#bangalore
Forlorn puppies hunt through the trash in search of food
Incessant honking pounds my eardrums
Putrid hints of smoke and diesel followed by the overwhelming stench of rotting trash scorches my nostrils
Uncontrollable spice followed by sour lassi irritate my tastebuds
Dirt rests in the barrier between my feet and the floor
Bejeweled saris radiate from neon lights
Quiet mantras echo off the walls of the yoga studio
Aroma of fresh baked dosa weaves up and down streets
The wetness of one pomegranate kernel refreshes my mouth
Slippery canary yellow kheer oozes out of my fingertips
I want to leave but also to stay
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 1:38 AM UTC
I was looking for a friend,
when you tapped my shoulder
from the back and
I was confused how to
respond back to a recognition
from a person
that was not mutual.
Last time this happened
I was in a hall
trying to remember something
about microprocessors
so that I could at least pass,
when the invigilator stood
on top of me,
just staring me, writing.
Cold sweat droplets
started racing on my face,
assumption: he was
from my department.
When he finally spoke
he asked which exam
was I writing, and in
absolute bewilderment
I forgot, the name
of the exam I was giving!
You girl with an accent,
I had watched your poems,
writing you on stage
like the broad nip ink pen
that road trips with blue ink.
I just forgot,
in the sun burst of your face,
standing in front of me,
as if you knew me
for eternity.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 8:28 AM UTC
eight wickets
eight wickets
he did so well score
on the pitch at Bangalore
he spun the ball
he spun the ball
in the first session of play
over after over toiling away
his efforts were fab
his efforts were fab
bamboozling the batsmen
with a seaming flight of hem
not since Warne
not since Warne
had such a display been seen
on the oval's twenty two yard sheen
a magic spell
a magic spell
Lyon's spinning technique
was truly magnifique
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 11:15 PM UTC
When we were young, we went DYU in
Lipsticks and jumpsuits and gulped
Chamomile tea on table one, our hot spot.
Now that Eapen is here, I want to go
Back to those Bangalore days with my-
Ladies, diapers and a pair of baby socks.
Tim, time, time! Stop, stop, stop!
This is the moment, the moment from
Our yester imaginings, Eapen our baby drug
Let's get back to those hostel rooms,
Jumpsuits and lipsticks with 'the nucleus' on our shoulders.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
City lights sparkle,
A concrete jungle on fire,
A stunned full moon.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
I don’t want to go back to the city,
I’m learning to forget you
And the city we grew together
To be something that we are not anymore.
I don’t want to see our city
Eat alone or wander the crowd
I don’t belong there, neither you
We were strangers like we’re today.
I will never ever go back to the city
Where there are sediments of us
Wanting to be jolted to a story
To pinch our flesh every **** day.
I want to be the city, someday
I want to be a hopeless lover and
Monsoon scent, I want to be the city
You'll never forget, the city we lived.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
I cannot understand
Am I dreaming beneath the living?
Tell me if it’s just a part of my forty winks
Coz I’m rusted by chance when fully awake.
Why are dreams so large and
You forget it in a momentary climb?
The departed stories are so dear
That they never come to pass in life
The impossible happenings with strings
And things I’ll never find are so ideal.
The scars are reasoned and seasoned
But it was perfect when I was asleep.
I was dead to the world, totally ignored
Leaving one earth for a different one
Was so brilliant when I was buried.
But I realize I was not just dreaming
I was stitching them into reality,
Let me catch all my dreams
That they might never happen again!
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC