paper kites

you traced routes
on the small of my back
coarse fingers
your atlas hands
painting their blues
making oceans of me
and leaving ships in my chest

the crazy that was my heart
and the things
left unsaid
in the long couple of seconds
I shut my eyes
against the storm
hitting my sky

cages we form
that I would happily
never breach

some have names
but most do not

Writing of love as music

the sound and the timing
of you
your breath

overlaps with mine
in a purple haze
of dim city lights
staccato-ish
hitting and leaving me in
allegretto

the high notes
are the rooftops
which see the curves of
the planet
that you and I
inhabit
and then don't
meandering through our
existences
flitting between spaces
and infinities

while the absences
seem like stretched fermatas
ensuring my heart is bound
leaping up at so much as
half a ray of sunshine

I write of love
as if it's music
between stave lines
when really it's just me
bleeding
seeping
colouring
marking
weeping

drake, iron and wine

send yourself out in the rain
mark crooked windows
them blue window panes
send out ships from your chest
send them out in the rain

the rain which was deep
deeper than the indigo
yesterday
is escaping from the vastness
of the universe
tipping stars over
and finding its way
into your cup of tea today
spread open your finger tips
and invite it in

the late evenings
were full of ghost cars
finding their homes
only to send themselves
out in the rain again
as the earth spun
spun itself silly
the cub's nose remained
as the 'x' in algebra
there
there
ever there

insignificance

sometimes
on Tuesday evenings that stretch into
forevers
you come to mind

you, whose name I haven't decided
who lives in swirls
of red and hues of it
who is a constant companion
in the loneliness that comes
with this soul
and all the poetry

hazes visit you
your irises
they tell you of the look I had on my face
yesterday
whilst I waited for nothingness
and the tips of my fingers
when they touch the keys
to write what I don't feel

perhaps it is solace
or puppy breath
or rain on that verandah
illuminated by street lights
or maybe almond cookies
that conspire within their hearts
to replace your thoughts

your thoughts that come trotting
wearing gum boots
smiling
waving
promising
and confusing

they leave huge footprints
and in all the wrong places
and when she comes knocking
tomorrow morning
she'll be wondering
who exactly wears gum boots
in the balm that
comes with june

50 for 1500

Only if they hung lower in the sky
You
I
And these city lights
Oh baby
We'd be one with the stars

Books written for girls - II

thirteen days before
that evening

I wrote some lines
some winter melancholy
that leaked out
on the pages
of my journal

three christmases later
we have stretched ourselves
into the longest
winter
of our lives

one that's beaten
the warmth
I have faint
recollections of

sometimes
when we don't
remain us
and memories
of sounds and smells
become associated with
freckles and frowns
roads and restaurants
serving as reminders
of little milestones
down the road
you took

that's when it
all hits you

now I think separation is okay
you're no star to guide me anyway
you only wanted me to play a fool
play by your rule

trans-atlanticism

music in a quiet room
too loud
too much for the
fuzziness
in your head
to catch

water under the bridge
is never coming back

what remains though
and fast in place
are the scars
you receive
in love
and battles

they attempt to
fade into and
become one
with your skin
your skin.
rough and smooth
cool on a summer's afternoon
enveloping
on a noisy rainy night

across borders
and horizons
under our skies
and different ones

it's a bitter sweet
symphony
elaborate and how
varied, meandering
the empty lines
of my verse filled
with some musings
of his own

names that can't be pronounced

i believe you need to be in love to write poetry.
you need to be in love to appreciate poetry
and to think about it later on
even if your computer shows new IMs
or your phone new messages

i believe you need your dog to fall asleep
to look at him with your heart full
and a-gush
(i believe you need your dog to fall asleep
to coin words such as a-gush)

i believe distance breaks
as it is breaking right now

i believe age should never come between people
and neither should circumstances
it makes me want to tip the world
upside down
and send the water of rivers
flowing from deltas to
the highest tip of melting glaciers

i believe people need to feel so alone
that they finally feel complete

i believe it is important sometimes
to believe in the power of divinity
external to oneself

i believe late nights
cause melancholy

we just crossed the threshold

dark bitter chocolate
hazy moments
through hazy eyes

roots
uprooted
and the earth
scattered
into abysses of
transatlantism

conversations
and laughs
emanating like smoke
now lost into
anonymity

when we leave
globetrotting our ways
into life
attempts to backtrack
and trace back home
will get feeble

in a bullet proof vest
with the windows all closed
i'll be doing my best
and i'll see you soon

Jobs and Itunes

in your love, my salvation lies

in your love, my salvation lies

in your love, my salvation lies

in your love, in your love, in your..love

humming a tune

not known before

in your

life as you'd known it

stood beneath an

orange sky

these days

and nights

bought in exchange

for many a dreams

lost and shattered

i just feel

as if it's time

to pack and

leave

again

in transit

for the love of

brown eyes

and butter

and sanity

i will be found

again

when the locks

on my suitcase

are worn enough

and the souvenirs

from travels

stuck securely

to the fridge

when i have

home to come back to

and when friends

and the past

do not do this

on nights alone

in an empty house

the title now

makes sense

unintended

like the dent marks

we often put

on cars

and each other

in your love, my salvation lies

not my playlist

a sunlit morning

i'm alone

but i'm not lonely

bring the sunshine

back to my eyes

wait for me

i'm not ready

to string words together

without music

to face cities

without you

as i turn page

over page

the thought

and smell

of my city

return

there's a different design

and purpose

behind that skyline

your fingers streak

sunsets there

as your breath

clouds my thoughts

i can only ink -

you can paint

life size

words

that I only hear

but I'm sure

they talk of love

a love

separated by distance

and circumstances

a love

separated by geography

and constraints

a love

separated by human nature

and a habit

to continue habits

suffocation

sudden and tearing

glass doors open

to the sky

where two

young

and battered

each more than

the other

come together

even if only in spirit

what.

is.

not.

if at all.

questions

dozens of them

and an ever-growing pile

of work

and worries

in the usual humdrum

lost

with the usual humdrum.

why?

calm

after the storm

gates thrown open

to insects

flying about

bumping into

the street lamp

monsoon rain droplets

illuminated by

mute white

as they rest

serene

on hanging wires

telephone

electric

various

and many

the scene outside

my window

is frozen

exhausted

unable to move

any more

no more

brightness

facing me

hurts eyes

and is reduced

a little bug

blown off

as it tracks

new paths

new life

mollycoddling

and melancholy

~ exterior ~

Love is over-rated. But is it?

Cause when you're intellectually convinced, you go back to check if you're emotionally convinced too.

Pictures.

Hundreds of them.

It's funny how things you need and things you want aren't the same. But then you probably knew this all along. Maybe not. All the while when you were writing yourself off, nobody reminded you second class isn't the way to do it. And maybe being second class for so long makes you believe there isn't another way. It's the same thing as telling the same lie a thousand times to convince people it's the truth. Somewhere the truth gets lost. Here the self got lost.

Without options. Without the option of even the self. Now c'mon - you would agree that's not asking for too much, this being the 21st century and all.

A thousand different things at the same time. Voices. Screaming. Louder. Louder. Louder. Blames. Accusations. Screaming. The "past". (What the hell is this past anyway? Cause it's too goddam complicated.) Louder. Drowning. Games. Strategies. Astounded. Louder.

Mess.

And there are things which you must consider. Why.

When you can't translate everything into poetry

A leafy arch overlooks

A tea stall tucked

Under the clouds

Stone tables

And stone benches

A pet dog sniffing

With curiosity

And an obvious grin.

Just then the clouds come in

Oblivious to surroundings.

Dragon flies against

The grey of the sky

And right there

With the sun in your eyes..

It's you.

Against the green

On a toy train, I skipped away

Curves and bends down the way.

It's a steep climb

There - you see the town in the valley

And just before that,

The train tracks you left behind

Running together.

Always together.

Reminding me of his take

On life. On love.

Right then I peep out

Of my toy train's

Toy window.

Into the sunlight.

An inch further.

Another inch further away.

And just then

His smile illuminates

The door he's standing at.

I'm a long way from home

And it's going to

Be a longer journey back.

as most cities are

Lightning demarcates

boundaries of clouds

blanketing this inky night.

It's a lonely city

as most cities are

an occasional passer-by

and a painful pull.

Transatlantic.

Who knows how much havoc

intermittent flashes of

lightning cause.

They sure light up the world

for a tiny second

here

and there.

But they're unaccompanied

by thunder.
Or rain.

Much like this city -

lone, alone.

They say everybody

grows up.

And grows hard and unforgiving.

Life then, I believe

was never a child.

And living - never child's play.

Where do you run?

As the world watched you.

Where do you hide?

Maximum text support.

Exhausted.

Not on loop

This love's all you and I got
to love and be loved
on end absolute
in the other, quite another.

...

This life's all you and I got
our time is short
who knows what the next corner
you turn, bring?

...

This is about lilies and ink
echoing your colours
happily, unhappily
even so.

...and what about women?

The first time a teacher inspired me to write. And write something which moves. Moves me.

Gives me the impression of swinging slightly on a vine on a grey monsoon day. Afternoon. With an empty house facing me.

Bringing me to this house. Home. Telling him about my brother getting married was hard.

More so cause I didn't know what to make of his "Oh."

This winter seems to have it's troughs. Dips.

I don't know how to deal with them. I try and I fall, overdoing and then holding back..never happy. Never true.

Aimless, wandering.

And then a form of liberation. Behen chod sutta.

Finally waiting

In you I find

the earthiness of the sky

the limitless earth

a love full

of paradox

In you I find

the enormity of smudged kohl

the world's tinkling

captured in one whole breath

In you I find

my superficiality

reflected in your pools of brown

my heartbeats captured

in one curve of those lips

In you I find

the feet that roamed

then walked

finally waiting

In you I find

mists that do not

engulf starlight

and annoyed brows

melting like butter

In you I find

melancholy.