Poem 58#

I check those messages once again,
they are still stale, still unchecked,
Piled up, like the Marlboro blacks in my ceramic ashtray,
You might have finished a pack or two, I am sure.
Have you even eaten? Are you okay?
Ah the question I no longer have the right to ask.

For my needle mouth wounded your debilitated heart,
Yesterday night, rapid winds of turbulence passed by shore,
Was it for you too?
I sensed your cries, behind those, "Leave me alone, I am fine,"
your black clouds paid a visit to my sky,
Poured briefly and surrounded my eyes,
Your heartaches were felt by the worn out bud,
we nurtured it, promised it'd grow,
But my riotous words signalled the thunder,
Oh! I knew the wrath of this violent strike.

I hardly slept a wink, did you too?
For your thoughts gathered around this grey lurched being,
It will be okay, please dont overthink you said,
Yet I kept falling, falling down the stairway,
I promised myself I would gently take a step,
but if only this childish heart could understand the depth,
Of the beautiful things that lied ahead.

But the fool, my mind,
My heart, the slave,
walked to its beat
and wept when it left.

And now,
As I sit below the stairway,
I see nothing at all,
"Melancholy is it?" I ask,
Your deep silence echoed,
//it is the beginning of dread.//

Poem 57#

I wondered why our shadows were always dark,
When they could instead be, yellow, orange, blue or grey,
but everyone around us would then know that,
we’re happy today, or maybe just feeling plain,
Maybe you wish to be left alone and your shadow would then predict it away,
It would then be impossible to hide our fear, our thoughts, our feelings away.

But black?
Oh the color has many possible answers,
most of those, truly unknown.

At times it sinks in your loneliness on the cold winter nights,
It’s the only thing accompanying you,
under the dim streelight.
Where you tread around cautiously,
rapidly try to save yourself from hungry eyes and calloused face.

The others,
It acccompaines you by the marble floor of the serene terrace,
As you sit beneath the callous moon,
listen to the chatter of the tranquil trees, feel the wind hover around,
there is a thin silence in that loud air,
you sit back and watch the dead stars grow cold,
it cautiously grows upon you, in time, the twilight doesn’t scare you in any way.

Lastly,
it stands out in play as you await the arrival of the one who couldnt keep their promises,
it starts with the last local bidding goodbye,
those lean feet seek support of the rusty grills and patched wall,
he will be here, your rawboned hand graciously pray,
but all you hear are crickets gossiping away,
and the scarred bat screech in pain,
Suddenly those empty windows infront of you,
showcase a shadow too gloomy for the day,
you step away in dismay,
in hope, that it was a nightmare.
Alas the darkness has other plans to play.

And little by little,
you get used to this feeling, everyday.

Poem 55#



I dont wanna write anymore,
Was this destined in my palm too?
My palm has so many broken lines,
Reminds me of the geometry figure I couldn’t draw even after multiple trials,
Alas in the end, the creased paper had multiple broken lines, they were invisible to the naked eye,
But for me, I could see, my failure tangled like the spiders web.
And oh my maths teacher, she often gave me a zero out of 25.

I don’t enjoy my daily coffee too,
It tastes bland, maybe 3 tsp isnt strong?
Maa tells me this coffee is making me senile,
Or maybe it’s your phone, that’s making you mad! She says.
Maybe she is right,
I’m stuck with this phone like the lover to its rose,
It’s the first thing I have in my hand and the last thing I check before I sleep.

How much are you sleeping nowadays shibu!? Maa questions me for the millionth time,
Are you even paying attention to what I’m saying?? I nodd, but she walks away
I dont sleep, really, just lie down on my unmade bed, lie with my warm blanket shielding me away from the ghosts of the past,
But they find an abode through the space I leave off below my cold feet,

Did I do enough today? I question myself
But all I hear is the last local honking in the background,
There is no sign of moon today,
I see a bat hanging upside down the almond tree infront of my window pane,
He swings so peacefully and silently rests by the other birds who usually attack him in day.

Bhai then blabbers in his sleep,
Something about his work, how he has to reach the intended goal for the month,
He then nods his head and tilts to other side of the bed,

Shibu dont you wanna sleep?” Dad’s hoarse voice alerts me away,

Yes, i will now”  the cold floor really feels weird during winter days,
With a quick look at the grey skies, I escalate towards my bed.

Goodnight dad” I mumble,

He ignores my words, as he sits by the window pane.

The paradoxical one.

She is unsure and uncertain in life, she wants a few things, yet doesnt want them too. She would initiate the conversation then feel it losing it’s sight and in time with her lack of effort, it’ll die.

For she knows they’d have many others whom they would talk to, she’d assume small things and get nervous all the time, “why did you type the Okay ♥️ as ok, / okay / k/ this time?”The others she wonders about the tone of their text and replies, “were they in a hurry or did they wish to talk to me after a while?”

“Why didn’t they use their regular emoji, or are they done with her hopeless plight?”

She deletes messages quite often too,for her anxiety tells her it sounds too rude or maybe not right, what if they feel bad? What if they read in between the lines? They cant see her vulnerable side.

Sudden calls from strangers scare her to death,do they expect a specific reply? Is hmm and haan and okay and yeah, fine? What if they feel she is not contributing to the conversation at all,her heart comes to her mouth, she feels like 1 year old, she babbles or mumbles or at times is inaudiblely loud.

At times,she is sure of her mind, sure of the things she has to say and feels about the people around, yes doubts and fear cross her mind, but her heart comes to resuce those times.

The others, her heart plays tricks on her mind, for it doesn’t understand the difference between infatuation or lust, confuses it with love and keeps her awake all night.

Yes she overthinks, she has scales of measurement for this overthinking too, a bit done every now and then seems fine, she takes overthinking breaks in between her day, thinks about the topic from all the sides and even tho the stimulus is out of her sight it still revolves in her mind.

Is it yes or was it no?”

She dislikes the term in between and people giving her ambiguous hues. She likes weird and confusing things for sure,

The puzzle the daily crossword, the sudoku hurl, the Rubik’s cube, confusing it may be for others but she’d try all the combinations and solve it overnight, and if not, then mess up the code and add more sequences to her plight.

At times she is nervous and shy,like the naive Caterpillar that transforms into a beautiful butterfly, she is oh so cautious and alert of her moves, never to harm a soul and usually complies.

The others she is bold and scary they say, like the moth, that’s as dark as the ruinous sky, you’d shoo her off, so that she doesn’t ruin your cashmere shawl overnight,

She’s reckless and wild, is attracted to dangerous people who often hurt her or leave her in the absence of light, is attracted to the feral fire that could burn her core, yet she wishes to go near it, to warm her numb soul.

…..

Life for her is a puzzle,

one cannot fathom right away

It is never truly black nor white,

At times it’s blue and purple, red and grey,

So arrange every piece that comes your way,

And that’s how she lives her life, everyday.

Poem 53#

Does your heart ever beat aloud, when my name pops on your screen?

Does your face heat up, or do your lips start to smile?

Do you ever look up at the sky and gaze at the moon sometimes?

Remember our previous conversations and way you hugged me, tight?

Do my thoughts ever cross your mind,

Whenever you’re busy at work, trying to study, or sleep at night?

Do you even remember the words you said before you first kissed me,

Or way you smiled so bright?


I wouldn’t know, anymore.

But,

I do know you’re searching for a girl who’d fit into your world.

Who is different than the others, you’ve met,
Someone who adds value to your life, understands you.
Doesnt expect you to be perfect,
Rather, accepts your various hues.

Doesn’t give up on you, when you push her aside,
Who keeps texting you, even though you hardly reply,
Who is always loyal to you, honest and never lies.

You’re a man of few words,
You pretend to listen and hardly reply,
But expect others to listen to you,
but do you comply?

You welcome people, but never let them in,
You know their secrets, hardly share your worries, at times lie.
When confronted, you dive in your cave, you sigh.

You overthink, overanalyze, but keep mum, in your agony, you die.
But tell others that overthinking isn’t right

You have peculiar moods, one in which you wish to be left alone,
One in which you’re no longer the gloomy soul, you’re cheerful,
full of life,
Alas it doesn’t last that while,
And finally the one,in which, your mood, monosyllables provide.


But there’s this void, this tiny black hole,

That exists within you, in your heart,

That is masked by your smile,

One that I can see in your eyes.

What if it forever resides?

Poem 52#

He’s here, but he’s truly not,

I don’t recognize him,

In fact I never have and never will,

He babbles and abuses too,

His eyes, don’t see what we see,

It sees a world that keeps opressing him,

His mouth becomes a flame of lies,

Of pain and hurt,

betrayal and crimes,

His past surfaces in and he becomes the same old boy

With khaki shorts and torn shirt,

With worn chappals and lost eyes

Who’s father beat him, to hide his lies,

To hide his affair with the woman he loved,

Who wasn’t his wife.

It all comes back to him, at times in episodes too.

He remembers the time his purple hand was beaten black,

The times his father thrashed him

Left him away and ignored his plight.

But oh he forgets the time he left us away,

Instead,

Says I am a burden,

And my siblings are no longer his children too.

He slurrs and slips,

Fumbles on his own failures, oh he falls.

And when his tired eyes and calloused feet hurt a lot,

He crashes his stout body on the defeated old bed,

Mumbbles a “I hate you, you’re no longer my child’

And goes back to sleep, soundly, every night.


Poem 48#

They all love the red rose,
Tell me,
They are allured by his aura so bright.
His soft petals, they adore,
It’s vibrant hue, they match with their core.
But his thorns they pluck aside.
For it pins the wound, they wish to ignore.

Yet I can’t stop loving his thorns,
The sweet pain,
It makes my numb heart, alive.

I hide him away from the world, undisclosed.
He rests,
In between the crevices of my grim diary,
One filled with dried ink and lost hope.

For,
Mum told me,
That one day I shall throw him out of my sight,
Will stop loving it’s thorns.
Stop checking up on him.
In time, he will die.

Yet everytime I try to keep the rose away from me,
I feel like the naive bird,
Who flutters in the direction unknown,
Until her debilitated heart can no more explore,
It aches to go home,to her abode.

Mum found my diary, tonight,
She threw him away
Out of her sight.
For she said
It was
for the best,my child.

And now,

We both die,

Little by little,

Under the moon’s glint light.