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.

Cold hand and warm smiles


28th March, 2021

It was a chaotic Sunday afternoon, with the scorching heat burning my face, my black crop top and cardigan too, helped the sun with its play, I awaited the arrival of the one who was sailing away.

There he was, with his navy blue sweatshirt that had ‘hints of Black’ Matching mine, a white tee, that had blobs of sweat and Paco Rabanne smelling from a mile away, he swayed like the autumn winds, with his hands tucked inside his pockets and his eyes smiled from far away.

Can we go now? I said in my grim voice, I practised my blank look prior to the meet, for navy pants made me wait,

What, no hello or hi?
His soft brown eyes looked straight into mine,

A million moths revolted inside my empty stomach that time, with an eye roll I hushed him off.

——

Our coffee will be here in 2 mins, let’s sit,come on,

He pulled out a chair as we sat across that ambiguously loud cafe,

Bela ciao played in the background that time, as the main chorus echoed in the cold air, he removed his blue mask and warmly smiled at me, the smile wasn’t the same his adventurous social media posts portrayed, this one rather gave his cheeks a pinkish hue, the wrinkles around his eyes too popped up in play,
His skin looked more soft and supple than they did in those blurry video calls we had everyday, droplets of sweat aligned by his forehead, and his nose, he shyly hushed those off by constantly touching his face or grooming his hair. 

I wish I could carry a polaroid to click every-time Mr. Serious face came out of his comfort zone to live life in a casual way. 

Did I mention his ‘fan’ following?

More than a few pretty chicas  had their eyes trailed off in his way,  their stare  hooked onto to his face, or his mouth or the way he talked with ease and kept smiling away. Yet naive eyes were glued in my way, like a kid gaurding his favorite thing.


The Meet was one of a kind, one I have never had anyone at all, I know his sceptical detective mind wouldn’t accept things at face value ever, for his curious eyes often look out for the things unsaid,  the eye rolls I often gave, the way I smiled or smirked or even had a serious face, he loves to know more about what’s beneath the facade. 

I had more smiles to crease, especially the time we walked down the stair of the ancient cafe hallway, I missed a step for I was busy searching for the cat I met in way, he quickly clasped my hand with his cold ones,

Are you alright?

His eyes looked into  mine, another set of fireflies flew inside my gut that time

I smiled beneath my mask and nodded my head.

This first meet, with ‘cold coffee that tasted like liquid vanilla ice cream, the carrot juice that was fresh and sweet like his forehead kiss he showered me with when we parted our ways, the chocolate cupcake, which we shared, or which I rather ordered him to eat halfway, the cigarette puff which he hesitantly passed my way, or the way my overthinking mind was at ease the entire time, was beyond perfect, something I would love to have everyday. 

A war with yourself.

I came across a fuzzy seed of myself.
This part that i nurutred everyday in the past,
That saved me on the silent days,
On the days my beliefs were bandaged like my tongue,

Has made a home in the silent hall of my heart,
This fuzzy wall is cracking down suppprting this seed all the time,
I see the failure of naive lost self, nailed,
rusty tacks that marred the heart,
lie beside my cold feet, plain,

I try to fill the crevices of this wall with the fleeting moments of happiness,
alas,its momentous strength fails to keep them align.

I watch them fall ounce by ounce as the roots of this seeed outgrow alongside the echoing room,
its silence is felt, but the voice keeps growing louder by each passing day.

The elongated roots seem too weak,
support each other and have become quite strong,
the brakish water nurtures them,
gives them hope they can still come out alive.
purple skies often shed their light and there they lay by the blackened sky nurtured and safe.

I try to burn them away with a flicker of hope that shined in life,
I stand paralysed as I watch this flame shudder under the coldness of this sight,
but the pecuilar roots defy this time, smell putrsecine,
as though it was never meant to be die.

The Introverted Man (2)

He’s definitely one of his kind, he wears clothes like a 12 grade teen, with sweatshirt always on and dark colored pants, he hides his shy demeanor by tucking his hands in his side pockets and walks with ease.

His aviators are alwys there by his side, he wears them to hide away his rhuemy eyes, for he wishes to hide away. His light brown eyes would show you a variety of things, only if you closely pay attention to the words his eyes speak.

They’d at times twinkle too bright, like the stars he encounters by the sea, they lit up like his favourite star when he narrates his childhood play with his dad and sister practicing WWE with each other during his school days.

His eyes hide away the turmoil within him too, hide away the many sleepless nights he spent at the sea, or the times he lay awoke on the cold bed, homesick, wishing to be just a bit closer to his shore.

If you closely pay attention to his eyes, you can see patches of melancholy aligned too, of the days he cried when no one was around, the days he felt he wasnt the perfect child, or the days he prayed he could just leave. They are latched below his eyes, he names it *tiredness* for he couldn’t fall asleep since he was working and partying at nights.

Yet he’d never show an ounce of emotions from his end, for his bright smile would cover up these.

His smile, is as pleasant as the winds during June rains, the one that makes everyone around them so lively and chirpy. It’d remind you of the 11:11 wish you read online, he’s the kind of guy who’d make sure you’re always happy and all right.

He’d stare at you across the room full of people, he notice how the veins on your forehead look too bright in the afternoon sun, how you awkwardly tuck your hair when you feel anxious or shy. He’d also notice the way you truly smile, the way your eyes roll or the way you gently sigh, he’d look deep into your eyes when you’re looking away or when you’re trying to hide.

He’d need no words to understand how you feel, for his intuitive gut would work just fine. He’d know how to make you laugh or when to change the subject of your talk, when to get coffee or when to offer you a cigarette puff.

He’d also be there to hold your hand when you feel the stairway is too uncertain towards the end, he’d ask you if you’re all right and hold your hand too tight and smile. His rough hands would softly catch yours all the time, his fingers would draw circles around your wrists, to tell you he would never leave.He’d never back down from walking hand in hand by the street, his grip would be like the knots he learnt in sailing school, never lose, always firm and tight.

Lastly, he’d hug you too tight, the one that would make you forget about everything else around you, the one that would shatter all your previously held ambiguities, it’d feel as cozy as the your favorite blanket during wintery nights and would make you feel safe and make you smile.

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.

Lust and love ( edited version)

**Lusty lies, beautiful smiles**

You’d find an abode in those tempestuous eyes,
those oh so perfect smiles, everything they do just seems so vague yet perfectly fine,

Some call it that wish for which they often prayed,
Oh! Look my wish was granted away.
I found the one, my happy place.

But for some pessimists like me,
Lust works like the poison that freezes the tarantula away,
Have you heard about that naive wasp that preys on those gloomy tarantulas by the bay?
This gloomy spider means it no harm, it runs away from the shadow of wasp,
But the wasp has her eyes fixed on its prey,
Her poisonous sting, paralyzes the spider away,
It cant think, nor move, it’s the wasp’s personal play.

Lust works on similar ways,
You’re paralyzed by their beauty and their face,
By their expressive eyes, their notorious self,
They are so brilliant in everything they do,
How could a person relaxing in his pajamas and unmade hair look so cute?

Being with them would make you forget everything else in life,
You’d read articles related to them talk to your friends and ask them for their views,
Take his side and convince your friends too,
You’d slowly start adapting his ways, so quick,
You’d expect the same energy from him too.

Every time you’d meet him,you would observe him a bit more closely,
The way he talks so calmly, the way he folds his arms together and gently frowns, the way he runs his fingers alongside his hair,
The way his hazel eyes shine with glee,
His peculiar beard trimmed in 90’s style.

His presence would make your day,
you’d ache to be in his arms
and wish to kiss him once again, you’d plan your next meet,
the things you’d say,
the dress you’d wear, the way you’d make your hair,
his favourite color would be yours too,everything should be perfect, for our adonis is just that way.

You’d fnd different ways to text him
(or accidentally text him? :p)
send him memes, flood him with questions new,
would expect his attention right away,
what if he forgets to text you day? Was he busy? Is he seeing someone new?
Let’s watch his story on Instagram or maybe snapchat today??