Spark
a rebellion
among the sheep.

Watch them burn out,
go back to sleep.

Sometimes I wish
we lived in a different century,
a different era,
so when you had to go away
I could write you letters.

Letters,
a whole stack,
with penmanship so quaint
and words so fancy,
you would not be able to stop
marvelling at their beauty.
(I imagine)
You would spend hours on end
unravelling the secret longing
behind every blithe sentence,
every playful word.

And while absent-mindedly stroking
the dried ink on the parchment
as if it were my skin,
you would miss me so infinitely much
that without wasting another second,
you would hurry back home
to me.

Knees brought up to chin,
Legs folded in,
Hunched shoulders,
Arms wrapped around me.
The soft brush of luminous wings
Against the wetness of my cheek;
Millions of cold clammy fingers
Raise goose bumps everywhere.
Lightness and oppressing weight,
Bright light and murky night.
Butterflies and shadows,
Both within me and all around.

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.

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.

A yellow moon, all puffed up.
A sullen sky, the night air
still smelling of rain.

He stands on the bridge
where she broke his heart
on a night like this.
Hands in his pockets,
he stands, looking at the people
never seeing their faces.
People oblivious to his pain.

He waits for the rage
to descend, as it always does
on the nights he can’t keep away
from the place he got his heart broken.
He waits,
and waits
bewildered
when it doesn’t come.

Then in a moment of perfect clarity,
he realizes
that he doesn’t hurt anymore.

He looks up
and smiles at the yellow moon.
For the first time in ages
he notices it is a beautiful night.

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.

Walk with me
Until we can walk no more.
We can take the stairway to heaven
Or stroll down the highway to hell.

I don’t care where we go,
Or even if we don’t go anywhere
As long as I feel you next to me
So close yet barely touching.

We’ll find our way
Get blissfully lost.
Just you and me
For eternity.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I
can see
you torment
yourself with doubts
about my feelings
even as your eyes hold
my dichroic heart captive.
Don’t you see? It’s not you, it’s me
who has more at stake for, unlike you,
I can’t reveal my insecurities.

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.

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.

I am
afraid.
I am afraid of all things.
Afraid all the time.

Afraid to close my eyes,
  I fear the nightmares that follow.
Afraid to wake up,
  I fear reality even more.
I’m scared to look people in the eye,
  Lest they learn the truth about me.
I’m scared to show them kindness,
  worried they might mistake it for weakness.
Although, what frightens me the most
is that my cowardice only grows
every day.

I fear the demons in my head.
Sceptical of the world in general,
I despair
at the emptiness of my soul.

But still I rally.
Still I push back.
Does it mean
I am
also a little brave?

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

Twinkling mist rolling
through the valley of murmurs;
the howl of a hound.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

What does it mean to be free?
Does it mean that you live in a place
where you can choose who you want to be?
Take on the world and mold it
in a shape you want to see.

Say what you want to say,
laugh or cry, smile or weep;
take a step forward each day,
or just be still and contemplate
the workings of the Milky Way.

Does it all boil down to having options?
Is this total freedom? Or just one kind?
And what happens after you make decisions?
Does it bring peace to your turbulent mind?
Or guarantee happiness delivered to you
in an envelope all sealed and signed.

Then again, am I asking the right questions?
Or missing the point entirely
What is more important?
To know what freedom is really
or if you can truly ever be free?
Boundlessly. Completely. Essentially.

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.

Dawn: I slipped away, started walking…
I walked alone for a thousand days -
I wandered through crowded cities,
Trudged through untrodden ways.

Now every road looks the same to me,
The allure of the unknown has faded.
Every day I lose myself a little more,
Always a cynic, I feel even more jaded.

It’s been so long I don’t even remember
What I was looking for when I set out
Leaving everything, everyone behind
With no scruples, no shadow of doubt.

Now I crave for things long forgotten;
I long for the times when secretly I knew
That no matter how far I drifted,
I would always find my way back to you.

Only you’ve gone someplace I can’t follow;
Not yet. Someday soon  although.
For now, I’m ready to come home and face
Your memories from a million moons ago.

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.

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.