Thursday, December 5, 2013

till tomorrow, tomorrow?

tomorrow
i will see you
won't i

even if 
the sun may retire
and the moon
just quits
on us
i will see you
tomorrow
won't i

even if
the pastures burn
the green turns ember
and the rivers dry
and the fishes and the mermaids
die
the unicorns go extinct
and the rainbow becomes
just a clumsy bow
lying beside
a hastily opened 
gift
and the gift
itself gets left behind
from when you move
to a new place
and that place itself becomes old
becomes a place where music does not live
it does not move

tomorrow
i'll see you
won't i

even if 
we evolve to a stage
where this organ
the heart
is rendered
vestigial
and the only
thing that beats 
within us
are our folded fists
against our temples

tomorrow
i'll see you 
won't i

even if
i grow too old
too forgetful
to remember this conversation
this promise

tomorrow
i'll see you 
won't i

          is this 
          because i am so fond of you
          or is it
          because i am too afraid to die

either way

tomorrow
i'll see you 
won't i

Saturday, November 16, 2013

staging a set up

our time, i sense, is coming to an end.

i was, but a mere bridge, which was meant to take you from where you were
to here.

i believe a big part of that is done and behind you now,
no point hanging around now.

you make that much clear, as clear as the way dew drops disappear.
from that, from them, 
i take my cue, and look at the script in my hands and utter the words:

"good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
that i shall say good night till it be morrow.”

ha!
she laughs

this is no romeo juliet! you have your lines all mixed up. oh my dear love-struck puppy!
look at you! 
my oh my! 
this is a different stage
and we're rehearsing 
romeo must die!

eyes aghast. mouth teary. his base shaky, he opened his mouth but before he could speak
she turned around and was speaking to the world around. 

oh, that was then, when he noticed, he had been speaking to her back all along, 
and her lines, conversations, sharings, feelings, had always been going on, 
on the opposite side of him.
such a newbie, she said.
look at me, and learn.
you must always be facing your audience.
[wait! what! always?
  but that doesn't make any sense.]

pay no heed to me, he said 
love-struck puppy, struck down by love, he said, 
and then with melancholy, he mouthed these words: 

“love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.”

just then the big little voice inside him bellowed, shut the fuck up.
you're losing the script again. what's with this nonsense about smoke and love and sighs?
don't you get this, you're on the sets of
romeo must die!

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

how lovers nourish!

i want to 
unthread 
every single weave 
of that kameez 
with my teeth

unweave it
in the exact opposite manner 
by which it was woven
  
imagine the movement of my mouth 
over your breasts and back
and shoulders and collar bones
and the hollow of your neck and your nape

i want to render you bare
bare except
that black thread around your neck

and the little bow
those little bows
adorning your delicate neck
like a necklace of orchids
forming a semicircle
opening up a path
leading to summer land
and i want to eat those little bows 
you are wearing
lick them

lick them so hard that i 
imprint their pattern 
on my tongue

and then 
lick you all over
give you little bows all over your body

damn!
you are a mad man
she says

why?
but i really need to
i want to dress you 
in those little bows with my tongue
with that black thread
just that black thread 
as the only place
your blush 
can hide
  
and then 
i want to become 
that thread
that black thread 
around your neck

which grazes over your breasts and nipples
  
which sleeps well
and makes me fitful 
midst your warm supple comforting breasts
wrapped tight in its favourite blanket
your
cleavage

and i hope 
i hope
that someday
i can be your
basque

sshhhhh
she says with her finger on my lips
let's spend every waking moment in our home
yellow lights
mellow lights
no other sound
except
the lyrics of our moans and our
quicksilver breathing and the 
rhythm of our bodies
let me explore every part of 
you
let me sink in your blackness
revel in your whiteness
swim in the seas of grey
feed you gold with my mouth
we will walk our own streets of love
yes
we will
  
when you say it
the way you describe it

i want to get inside 
that beautiful mind 
of yours
i want to stand 
and watch 
as you form these images in your head 
summon these patterns
and how you choose these words

i want to stand 
and watch in awe
my brilliant bright glowing love...

i want to spend forever, wasting my time with you
is this insane? 
unbelievable? 
what is happening?
or does magic exist?
she asks

i, have secretly 
started wishing 
and praying for forever
everytime 
i am with you
it is like there is a sea inside me
and i float away
buoyant
adrift
along with you
within myself
so deep inside
like 
it is endless
like 
we could go on floating 
drifting forever

famished.
famished.
heady
but 
not weak
they both speak

sweetheart
put your tongue out 
for me
i need to suckle 
on your tongue
  
i feel spent
and that seems like the only way
i can nourish myself
sweetheart...

yes,
she says
but, after you've had your full
you'll have to nourish
me too

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

a man there lies

a man there lies
on his chest
pressed hard against his bed

a man there lies
still

afraid 
to move
what if he does
and his insides, burst 
out
through his mouth

a man there
with limbs of lead
and coal dust for organs

a man there
sawed-off
swimming in an ocean of bile

a man there
with a pack of hyenas
            gnawing away
                  at a fawn
    while it's still alive
for a heart

a man there
who looks into the dying eyes of the fawn
and walks away,
indifferent

a man there
thinking 
there is the world
and then 
there is him
trapped on its autumn island
writing HELP

in the sand on his palm
with tears 
dabbed in the ink of the language of voicelessness

not a single crease on his forehead
or a wrinkle 
near the corner of his eye

afraid 
to make any sound
what if he does
and his insides, burst 
out
through his mouth

a man there
scratching the reflection off
in his eyes
so that he can see

a man there
who used to be 
blind
now lost 
with his new-found sight

a man there
afraid
to know
what he'll see
what if he does
and his insides, burst 
out
through his mouth

a man there lies
a man there lies
a man there lies

a man there lies
wondering why
and 
for how long

a man there lies
hoping
not for too long

butt end of a joke


tether


toilworn


a blanket of nothing...


vapours


Tuesday, October 29, 2013

they were mine! they were mine! they were... never mind.

we used to laugh
din't we

there were times 
when i
used to hold you
align my body right
next to you
the front of my body
snug 
against 
the side of yours
fitting
those curves
and i used to lean in
and i used to 
say funny things
into your ears
just so that 
when you laughed
i
me
my body
would move along 
with yours
as you laughed

i did that 
because 
i wanted to feel your laugh
not just see it
or hear it
but feel it
be one 
with its
tone and timbre
and rhythm
and rise and fall

i wanted to live in your laugh
wanted to
live with your laugh

and 

and we used to talk
din't we

i used to 
say things
that stopped your breath
and formed a knot in your throat
no
not the one 
that pricks
or itches  
or chokes
or tightens your chord

but like a sweet pudding
a succulent morsel 
of endearment
of love

i did that
so that i could
then
slip my tongue
down your throat
and untie it
slowly
very slowly
very very slowly
like taking
small
deliberate
bites

untying it with my teeth
making that knot disappear
easing your vocal chord
so that you could 
let out that moan
of relief
of joy
of pleasure


we used to 
be
din't we

it used to be
us
and when half of us
i/me
was enough

but that was then
before
the crowds came in

hundreds and thousands
of them
faceless

all armed with
their likes
and favourites
hidden behind a screen
those masked
smart sassy
things

that was then
and after that
even 
your morning wishes
which were mine
got shared

your moments
which you used to bring to me
to make them ours 
got shared

your late night rants
and messianic chants 
got shared

the highs of your life
attracted 
and became a cause for 
community celebrations
and the lows
brought in
sympathetic virtual 
shoulders

cold

is how i felt
when 

all that was mine
got shared

and then

numb
as i 

slowly
became the invisible

bystander

who could
only hear
the sounds of your distant laughter
drowned in the crowd
raised on their shoulders 
and passed on
from 
one faceless
to one facetoomany

who could
only move his fingers
eyes closed
seeking those 
knots
they were there
he knew they were there

just not for him to untie

and now
he
i
the bystander
just stand and 
watch
and hear

living up to be
the perfect specimen of 
an after-thought
with a thought 
of his own

may be
the crowds were always there
may be 
the crowds were always there

and may be
the crowd shall always be

and that
may be
he was always meant
to be
that lost
semi-nostalgic 
question
from the past

one 
that decorates
your life
or day
or a moment
occasionally
when the crowd
gets
too busy
for anything 
as serious as your real life
your reality

"din't we..."

loss


the disappearing man


Friday, October 18, 2013

a gulp of light

here we lie
you and i

biting
shadows
off each other's
bodies

taking chunks
off

gulping light

in
the dark
i dip

my fingertip

adding
to the black barrage
of your eyes

serenading
the edges
of your eyelids

what is it
that
we are trying to do

which spirits
are
we
trying to
evoke

sinister
fear striking
yet
so
seductively tempting

that
we
can't help but
move our
finger
on
each other

like
writing
a love poem
on
a ouija board

and then 
this move

to stand in front of a mirror

first,
side by side

and then

you leading
the way
me,
following behind

i cup your breasts
and talk to them
with my 
pleading fingertips

desirous
delirious
seeking
to make them
seep
paint


with which
i can paint
the background
of this poem
the lines of which
i pull out
like satin strings
from every inch
of your body


with which
i cover my hands
my face
a string
reluctantly 
hanging from 
the corner of my lips

i try
to grasp
this string
and 
i try to
make it
multiply

in to
a
lyre

we strum
from either
side

creating
resonance

and plucking it
out of thin air
shaping it
in to
a passion fruit

in to which
we bite

with fused mouths
tongues
lips
spit

till we devour 
the last bit
of it

and then
we rub 
the back 
of our hands
against our 
mono mouths

and
look
at each other
aroused 

by this
ripe
appetizer

ready 
for a bigger feast
a dinner

which lasts 
this night
the next morning
afternoon
and the 
espousing
night

so

here we lie
you and i

biting
shadows
off each other's
bodies

taking chunks
off

gulping light

Thursday, June 27, 2013

to let go


sliver of doubt


the city roughs


anonymous

a child
a forgotten child
no name

the letters
of the alphabets 
deserted

unworthy 
he is 
they say
no 
A
B
C
D...

here take a D
D for die

for 
a Depraved child

breast fed
on dreams not had
sleepless nights

ingesting
pills of disorientation
lunacy
lack of
lucidity

wrapping himself
in the warmth of a blanket
that does not exist
the fabric of which is
fabricated
dyed in
Debased

subverted
story
he
a child
a forgotten child
no name

for him
the streams turn
dry
like the princess
of lust
herself
otherwise
inviting the world 
the universe 
and all the dark matter
with open 
arms
turns away
from him
rebuking him
she

not for him

she feels repulsed
and turns away from
him
a crude rejection
accentuating
the pain inside him
by the judgemental
closing of her legs

him
so low a creature
that the creatures
of the underground
look down upon

gone

he is far gone
even for those 
that he stands
before

seen right through

them looking
at the decorative
wall paper
coming apart
and falling on the 
ground
which seems like a 
piece of art
smeared in high-taste
to them
as compared to this
crumbling 
Discarded 
living
invisible
artefact

him
so low a creature
that the creatures
of the underground
look down upon

a child
a forgotten child
no name

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

rain inspired emotion

oh how the rain inspires emotions
doesn't it

all the creatures 
that were laying
inert 
underground
emerge 
like
wild weeds
and start on 
with their
drones and croaks
and hymns 
and romanticised verses

holding their banners high
self inflected burden
of christening
this 
as the season of love
this here 
a drop of passion
this here 
a drop of fire and flame
this here 
a drop of nostalgia
and this here 
a drop of longing

their facial expressions
ecstatic
satiated
like these drops of rain
have been sent
just for the blocked pores 
of their neglected skin


and now

now 

that the rain is here
they say 

they are cleansed

but
to put it bluntly
or as sharply 

as these shards of water
slap against my face


i say

i am sick of
listening 

to all this glorified
exaggerated praise


for
those who love the rain
get drenched

and don't sit in their 
rooms
or cabins
or behind window
panes

and
stay satisfied with 
experiencing rain
from there

i say
i am sick of
watching
the rain forced 
to make its watery claim
as the season of love

what happened 
to the summer's fair 
share of
short
fleeting 
romances

and the winter's 
stories of fireplaces
and warm blankets
and hands cupping
mugs of hot chocolate

but no
oh
how the rain 
inspires emotions
doesn't it
and makes the droners and the croakers
find their voices and lost feelings
once again

but

to put it bluntly
or as sharply 

as these shards of water
slap against my face


people 
of love
and passion
and fire and flame
and nostalgia
and longing

don't
sit
and
wait
for the rain