Confict

Split between a girl and a story. Like a conflict between sun and rainbow.

Disaster

In each letter he wrote to her he filled in flowers and leaves. When she read the letters she could smell the frangrance of leafy words. She revered its freshness. She kept the letters in her garden.

One day in one of the letters, in stifled words, he wrote 'I am struggling..... to keep......... these spaces............ alive.' She rushed to the garden. The pages were turning blank. Words from the letters shed like autumn leaves. She struggled to find blindness.

Labyrinth of Time

There stood a mirror that split time. He decided to walk right into it. As he stepped in he turned back to look at the mirror. He saw himself walking in.

After he had walked a mile he turned back again. He saw millions of himself with their head turned to watch the man walking into the mirror.

Concealed

Her skin was ether. In the shallowness of her skin he felt his shadow drowning. The depth of his shadow spilled her soul.

The Bitter Truth

In his dream he saw broken mirrors of her body scattered on the road. Each piece reflected a part of him. The eyes, the ears, the nose, thrown in disarray. He picked the pieces and put them back together.

And amidst the sun-filled sky, his blinding reflection shattered his dream.

Deja-vu.

He dreamt of waking up. It was deja-vu.

Dear Girl

Dear Girl,
The lights and color we bathed in, still lingers around the corner of my eye. It floats casually and wanders feistily in all directions. I'm afraid to turn my head, lest it eludes. I let it fill my my room with open arms and closed conscience. I let it stain my shoes and tie. These colors are butterfly and rainbow. The butterfly often moves. The rainbow just smiles. You'll be happy to know they still think of you the same. You'll be happy to know I am happy in their company.

But tomorrow they will open the doors. The colors will fade away and the light will be shrouded by death. Till then i will bathe in its serenity.
Kisses.
Him

An Infinite Tale

His only fault was to try and find meaning in everything. To grasp the faintest hint of smoke rising from the remains of obscurity.
But it slipped away.
Like mercury.
Like time.
Like ego.
He could forsake everything but THAT.

Futility of Words

she was putting her things in the bag. he stood by the door, his eyes sleepy. she did not turn around to look at him. she knew he was there. she could smell him coming. she could even hear his heartbeat. but she did not turn. and he did not speak. he could hear her listen the unspoken. he could feel his silence ring in her ears. but he did not speak.
and the moment endured.
stripped of thoughts and vision
drained of consciousness
the dawn of perpetual darkness
And as he spoke she turned. his voice crept into the cracks in the walls, his voice exploded in the stillness of the air.
she saw his eyes. the sleepy eyes. the unsurmountable misery. a faint lost bubble floating the sky. rising high. out of reach and beyond sight.
oh! this inevitability of fate.
oh! the futility of words.
she hurried away.

TV vs DREAM

lying awake at quarter to two
watching the tv as channels roll on
a boy says he'll wait for his girl
she promised she'll reach before dawn
another man says its so naive
to look for meaning in a song
a third thinks its not alright
to kill a man before he's born
fourth channel shows a man with wife and kids
he should be happy but his face is long
fifth shows a successful author praised
but his expression seems withdrawn

i switch off the tv
and close my eye
and soon images in dream
like channels go rolling by

I Am Only But A Man

i am only but a man
not good not bad
just the way i was designed
less for myself, more for the others
who look at me stare at me
yell at me
for the mouse who roams my house
squeaking fearlessly
cuz he's grown so many years with me
i'll not let myself harm him
as he runs room to room
feeding on my decayed poetry

i am only but man
not sad not happy
just the way i was designed
less for others, more for myself
and i reach out to things beyond my reach
to grasp the fruit hanging mockingly on tree
it snickers as i jump
one inch away but a millions miles anyway
it will probably stay
eluding me till the end of time
but i think it will drop right into my open mouth
the moment my death arrives

Lost and Found - Disdain and Mundane

into the green river
i slipped in grief and sorrow
haunted by the ghosts of tomoro

abandoned by the hands that held
it let me go before the time
but no one will ever find

sleepless in the nights like now
gripped by ungrateful guilt
i stare at the wall that i’ve built

gaze out of the window
of that endless wall
i see a helpless child call

and i m so far away from u child
lost in the labyrinth of me
but i’ll pray for thee

for u to see a better next life
dissolvin in the unforgivin smoke
rid of the cycle of fate and hope

but when i come back home
exhausted and crying
i see ur sardonic smile

i weep and laugh
eccentric and flaky
i see u are me

there are worse things than being with the wrong person...but nothing...nothing compares to having missed out on the right one.

she waits for father every night
till 12 maybe till 1
because her mother says he'll be back soon
anytime

and after she sleeps
she rushes to the toilet
and weeps
while he's sleeping in the arms of another woman
she feels him touch her thighs the lips
and hear him blowing softly into
the ear of another woman

she takes vow to make her daughter
strong
'if thats the word' she wonders
she'll tell her of how cruel men are
how ungrateful and filthy

but somewhere inside she knows
that one day
the daughter will take the same vow
in the same toilet
weeping
for a man who sleeps with other women
the man she left her mother for

Is it enough for a MAN

She left me stranded with no message
but is it enough for a man
to live merely on beliefs
to feed on on goodness of men
and the ignorance of a woman
to fight for what he'll never lose
to die in an attempt to never live
i ask this time to time
is it enough for a man
to be a master of the world
but a slave to himself

What Fury Hath Time

I m lost for the past few days
but i dont have a reason to grieve
and i grope inside me
for a child with a reason to cry
a reason to die
a reason
to say good bye

Gallons of White Rum

drinkin gallons of white rum gulping them down the throat
with ferocity you talk psychotic gibberish of a man u once knew.
you walk along the shore the waves they hit your knees but you dont care
you say they dont hurt you anymore.
what with the inebriated head hanging loosely on your worn out
shoulders you talk talk and talk
as if the only thing your parents never asked was to seal the tongue from the heart
and soul from the mind.
you bare yourself of your secrets that kept seeping
out of the nose the ears and things you never dared to reveal
except to the man you talk of
some 20 years back
the man who was just like me
you say.

and with the breeze hitting hard on my cheeks
and moonlight flaming up yours
i listen to u intently
with no awe just prudence, the calmness of a man who's seen it all before
at least read it in some heads of strangers walkin beside him and thinking loudly
of their incensed pasts and drunken future.
i listen to you and i pity you.
and you pity me
for the same.
because i am not like him and you are not the same.

past perfect

All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.
-Oscar Wilde

sittin by this computer and staring at the screen
the soft spoken words spoken not so long back
and images that come flashing by
not so near yet so clear
voice that resounds in dreams
face that lights up the night
a baby smiling by her side
the hair rubbing the shoulder
wrinkles in the eye a sight of delight
bubbles from the ring
colurful shining bright
the smile of hope
to swallow her grief
to see me by her side
brushing against the arms
the nails and the songs
loudly singing in chorus
with a fixed glance
on me or something she could see
a saviour in the moment of grief
the magic in the smile
to heal a thousand souls
and it was all me
swept by an emotion so unreal
so fleety and free
no boundaries it could see
a delight landscape out the window
a hand so light it could freeze
those things they call paradise
in the arms of a child
a lost world, a lost time.

wrong number

she had been waiting impatiently for his sms for the past 2 hrs as she cut the onions. tears rolled down her eyes inexorably. 'its the onions' she told herself. he had told he would msg when he reaches home. 'he must have reached by now' she thought. 'but the traffic in bangalore!!'.'yes it must be the traffic' she consoled herself.
minutes went passing by, the knife came down furiously upon the onions. she glanced at the calender on the table. each day was marked with stars. it had become her habit to mark days with stars. llike a movie review. five stars meant an unbelievably good day. single star was a hopeless day. yesterday was marked with two stars. two stars always meant a confused day. three star was just about 'okay' day where nothing too bad had happened but nothing exciting as well. but two star was worse than that. it left her perplexed as to what the day was really worth. yesterday was one of them. he had messaged her 'sorry dear, i have to go for my uncle's wedding anniversary' but she was not convinced.
when she ran out of onions but not the tears, she got up to mark the day with a single star. pen in hand, she approached the table. but the phone rang. it was an sms. thrilled, she ran back to the bed and picked up the cellphone. it WAS from him. it read 'my mom found your bra in my bag. why did u leave it there last night'.
she did not pick up the pen this time. she did not turn to the calendar. there was no need.

fast and furious

there's nothin that could have changed my world the way this has. in such ways i m scared to speak about myself. trapped in the god knows wat of the society of and the tradition and evrythin they think r sacred to them. and i ve broken it. now i loathe it. u talk about love. damn u think u know a bit of it.wats this this thing u r talkin bout do u evr see thru from from a window striped naked of evrthing u ve presumed u have been? this society the custom. neutral milk hotel watever they meant when they sang 'how strange it is to be anything at all'. how true, how absurd, how inexplicably devastasting and healing at once. dont read between the lines it ll kill me. i m already half the way to death. i thought i knew evrythin, in deed i was convinced. and now these visions blur. i m enjoyin this ignorance of sight as long as it lasts. probably for ever and this is wat i fear. i m so trapped inside of me i m afraid might implode into myself if i dont let some air push me around. damn i m such a fuckin pervert. pervert?? u sure u really are? or is it something far beyond being pervert. an understatement? i hate myself for but wat can be done. and the whole thing about 'god is a place wher some holy spectacle lies, god is place u will wait for the rest ur life'(yes, milk hotel again). why's it all comin back to me. is this the point i ll wait for the rest of my life. and the holy spectacle? wats that do i understand it or am i tryin to convince myself that i dont. hell, things r pulling me apart and i m still waiting. i dont even know wat for. i dont even know wat i want now. im so confused its threatening to say the least. why did i ever get into this. why?


but i m not gonna talk to god anymore. he's given me evrythin i wanted until this point but from this point forward i dont know wat to ask for. let him be him and me be me. but then again who m i? dint my existence really mean only that one straw. THAT SAME STRAW. wait m i gettin too close.

this one's by a bastard

When a raven crows in the morning
Someone's going to die by nightfall.
Today too some old sixty year old
Fucking a young girl, and dying on her belly.
In his mouth, gaping red
A gold tooth glitters under the mucus.
His shorts, thrown in a corner
A butterfly set free by the girl.

When your lace breaks in the morning
Someone's going to die by nightfall.
Today too some queer
Fighting over a man
Grabbing a knife, a military march
A black and hairy leg, the Adam's apple
Drenched in the blood that spurts
Flowers that bloom beside his mother's grave.

When a mouse cries at night
Someone's sure to die by morning.
Today too some butcher's wife
Killing herself with a young toy boy,
Her chipped manicure, dyed red again.
Forty chains until the morning
Until the morning starving bodies
Killing someone so they can live
The only destination, the chill of handcuffs

six word story

inside his pants. diamond. a miracle.

an enemy

he held a pen in his hand. a white sheet of paper waited languidly. for breathing life. but there was something twirling all around him. taunting him. torturing him. even to the point of haunting him. he tried to shoo it away but it kept coming back. swirling round and round, and round. words, things that he had once enslaved, now eluded him, mocked into his face with a sardonic smile. he couldnt stand it anymore. quietly, very quietly he dropped the pen. and with one loud smack the mosquito sank down to the floor. the paper was watching.

the wait

he had waited for this morning since ages. he slept early last night. it would bring morning sooner. but restless on the bed he stared at the cold sunlight that reflected off the moon. but morning will be here soon. with gleamin warm sunlight piercing thru reluctant moisty leaves. turning the earth we call home orange and red. and he'll step out. he'll smile facing the semi circled sun his face will be orange and red. it will shine on his forehead. and then, then he'll stretch out his arms and run on the road headed to the sun. for this one moment he will touch bliss.

a fresh page

neatly, he turned over to a fresh page. he stopped to think. held his pen against the paper and wrote a poem. he loved the sound it made. the friction of the paper against pen. the romance. pages upon pages words flow in uninhibited vehemence. words come screaming out dancing in merry, weeping in pain.he finsihed the last few words 'for all that was me'. he looked out of the window. children played in the streets. they shouted they hollered they made unintelligible sounds. he turned back. tore the pages. he mused at himself and turned over to a fresh page

there were faces on the walls he'd seen before. in dreams. perhaps sometimes in the sky. two crystal eyes trapped in a whirlwind of confusion and hatred. two crystal eyes gazing at a distant land. nothing else but the eyes. he could not stand them. he punched the wall. he broke the mirror.

she lay him to sleep and walked out the door hoping he'd wake up, stop her, hold her tight, swallow her tears.
but then she stopped, walked back in, picked the knife, fell over him, and hoped she would never hope again.

i dont know who this she is

stones gathered in the backyard
fallen from trees
ther's a light that shines through mist
or is it your blinding eyes

snow in the mid summer
trickling down the window pane
yellow stains it leaves
reminding how we went insane

clear clouds in the clear old sky
a bird's swayed flight
like guitar strums on your wrigggling spines
tears the silence of the night

drops of water on your forehead
they trickle down ur nose
the cheeks they smell moisty green
your tongue a fragrant smoke

goddmait why i wrote this

often i've wondered aloud
in my dreams n in my thoughts
in the pages that i ve torn apart
in the deafenin silence of my heart
was it ok for her to die before i was born

often i ve heard a voice
speakin softly to a coming child
speakin softly in her waking demise
speakin softly words that apologize
softly, ever so softly the words go flying by

often i've seen lights dance
with the blueness of sky
with the bleeding tongue inside
with the fine white foam rise
fine white foam in rain drenched snow

often i've curled up in bed
hoping to whip these thoughts away
hoping i'll see her another day
hoping to never hope again