Candid

You. Me.
A bit leftover. A bit otherwise.



Stranger showers.
Penned lips. Cigarette. Peach coffee.



Poetry. Short story.


A novel, maybe.....

In the lack of poetry

You. Me. The same, yet not.
The difference of a safety-pin.



Spent lives. Drenched linen.
The entirety flushed down, today.



The habit of an erstwhile didn't last.


No balladry was scripted in the lack of poetry.....

Tic-tac-toe

Inexplicit love. Shredded time.
Tagore. Nickels and dimes.



Stoned traffic. Singular seas.
Locked lips. Inexpensive nicotine.



You. Me. Leo Tolstoy.


Tic-tac-toe.....

Singular

The tired wings, let's hold them high.
The monochrome tramlines. The tireless traffic.



A singular cigarette. Hustled smokes.
Playing masks at the length of a skin.



Off habit, born another.


You. Me. The solitary skies.....

Raconteur

He would tell tales.


Personal. Impersonal.


Faces. Masks. Identities.


Lives. Etched off ink...

One more tale

There was love.


Distanced, at a bridge's length.


The bridge had been burnt down...

The last song

A red rose. A love letter. A song.


They were all meant to be yours.


Today, I leave them by your grave...

The song

Loner city. Busy streets. Breathing traffic.


Cigarettes. Dead. Bruised.


Wrecked homes. Ripped dreams.


Short stories...

Banalata Sen

Kohled eyes. Faded bindi. Vermilion crumbs.


Sudden storm. Right. Wrong.


Scarred lives...

Lust

Untidy dreams. Undone hair. Unusual pervert.


A midnight slice. A piece of dawn.


Stranger souls. Familiar poetry...

Confessions

You. Me. Stranger stars.


Drenched, at a skin's length.


A bit of filth. A bit otherwise...

Poetry

Myopia. Untamed stubble. Pale eyes.
Words. Snakes and ladders...



Love seeks a new address again. Again.
An artist or a lecher?



Charm. Vulgarity. Realism.
Abstract? Diseased??

The midnight tales

My love, spoilt and sour
Is it real or just another fable?



Marooned democracy, over a cup of tea
How much of an actuality? How much of a lunatic?



You. Me. Drenched in the inexpensive city-lights
A dream, or just a miscarriage? 

The other side

You. Me. Aesop.
All dead. All alive.



Sane. Insane. Borderline.
Who's who?



Imagination. Illusion. Fantasy.
Where do you draw the line?

A thousand times...

A thousand times, I thought of telling you
But, I couldn't speak a word...



A thousand times, I thought of writing to you
Poetry, I could never afford...



A thousand times, my city felt the rains
And yet, we could never get drenched.....