It’s evening
The hawkers at the station are loud
One is selling lottery tickets
The girl in her old dress, and new earrings caresses her earrings to feel their weight in her hands
She looks at the lottery tickets and wonders why people believe in them


A local comes along with a wave of people
She stands upright and surfs the wave to stay
She knows this isn’t the local she is waiting for
She tells the boy she is with that she had a great time
And he thanks her for a wonderful evening.
He looks at her face one more time, not quite ready to say goodbye yet
He looks at the clock at the station. It’s precisely 8:06 PM
The local will come at 8:08 PM.
He is hoping it’ll be late today.
He needs those extra seconds to prepare himself.
Certain goodbyes in life are harder than you thought they would be.
He looks straight into the eyes of the girl
And sees his reflection in her eyes
Scared of what he sees, he looks away
The girl adornes her new earrings again
She looks at the clock
The old rusty clock still shows 8:06 PM
Time had slowed down for her.
She feels the platform shaking
She fears it is the local approaching earlier?
She hugs him without a seconds delay
Surprised, the boy blushes. And continues the embrace
He whispers to her and tells her, that her earrings are pretty
She smiles
Perhaps this is the best way to say good bye.
The clock is now at 8:08PM and the local is not there yet
They both smile at each other, then look at the clock.
The boy can see the local approaching. He hugs her tighter once again.
And makes sure she doesn’t see the approaching train
She slowly slides out of his arms like sand from a man’s fist. He tries holding her firmer, but in vain
They both smile at each other and say an awkward bye.
She boards the local and tries to find a seat.
He waits patiently at the platform waiting for her to look out once more
The local is about to move and his heart is beating faster than the engine
He can feel her sight on him and looks her way.
She has a crooked smile with which she waves at him.
He waits at the station till the local moves.
He walks a bit with the local and then stops next to the hawker.
He waves at her one more time and watches as the train goes.
He looks at the hawker and wonders why people believe in lotteries.His phone buzzes in his pocket.
He has a big grin, he won the lottery after all
He walks out of the station with a jump in his step as he pats the Bandra station board.

I met a girl last night

Her hair a fluid lucid illusion
Her motion a brisk frisk crisp

I met a girl last night
A girl called Sri Devi
With her brush she danced
My skin, her stage

With her brush she swooned
As my heart, to her, crooned

She drew a sun, and a musical note
In black and red, with heart she wrote

I met a girl last night
A girl called Sri Devi

Shyly, she held my hand
As the music grew louder, O the band

She wet her brush, dipped in paint
Let go of boundaries, all restraints

I met a girl last night
A girl called Sri Devi

Her hair a fluid lucid illusion
Her motion a brisk frisk crisp

She drew a sun, and a musical note
In red and black, with heart she wrote

Have you heard of the little dance,
The dance, moonlight and candlelight share?
They dance to the rhythm,
The rhythm to earth’s air.

The moonlight stirs up a wave,
Stirs up tides of passion,
It calls forth sensual howls,
A confident assertive expression.

The candlelight on the other hand,
Dances a different dance,
It dances of concealment,
a dance of graceful stance.

The moonlight dances with me
Shows me the way in my dark
The candlelight dances with me
Shows me the way in my dark

Have you heard; heard about the dance?
The dance of the candle, the dance of the moon?
They share this little dance, the dance of their glow
The dance of the light, upon us they show
They dance to the rhythms,
The rhythms of earth.

Have you heard; heard about the dance.

Last night I traveled through time,

Went to the future & the past afar,

Visited Da Vinci, Bhagat Singh,

And the inventor of the car.



Then I had a thought,

Something of contrast,

We’ve committed our future,

So why not our past?

I took junior me,

And flew to junior you,

On my way, I told him

Stories about our love, true.



Cute things we did together,

Clockwork at midnight,

Our date at the beach,

Supposed love at first sight.



He was so **** excited,

I could see it in his eyes,

Then I told him what I did wrong,

All my faults, All my lies.



He said I was stupid,

And he’ll do it better,

Each day he’ll love you,

And write you a lovely letter.



I told him about your past,

Or at the time, your future,

He said he’ll care,

And with care he’ll nurture,



I then told him about me,

What scarred me before,

He told me not to worry,

Cause I’ll have you, unlike afore.



We reached your town,

Was early in the morn,

Bought you gajras you love,

For your hair, for you to adorn.



The junior me, held a rose,

In front of you it stood,

He looked at your luscious hair,

But didn’t feel a thing he should.



How is it that this happened?

Why didn’t your eyes shine?

Where is that sparkle,

Which I so dearly called mine?

I came back to the present,

Straight from there to you,

Looked right into your eyes

Ah! the sparkle, the hue!



It’s here, I said.

Where else my love, you asked.

I thought I had lost it, I said.



I had missed it dearly, I said,

But where had it gone, you asked.

It wasn’t in our past, I said.



You smiled at me,

and I knew exactly where it was.

We breathe in pairs,
For every time I inhale, I exhale.
What if I told you, I saved one today?
For when I inhaled, I took one extra.
I saved that breath in me,
With your aroma preserved,
It has your scent.
It’s unlike the violets,
It’s unlike the wine.

I can stop seeing,
I can stop hearing,
But I can’t stop smelling,
For your smell reminds me,
Of a time unique,
Of days of innocent blue,
And orchids with dew,
It’s unlike the violets,
It’s unlike the wine.

It’s in my heart now,
Filling me up from inside,
And I promise I’ll keep it locked,
That’s where I would like it to stay.
I know you leave tomorrow,
And this is what I hold on to,
This shall remain my muse,
It’s unlike the violets,
It’s unlike the sunshine.

So sweet, So beautiful,

The world awaiting her embrace,

A move is all it took,

With all her women’s grace.

Reminds me of a caring figure,

A special person in my heart,

The imprints would still remain,

Though soon we shall part.’

Looking out of the window,

I wonder what she sees,

Is it the same as I belive,

What she makes out of a tree.

Like a baby she sees,

Without any fear or regret,

What makes her so special,

Is a safe hidden secret.

I do sense some sadness,

Some impressions left on her heart,

Who knows if she was too,

Scarred in a war.

Why am I writing this poem,

This surely ain’t a dedication,

For here goes nothing ‘cause she is special,

Just a deep inspiration.

Out of words I’m not,

There is a lot which can be said,

for such a sweet jane,

Is surely heaven made.

कहानिया तोह बहुत है ,
किस्मे तुम्हे राज़ आयेगा ,
ज़िन्दगी, तोह एक कविता है,
क्या पता क्या साज़ छाएगा ।
अनेक में से एक चुनो,
या पुराने किस्सों से नयी कहानी बुनो,
रंगों का क्या है,
वोह खिलते ढलते है,
समा अब तुम्हारा है,
चलो पन्ने पलटते है।
ज़िन्दगी मेहेक से भरने का ख्वाब था,
दिल मैं सपनो से बूना आसमान था,
कोशिश की बहुत, कुछ पाया कुछ खोया,
ख़ुशी मैं नाचें, मुश्किलों मैं दिल रोया,
आज आपने कमाल किया,
जैसे ऊपर वाले का हाथ था।
आपके इश्क ने तोह हमे घायल किया,
दूर ही सही,आपने अपना कर दिया,
क्या माहौल बनाया आपने,
बस,हमे तोह दीवाना कर दिया।​

When I blink, do my eyes best see,

For when I sleep, they see thee,

Gloom hence stands in my dreams, rejected,

The bright takes over dark, unexpected.

As thou walk with the cherry smile,

Magnetizing, poets, artists and alike,

As thou hide your shy, an attempt futile,

A poet smiles, for thou art his muse for life.

A waste metaphor in a poet’s verse,

For your mere account is far lovely,

Anything ahead, an idea averse,

No painting, no poem, so effectively.

       There is more living in thy wonderful heart,

       Than poet and artist dedicating their art.

(Attempt at a Sonnet)

Oh the click-clock of his shoes
Oh the click-clock of his steps
As swift as I could I ran
As swift as I could I did

Running
Hasting
Rushing to the music

Oh for the click-clock is back
The click-clock of this shoes
The sound I long, my muse

He’s home at last, at home at last he is.

On blog: http://designserif.com/post/69547664690/oh-the-click-clock-of-his-shoes-oh-the-click-clock

This poem is a lie,
This poem is a tie,
This poem, a way to bond,
This poem, willing to abscond.

This poem is an escape,
This poem, a refuge in words,
This poem, is my cape,
This poem, a truth backwards.

Love said it’ll always be here

Love said it’ll always be true

But love left,

And I said nothing but thank you.

Love came on a bright afternoon,

with coffee and chocolates.

Love taught me how to read,

made me fall in love with books

And I said nothing but thank you.

Love made me breakfast in bed,

Sang me songs when I couldn’t sleep,

Love believed in me when I didn’t

And I said, again, thank you.

Love, entangled itself around me

like the vines of grape plant

and made me forget things

what I shouldn’t remember anyway

And I said nothing but thank you.

​​But now; love is gone

And love says, it’s her, and not me,

But how can it be her when it’s clearly me

when I’m the one scared

scared to feel, scared to stand

scared to sleep, scared to dream

but how can it be her when it’s clearly me

whose stomach hurts all night

from the way I ache for it to be held

the way love ​used to.

I’ve been told to forget

Do I forget reading​? No

Do I forget smiling? No

Do I forget being happy? No

No, I will not

cause how can I break myself again

for it took while so much effort to complete me

i might have a love sized hole in my soul

and i know it has spaces to be filled

but it was filled once, and it would be again

and I only want to say thank you

Thank you for showing me worlds I didn’t believe in.

Thank you love, for making me understand me.

Thank you love, thank you for stopping by.​​

-
(14/08/2013)
(An attempt at Spoken Word.)

She surrounds my scape,
                           Oh my old angel.
Teaching me how to fly,
                           Oh my old angel.

Paving my path, showing me my way,
                           Oh my old angel.

Wrinkling wisdom from her face,
                           Oh my old angel.

Dancing with freckled bones
As she shares my joy
                           Oh my old angel.

Soon her sun too will dawn,
                           Oh my…old angel.

I promise I will return one day
to appreciate the scenic beauty
                           Oh my old angel.
                           I think you dearly

Blog at: http://designserif.com/post/69547955119/she-surrounds-my-scape