Monday, December 31, 2012
Saturday, December 29, 2012
gospel
i listen
i listen
to my words
for you
no
do not mistake these
words
and no
do not dismiss
them as words
of flesh
they aren't
they aren't merely
words
of the flesh
they are
words
made by flesh
given body through flesh
and fed on blood
coloured
in the colours of rainbow
and every imaginable
unseen hue
my words
knocking on your door
to become your words
and your words becoming
my veins
carrying
life
to my heart
and i listen
i listen
to my smiles for you
my smiles waiting at the turn of the corner
waiting for you to appear
so that they can become
your smiles
and no
do not mistake these
smiles
do not think of them
as a lullaby
masking something sinister
something deceitful
decorated with marquee lights
burning bright
and killing moths and butterflies
alike
your smiles
becoming
my arteries
carrying
the meaning of life
from my heart
to the rest of my
body
my limbs
glistening
after listening
to the combined gospels
of your words and smiles
the gospels
according to
St. You
Friday, December 28, 2012
letter in smoke
in smoke
standing by my window
against the black parchment
of the night
i write in white
can you read them
do they reach you
each curve of the letter
an offspring of a fire stoked
coaxed and cajoled
i run my fingers
through these smokey alphabets
to make sure they are perfect
and are spelled perfectly
the shape of the letters
is the state i am in
is what i wish to convey
these letters are a compilation of
all the things i wish to say
but never could
for since early on
this knowledge i did gather
some letters i will write and
them i will send
some letters i will commit on paper
but never send
some letters
the ones that will matter
the most
when the day ends
i will never be able to write
or send
but will
still
be able to recite from memory
this letter that i write
in smoke
standing by my window
is one such letter
and there is a reason
i write it with smoke
one reason is it flows
with movements so fluid
unrestricted
unbound it soars
is another
taking the shape of the air around it
the shape of air within me
from which i created it
one blow
at a time
much like how you
take the space
instead of the air
that surrounds me
and just like you
take the shape
of my thoughts
starting from the bottom of my belly
to the shape of the tip of my tongue
and a pear shaped teardrop
shapeshifter
you
inside me
rearranging me
inside out
and quite similar to that
is what i try to do
as i stand by my window
and write these letters
in smoke
and i ask
can you read them
do they reach you
because when they do
i wish you'd inhale them
and through these letters
i'd enter you
and try and see
if i have what it takes
to rearrange a bit of you
just the way
you
so effortlessly manage to do
so i stand
and i write
this letter in smoke
a long five paged letter
of which page one
has all the things i want to say
and the remaining four are mere repetition
but about that i shall not care
not too much
for the night too
is long
and the smokey ink
endless
and so is my need
to stand by my window
and write
against the black parchment
of the night
in white
a thick dense smokey white
Friday, December 21, 2012
wholesome
wrinkles
wrinkles
and
stretch marks
and love handles
i handle with love
the handles
and even the remaining two
above
i see me differently as i
realise
that i am capable of seeing you
differently
that i see these differently
that your imperfections
don't exit
not for me
and just to use that word
is a thought crime
so this i will do
scratch it out
tear it out
burn it out
out of our dictionary
and every other
and every other
because really
moans
and rasps
and licks
and feels
and my hands running
through the meadows
of your body
your body
in its entireness
can never be that
it is different
i know that you can tell
i know you know how
different
different from how others may see you
or not see you
at all
but
then again
there isn't room enough
for others
there is just room
for the two of us
on those wrinkles
and stretch marks
and love handles
and those birthmarks
and moles
and cuts and bruises
and scars
which have found a permanent
home
on your skin
i curl around their length
i espouse their breadth
i move in circles
with a mild sense of ecstasy
building up
rapidly
and a full-blown sense of
a conclusion
foregone
around their circumference
with shaky
want-filled fingers
oozing desire
at the fingertips
i count them
these wrinkles
and stretch marks
and make constellations
joining one mole
to that scar
hoping
at least one
would spell my name
like a man blinded with love
only that i'm not
i read them in braille
that i see these
i see these differently
clearly
endearingly
with wide open eyes
i search for our stories
and time spent together
which bloomed into
countless memories
and i only ask you to turn around
and lie on your stomach
because i wish to read
i wish to read more of it
all of it
uninterrupted
and i shall make
ivory boats out of
your birthmarks
and set us aboard them
and set us to sail
far away
deeper
into
into
us
birthmarks
and love handles
and those stretch marks
and moles
and cuts and bruises
and scars
and wrinkles
bookmarks
of our time together
folded
heedfully
in satin sheets
of our combined flesh
i shall keep
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
playing chequer with the sky
The
clear blue sky lies still, unmoving. In a constant stare down contest,
unblinking, it looks down upon us, us below, as we look up to it, with silent
prayers, hissed curses, adamant indifference and a fleeting hopefulness.
The
sky was still that day, like most days in May; the sky was sullen that day, as
it is in most days in January; the sky was unrelenting that day, as it is in
most days in September, perhaps marked with a few clouds, but still just as
unflinching, taking upon the countenance of an old soul with furry brows, and
weak, watery eyes, but still seeing things more clearly than most, still
unblinking. That is understandable. Once you have seen most part of life, you are
increasingly less likely to come across something that can look back straight
into your eyes and force you into submission, force you to look away. That is
the nature of the sky, regardless of the colour of the velvety robe it adorns.
That is the character of man too, in some way, as we impotently trade a smooth
robe for an old, wrinkly one.
The
sky was still that day. He felt it deserved a few clouds. He lazily leaned back
into his chair, took a deep drag on his cigarette, the cigarette he held in his
right hand, like one holds a pen, the left arm behind his head, and his right
leg crossed over his left one, which was stretched, like that distant relative
every family has, or most, one who is not concerned with the going-ons of the
family, but feels the uncontrollable urge to make his or her presence felt every
once in a while, mostly in matters of little or no weight.
He
exhaled a few heavy, cotton ball like smoke clouds, against the backdrop of the
perennial sky. “There you go, your allowance
of clouds for the day.” He said and sniggered, a wheezy snigger.
Just
then, he saw two pigeons glide across the sky, in perfect harmony, such
synchronized movements, like ice skaters. The grace, the timing, the comfort
they shared with each other and the willingness to share the sky. Sublime
beauty. And then he saw the sky again. Unblinking, still.
“Does
a sight like this not touch you in some way? Does it not make you warm up and
turn a loving pink or some such shade?”
And
then the sky spoke. “They glide with such ease that it hardly seems that they
are moving. They become a part of me, as still as me. What reason can I
possibly think of, to thank them for? If anything, I am stiller than they are.”
Just
then, the pair of pigeons flapped their wings together. Movement! The sky
finally had some movement. And with that movement, dawned the knowledge that a
course was being covered, that a journey was being undertaken, that some
distance was being cut. The sky which a few moments ago, seemed gigantic and
undefeatable due to its sheer unending stretch, now seemed like any other road,
lane, by-lane, which has a point A and a point B. The sky was made small by
that dancing pair of pigeons.
“You
blinked.” He said and smiled a satisfied smile. “There, now you have your
reason to show some gratitude.” He completed his sentence. Closed his eyes, his
left leg, still playing the perfect distant relative and the sky, at that
moment, was gifted a few more clouds by him.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
Friday, December 14, 2012
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
out of a whorl, into a rainbow
a little something inside
starts to whorl
every time
that little girl
standing
facing the sea
stops smiling
i stand at a distance
and watch her
it could be me
or the sea
either one
or both
who
shrink a little
and then i look
at the back of her hand
with which she
wipes the smile off her face
and whisks the tears away
from her cheeks
and i am filled
with this inquiry
so magnanimous
magnanimous enough
even for the sea
that tiny little part of her
the back of her hand
holds so much
together
her smile and her tears
and i stand at a distance
and watch her
and this non-believer
of everything divine
or anything great
and lordly
or heavenly
me
cannot help but feel weak
and i summon my most effective words
and conjure the most
magnificent images
to the best of my ability
these words and images
my efficacious replacements
for a believer's prayers
i whisper a wish
a wish which i wish
is roaringly loud
and heard
heard by the
Scales
the one true entity
that can claim superiority
the balance of the nature
which pampers
and spiflicates
all things
while still cuddling them
in her lap
and maintains the randomness
of this universe
sometimes a gift
sometimes a curse
this is my wish
and you cannot but manifest it
this little girl
weeping
smiling
standing
facing the sea
do you see her
like i see her
and do you see the
back of her hand
the domicile
an uneasy unified and a harmonious one
of her tears and her smile
see it
i demand
with a clear eye
under a clear sky
in witness of the clear waters
make a rainbow for her
make a rainbow for her
every time her smiles and tears
meet
and mate
at the back of her hand
this isn't asking much
she deserves
this much
and this is how rainbows
usually work
don't they
a single white light
pierces a single drop
like a lover does
meet his lover
and becomes a part of her
and then splits her
into different colourful shades of her
a colourful band
which was hidden
somewhere deep inside her
you have the light
her smile
you have that drop
her tears
make a rainbow for her
i demand you must
and till this wish is heard
i pledge before myself
and her
in spite of the fact
that invisible is how she sees me
that i shall stand
watch her
never leave
i shall watch
till the sea shrinks to the size of her tear
and i shrink to
nothing
but i shall not move
before that
and i won't be able to
move
after i see the rainbow
made for her
till that happens
she is
i am
the sea is
and the back of her hand
starts to whorl
every time
that little girl
standing
facing the sea
stops smiling
i stand at a distance
and watch her
it could be me
or the sea
either one
or both
who
shrink a little
and then i look
at the back of her hand
with which she
wipes the smile off her face
and whisks the tears away
from her cheeks
and i am filled
with this inquiry
so magnanimous
magnanimous enough
even for the sea
that tiny little part of her
the back of her hand
holds so much
together
her smile and her tears
and i stand at a distance
and watch her
and this non-believer
of everything divine
or anything great
and lordly
or heavenly
me
cannot help but feel weak
and i summon my most effective words
and conjure the most
magnificent images
to the best of my ability
these words and images
my efficacious replacements
for a believer's prayers
i whisper a wish
a wish which i wish
is roaringly loud
and heard
heard by the
Scales
the one true entity
that can claim superiority
the balance of the nature
which pampers
and spiflicates
all things
while still cuddling them
in her lap
and maintains the randomness
of this universe
sometimes a gift
sometimes a curse
this is my wish
and you cannot but manifest it
this little girl
weeping
smiling
standing
facing the sea
do you see her
like i see her
and do you see the
back of her hand
the domicile
an uneasy unified and a harmonious one
of her tears and her smile
see it
i demand
with a clear eye
under a clear sky
in witness of the clear waters
make a rainbow for her
make a rainbow for her
every time her smiles and tears
meet
and mate
at the back of her hand
this isn't asking much
she deserves
this much
and this is how rainbows
usually work
don't they
a single white light
pierces a single drop
like a lover does
meet his lover
and becomes a part of her
and then splits her
into different colourful shades of her
a colourful band
which was hidden
somewhere deep inside her
you have the light
her smile
you have that drop
her tears
make a rainbow for her
i demand you must
and till this wish is heard
i pledge before myself
and her
in spite of the fact
that invisible is how she sees me
that i shall stand
watch her
never leave
i shall watch
till the sea shrinks to the size of her tear
and i shrink to
nothing
but i shall not move
before that
and i won't be able to
move
after i see the rainbow
made for her
till that happens
she is
i am
the sea is
and the back of her hand
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
resile
can i bring you to bloom
can i say the things that would make you
can i be your spring
can you be that one singular tree
in the midst of my vast landscape
and still not feel solitary
because you would want me
because you would have me
your spring
waiting to be
engulfing you
every petal
that is you
your neck
the delicate stem
and fingers
the leaves
would you
play this
me
surrounding you
when the wind blows
with your gentle
fingers
waving in the wind
play me like your piano
or a flute
play our tune
would you
why
wouldn't you?
what do i want
do i want
something
that is so much
that it cannot
find a place inside you
somewhere
even if just a little corner
inside you
is fine
because i intend to
take that small corner
and build a home
and be the spring
surrounding that home
and you'd live inside that home
wouldn't you
it would be like
you living inside me
as i live inside you
and layers of us surrounding us
when the sun rises and when it sets
and when it sets
the layers
come closer to each other
wrapped warm and tight
and assuringly
looking at us
telling us
it is us
and that they need to
entwine around us
asking us to let them
and i would
would you
why
wouldn't you?
and a star
a morning star
a beautiful dawn
a divine morning
you are
you already are
but would you let me
be
something more
something bigger
than i am
something like
your fragrant spring
you the morning
and me your early spring dew
resting on your petals
and leaves
and stem
and
fill you
with rapture
why wouldn't you
when you already are
so much
why wouldn't you
let me
be
even this much
let me
be
please
do this much
let me be your spring
that makes you bloom
would you
why
wouldn't you?
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Monday, December 3, 2012
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