I don’t remember what it was that made me stop and think about the tendency of my thinking. But I remember how I felt when I had the epiphany that I had become, of all things, a hater. I realized, with a sinking feeling, that the things I hated far outnumbered the things I loved.  

Instead of saying that I loved the night, the moon and the stars, the placid silence, the comfort of solitude, and how some flowers smell better in the evening – I complained that I was not a morning person.  

I said I detested morning breath instead of saying that I loved running my tongue over my teeth after I had just brushed them. I moaned about hot weather more than the relief I found in the shade. So many pet peeves, so many inconsequential things marred my happiness.

I despised people who were quick to judge others. I was intolerant of intolerance. Unkind people irked me. I hated it when a friend came to me to speak ill of another friend. Why choose me? I did not want to be complicit in such duplicity. But I let it happen because I knew from experience that calling out problematic behaviour, especially with the people you know, serves no purpose other than souring your relationship. So, most of the times, I tried to simply extricate myself from the situation without engaging. But I fumed. I fumed about my powerlessness. And I hated the fact that despite loving them, I couldn’t like some people in my life.  

I used to joke about not knowing what I want in life but being sure about what I didn’t want. But I noticed too late that I kept adding to one list while ignoring the important one.

Now, I am trying to unlearn this rigid worldview as I grow. I am choosing gratitude for the good things in my life and not frustration at the things out of my control.

My thoughts get polluted in the short span
of time it takes them to run to my tongue.
Intent evaporates, I find myself
spewing banality with confidence.
Dubious sense of humour fails to land
a punch; I dodder past with a faux grin.
Finally it’s time to pass the baton
to another unwilling candidate.
I nod pleasantly as we continue
our dull charade of camaraderie.

Once upon a time being sociable
meant exchanging infrequent messages.
The small talk prattles on… I think about
the lost luxury of writing letters.

It has a slow beginning,
This new book I am reading
Though it’s not a riveting tale
I follow its dry, meandering trail
Boom! A twist in the plot. Gasp! No!
What happens next? I need to know…

I snap to attention, sit up straight
as I worry about our hero’s fate.
Will he prove his innocence to all?
Or will he give up and take the fall?
I turn the page and readjust my pillow.
What happens next? I need to know…

Another twist hits me out of the blue,
Our hero’s not the man I thought I knew!
His dark secret has finally been revealed.
Will he pay for his sins? Will he yield?
I’m down to the last fifty pages or so.
What happens next? I need to know!

Have faith; You must believe
what you are picks its way.
Through each setback you receive,
have faith. You must believe
there is nothing you can’t achieve.
Remember this if you begin to sway,
“Have faith – you must believe
what you are picks its way.”

I
itch to
peek beyond
the thick curtain
of my depression;
check if I have
some part of
myself
left.

Two lovers lost from each other
fell into deep despair;
parted after a brief embrace
after morning prayer.

They could not come together, yet  
were never far away.
Sundry errands kept them busy
with duties of the day.

Twice, they stole away to unite,
their compulsion was such.
Their agitated longing grew
with every glancing touch.

Evening brought with it a reprieve
from their despondent plight.
They rested peacefully at last,
entwined all through the night.

Bring back those summers
when all I did was read books
and snooze under the noisy fan;
**** on ice pops
until my lips went numb;
gorge on black jamuns,
rolling the pits over my tongue;
listen to the radio cycling
the same twelve songs…

It was all I did.
It was enough.

I still do the things I did then –
I read,
laze around
with my earphones on,
eat what I like,
and do whatever else I want.

Yet I can’t shake the restlessness –
It’s not enough.

Summer remains the same.
I am the one who has changed.

Incomplete beauty –
a photograph of a wave –
shadow memory.

Again and again
   your name  
      surfaces on my lips ,
         escapes in a whisper
            and leaves me cold.

When will I be empty of you?

Maybe I am stuck
because I am waiting to be moved.
Maybe I can move
somebody who feels stuck.  

I loop the songs I love
until I choke them of all emotion.
I stumble through words
from a million brilliant minds
searching for madness akin to mine.

Pictures, stories, art,
opinions, musings, crafts –  
I gnaw at everything for hidden meaning.

Am I even human if nothing moves me?
Do I deserve death if I never learned to live?

Spur my soul, stir my heart
you, who knows exactly what I mean.
Or hark my bemoaning  
as the graceless floundering
of unmoored ennui.

I feel you  
lover mine
bloom under my touch –  
opal eyes
kindled, anticipating;
fragrant skin
alive with an awakening.

And I  
loom in the shadows
of your errant breathing.

I see you
lover mine
recede to the place
warm, amenable
where my words
(wounds, really)
diffuse into nothing.

And I  
rush, frantic  
to quell the bleeding,
the outpour
of my uninvited feelings.

Softly, the music makes me weep, and I
sink into the storm. You are breathtaking.
My life before you was a dream, a lie.
I am awake now, love, trembling, shaking.

You have ripped my feeble façade away
and doused me in ultraviolet bliss.
You, you are the sky. I am a blue jay
forever reaching, begging for a kiss.

I smolder under your luminous gaze;
I grow heavy, molten under your touch.
Slowly, I open, close, my blood ablaze,
Undulating in your leisurely clutch.

I rise, yield, my heart beating like a drum.
I float, complete, my breath a steady thrum.

Your pain is not a gift.

Don’t be burdened
if they don’t rejoice to receive it.

Don’t
let the lack of a correct response
ebb your purge.

They don’t understand.
Of course, they don’t.
They are not you;
They have not suffered
your black holes.
Do you wish them to?

Don’t
brush away their sympathy.
It is the price you pay
to have someone
care enough to listen.

Here I sit, collecting sunsets
while you are away from me.
I dissolve my silly regrets
in steaming mugs of tea.

I’d miss you more, I think
if it weren’t for the playful sea.
The waves tease me with a wink –
I’m easily distracted, you see.

The weather has been great,
these days I’m almost happy.
So I enjoy myself while I wait
for you to come back to me.

Does this ever happen to you?
You get into a messy, ugly fight,
but you lose steam about half way through
when you realize you’re the one who’s wrong.
Now, you want to stop arguing; you really do.
But for some idiotic ineffable reason
your mouth won’t do what your brain tells it to.
So you keep spouting nonsense with all your might
and continue to quarrel without a clue.

The hazy world sharpened
when myopic Maddie
got a new pair of glasses
sitting pretty on her pert nose.

Now she could discern
each leaf in a foliage,
and tell people apart
from a  respectable distance.

She peered at every face,
thrilled that now she could
describe the smallest details
in case she were ever called in
to sit for a police sketch.

Smug glee turned to horror
when her wondering gaze
met quizzical stares
and she recalled
that her glasses
were transparent.

Some girl I never knew
knew an art that wasn’t kung fu.
She did not whistle well
when her peaches didn’t sell.
And a boy I never liked
loved her not at first sight.
He kissed her on a day it didn’t rain
never to lay eyes on her again.
Nary a soul whispers her name,
nary a heart feels any shame.
She was pretty not so long ago,
this girl I will never know.

Yes, hello, how are you? How have you been? I want to tell you about a lot of things. Like the pigeon I spoke to the other day. It listened. It stayed as if it understood how much I needed to vent.

There was also a story I read. I knew it how it was going to end. You often do with tragic endings. Nevertheless, I persisted. I read all the words and wept just like the writer wanted me to. It was an adequate excuse to mope for a bit.

I discovered I can no longer bend enough to touch my toes. I wonder when that happened. An afternoon spent reaching for my feet left me with a pulled hamstring, a sweaty nose, and a shallow sense of shame. But I am not too concerned.

What else? See, I keep forgetting the stories, the baubles, I saved for you.

Oh, yes! I found a secluded pathway when I got lost during an evening stroll. I was too keen to find my way bay back to heed the bluebells that beckoned me like will-o’-the-wisps. But I went back the next day and followed the narrow tracks till it emerged to a low ridge overlooking the city. There was a well-worn tree stump that made me think that maybe this was someone’s hideout.

Sweet, sweet those sounds of blithe songs and laughter;
They still find me in my dreams on lonesome nights.
Bitter, bitter the silence in my heart the morning after.

Once, a daft heart soared to discover someone dafter;
Oddballs together, we tasted the world’s wacky delights.
Sweet, sweet those sounds of blithe songs and laughter.

Jokes so silly, never unkind, banter flew by faster.
The crazy faces we so carelessly wore highlights
Bitter, bitter the silence in my heart the morning after.

Subtle changes sometimes hurt more than sudden disaster.
One heart has evolved while the other fool still cites
Sweet, sweet those sounds of blithe songs and laughter.

Life is a long book; our frolics were only one chapter.
Reminiscing about those golden olden days invites
Bitter, bitter the silence in my heart the morning after.

Frail those bonds never were, friendship never did shatter;
Separate but close, we’re both still oddballs by all rights.
Sweet, sweet those sounds of blithe songs and laughter,
Bitter, bitter the silence in my heart the morning after.

Find me before I am forever lost;
This madness tastes too sweet.
Give direction to these stumbling feet;
They cross lines that can’t be uncrossed.

I gave you up before I knew the cost.
How easily I admitted defeat!
Find me before I am forever lost;
This madness tastes too sweet.

Save my heart before it hardens to frost;
I need your warmth, your burning heat.
Will you please cling to me when we meet?
Find me while my heart is still soft.
Find me before I am forever lost.

Even though a cold heart
tries to remain unfeeling,
detached,
unexpected kindnesses
and easy smiles
remind it
that the world is still a warm place.

Even though a broken heart
tries to remain wounded,
lamenting,
changing seasons
and fresh desires
remind it
not all love has to be eternal.

Even though a trembling heart
holds fears
of the unknown,
curiosity to know what lies
beyond comforting complacency
remind it
that courage finds those who seek it.

Even though a lonely heart
tries to remain stoic,
shut in,
fleeting joys,
pure and tender,
tempt it
to choose hope over despair.

In life, I have come across people
who always felt like home to me.
It’s a wonderful feeling –
to have someone like that.
That is why it aches
to think of homes
I renounced
when I
left.

When I caught the sunset yesterday
I thought of you,
Smiling at the smeared horizon,
How magnificently you would wear its hues.

You came to mind when it rained
On Tuesday, as I sprinted to take shelter
Under the awning of a flower shop.

Winter is long gone, and yet
Ever morning, I wake up to a cold bed.
Residues of hungry dreams remain
Etched on my skin.

Hot coffee, warm cinnamon rolls,
Even the smell of fresh laundry
Rouses a repressed memory –
Everything brings me back to you.

Fresh dough, sauce, and melted cheese,
plus wholesome veggies,
add tender succulent meat,
baked to perfection.
Breathe it in before
you dig in.
Drool!

Feed me a story –
I feel hollow
listening to the wind
work itself to a storm.

While we wait for the rain,
spin me one of your tales;
something wholesome,
with sweetness that will linger.

Soothing clichés
to slake my restive mind.
Although your voice is solace enough.

I have so much to say to you
but I haven’t yet 
mastered the skill
to undress my convoluted thoughts
to their bare essence.

So tonight,
under the swollen sky,
talk to me
about anything,
and everything –
keep me company.

I have –

Poison in my head.
A heart that is beating
but might as well be dead.

Anxiety ticking through my limbs,
clawing at my throat,
a thousand tiny pins
scratching to spill out.

Rage,
terrible, blinding, impotent.
Cold fury,
I break my bones to contain.

Puny sorrows that rub me raw.
Self-deprecation
that is more self-loathing
than feigned humility.

Amidst all this misery
I do also feel
kindness, joy, compassion.
Wonder, hope, faith
have yet to forsake me.

Let me whisper another confession –
I admit,
I have made playmates of all my demons.

Savage as they are,
I am wilder still.
I haven’t yielded yet
and I never will.

The potted banana tree has borne fruit.
Light, water, fertilizer,
I gave it as needed.
Every day I watched it grow.
Every day it made me happy
to see the potted banana tree
thrive,
and not just survive,
in a place it wasn’t supposed to be.

i only wanted to be quiet for a bit
   my words had become empty of meaning
  by embracing silence i thought i could
   try to get in touch with what i was feeling

  why the emptiness grew deeper roots
   i never really understood the reason
  my heart fell still, my blood ran cold
   i felt more lost with each passing season

You know the feeling
when it is pouring outside
and you are home,
tucked in,
warm and cozy.

You lie in bed,
awake,
listening to the rain
drown everything
in white noise.

You feel the fog lift
from your mind.
Ideas take shape,
building,
till the air is alive
with possibilities.

Yeah…
when that happens,
take my advice –
write it down.
All of it.

Because
if you don’t,
the next day you won’t
remember
any of last night’s
“brilliant” notions.

Silky vanilla custard
(fluffier than clouds)
sweetened ever so slightly,
topped with wafer-thin
layer of hot, crisp
caramel.
Crack!

Puppy videos on Instagram,
snarky relatable memes,
pretty pictures pinned to my board,
filtered funny tweets.

Bashful poetry and uplifting words,
whispering truths to the cosmos,
a few shows, binge-watched,
peppy dance routines,
movies, music, art,
time-consuming scrawlings.

These are some
weapons in my arsenal,
my anti-venom
against the toxic approach
of tedious,
stifling
boredom.

The sounds of morning
roused me from a deep slumber.
The clouds grew tumid.

Songbirds of the day
kept me company and we
held the rain at bay.

A gentle twilight
broke the slow afternoon’s back;
a drizzle followed.

The sky wept last night;
the storm faded in hiccups.
Now the earth is dry.

Mine, mine, mine –
the pain is mine,
I can bear it.

Mine, mine, mine –
The shame is mine,
I can wear it.

Feel the brittle glass,
a couple of knocks
and it will shatter.

I have a spine of steel,
throw your rocks,
it doesn’t matter.

Watch me burn,
with cool disdain,
I won’t bemoan it.

This trainwreck is mine,
my hellfire to maintain,
witness how I own it.

‘What’s the point of it all?
Life is such a long haul!’
All my distress melts away,
bleak worldview turns upside,
once I saunter inside
the air-conditioned café.
Sometimes you are just hot
when you think life is fraught
on a white-hot summer day.

Feelings,
those insidious little things.
They ******, make you squirm,
sneak in unawares,
make nebulous all that is firm.

Feelings,
those traitorous little things.
They lift you up, make you float
then change without a warning
and sink the **** boat.

Feelings,
those warm little darlings.
With you through harmony or strife,
your companions, they let you
revel in the drama called life.

I need to dance with you and listen to you sing. I need to look at you, and  catch your eye at the exact moment you turn your head and smile at me. You have shown me that magic exists; kindness is not a myth. You, I need to do so many things with you. I need to follow your fingers as they move rhythmically to the tune of the universe. I need to breathe in your effulgent happiness. I need to touch and feel your scalding soul. The sadness that grips you and the darkness that stains your eyes, I need to partake in its lilting stillness. And as you float and stumble, crash and burn through life, I need to be there, pulsing, writhing, drowning in the abyss of wanting you.