word sprouts out eagerly,
a bamboo grove by morning light.

I begin my expedition
without a set destination.
Sometimes I have something to say;
I end up saying something else.

I’ve built a wall of reticence;
poems are the open window.
Reluctant as I am to talk,
sometimes I have something to say.

Spark
a rebellion
among the sheep.

Watch them burn out,
go back to sleep.

I love to watch the rain
Rain with a flash of lightning
Lightning with a dash of thunder
Thunder makes me wonder
Wonder at the wayward wind
The wayward wind sets the rhythm
The rhythm sways the world
The world is in chaos
Chaos is peaceful
Peaceful is the moment
The moment when I am at home
At home watching the rain.

Certain sounds used to bother me.

Human noises like people breathing drove me crazy – it didn’t have to be a wheeze, a rasp or a rattle. It remained a battle to ignore the everyday sound of normal breathing, indecipherable, barely a decibel.

Another peeve, of course, was people eating, the cacophony of masticating – I flinched as I heard them chomp, crunch, chew, and munch. I recoiled in distaste as they audibly swallowed their lunch.

I didn’t understand why I found the innocent sound of a faucet dripping so irritating. I felt like a monster because I couldn’t control the flash of anger when I heard someone drumming their fingers, tapping their feet.

One word saved me from the lunacy of self-loathing – misophonia – a name for my malady.

I don’t know what it is about labels that turns your torments into traits. Labels are the leash you use to control your troubles. Ever since I discovered I am misophonic, mundane sounds, while still annoying, no longer overwhelm me.

Those who fear being misunderstood should
not get into the business of creation.
Nor should they who only want to be good.

Absolute truth is a piece of fiction.
What you create no longer belongs to you –
always subject to interpretation.

It is cathartic to create something new
even if it does not serve the purpose
you originally set out to do.

If misunderstanding makes you nervous,
remember, being understood can be worse.

A shoal of fish, my thoughts
flit about aimlessly,
succumb
to the pull of eddies,
get lost among the rocks.

Love and pain
are the water lilies.
Beautiful.
Recurring.
Temporary.

The mind is a river.
I am the riverbed.

The river drowns me.

The river makes me.

If I open my eyes, I will be awake.
I am awake; I don’t want to open my eyes.
Even though dawdling in bed is unwise
it is a bad habit I have yet to break.
If I were a morning person, I would shake
off sleep’s sluggish cloak and arise
fresh as a daisy; my arms open to the skies
and greet sunrise without the bellyache.

All the times you felt invisible
because you thought nobody
cared about you.  

Do you wonder if you have
ever made someone in your life
feel the same way?

Gave up asking
how they were doing,
if they were really okay,
just because you always got the same answer.  

Kept silent in the face of silence.
Let them push you away.
Made little effort to
nudge the truth
out of their reticence.

Pain can make you
quite blind;
rather oblivious to the
same feelings in others.

Tunnel vision of the soul.

I don’t say I’m fine anymore; I don’t lie.
I rely instead on my dexterous deflection
of courteous concern. I have become sly;
Let’s talk about you – our shared predilection.
It is mutually beneficial – my deception.

One-click shopping,
instant payment –  
so convenient;
so ******* easy
to cross over
from being a shopper
to a low-key hoarder.

I don’t buy expensive stuff.
No, nothing excessive.

Just read about a new book,
must-read of the season,
rave reviews on Goodreads.
Available on Amazon?
Yes, it also has a Kindle version.
(See,
even though there is no comparison
between the warmth of a paperback
and the cool efficiency of e-books,
I prefer my Kindle simply because  
it’s easier to carry multiple books.)
So I click – buy – get it.
Now it sits
in merry company  
of all the books I bought
so ******* conveniently
while I keep rereading the books
I’ve already read.  

Don’t get me started  
on my obsession with stationery.
Is there any feeling better
than writing on blank paper?
Seeing your busy thoughts
fall in neat lines,
march in formation,
until they reveal the idea underneath.
I keep browsing through the section
of notebooks, journals, diaries,
pencils, pens – oh, there are so many kinds!
I click – buy – get it.
A moment of ecstasy
when the I get the delivery
even though I mostly jot down
any sudden flash of inspiration  
on my phone because it’s always handy.

Getting bigger?  
Get larger jeans.
No need to stand trial  
before judgemental eyes
of the “helpful” salesperson.
Sidestep the self-esteem crisis,
just click – buy – get it.
Easy return policy;
quick refund if it does not fit.

Idly scrolling on social media
and I’m bombarded
with some choice targeted marketing.
How can I refuse
such a customised bait?
Hook, line, click on the link –
there – it’s not that expensive,
nothing too excessive.
I’ll buy that yellow dress,
those cute strappy sandals,
the quirky socks,
ooh a new mascara!
Wear the dress once and chuck it aside,
then go back to cycle the same five outfits.
Put on the mascara,
bat my eyes in jubilation,
then banish it to the drawer
because it gets on my contacts
and causes irritation.

I can go on and on and wax poetic
about the wonders of window-shopping
from the comfort of my couch.
I swear it’s such a great feeling
coming home to find my package waiting.

I do what I want
I want to do everything
Everything that pleases me
Everything I can try
Try to taste every flavour of ice cream
Try to howl at the moon unabashedly
Unabashedly moonwalk in front of someone
Unabashedly confess to my longtime crush
Crush my reluctance to smithereens
Crush it like a boss every single time
Time to be my own hero
Time to see how far I can go
Go one step further than yesterday
Go to sleep when I need some rest
Rest easy till I can recuperate
Rest but never ever quit
Quit being so ******* myself
Quit taking failure so personally
Personally go to places I only see in pictures
Personally meet old friends I only text
Text first without any ego
Text my family more frequently
Frequently feel the wind blow through my hair
Frequently let the morning sun warm my face
Face rough times with dignity
Face myself in the mirror with sincerity
Sincerity in all my relationships
Sincerity in everything I do
Do that chore now instead of later
Do some yoga and drink more water
Water the plants
Water them twice in hot weather
Weather life’s big roller-coaster
Weather rough days with a smile
Smile as I take my first sip of coffee
Smile when I hear the birds sing
Sing off-key in the shower
Sing sad songs to feel better
Better to be alone than to be lonely
Better to feel sad than nothing at all
All I want is to be true to myself
All I need is freedom
Freedom to live as I please
Freedom of independent thought
Thought I had life figured out
Thought I found the secret to happiness
Happiness is a choice
Happiness is personal
Personal…
Choice…

It registers as soon as I open the door,
a keen foreboding feeling.
An unfamiliarity never felt before
sends my senses reeling.

This is my home, my haven sweet;
yet today it does not belong to me.
I exhale and follow my tentative feet
while I repress the urge to flee.

I feign bravado by humming as I
go check every room casually.
I get more comfortable by and by –
the eeriness wanes thankfully.

Once upon a time,
my skin was skin,
splendid,
as long as I kept it clean.

Now I’m told
by the TV, internet, and magazines,
my skin
needs plumping,
brightening,
smoothing,
anti-wrinkle cream.

The mirror
used to show my reflection –
it served a purpose
like a toothbrush
used to maintain oral hygiene.

Now a mirror reflects
not just my visage
but judgement;
flaws
that need fixing.

Now I’m the clingy lover,
insecure, as I hover
two inches from the glass surface
that is less fragile
than my self-esteem sometimes.

You pull the fondest smiles out of me
    And make me want to squee internally.

Without effort, you dispel the gloomy days;
    You set me straight from my maudlin ways.

My heart’s desire, star of my dreams,
    I can’t get you out of my mind, it seems.

Truly, I don’t have the faintest clue
    How am I ever going to survive you?