Goodnight

                     arms spread out  
                     w       i       d        e
           darling let me hold you
                             tight
                                and
kiss you goodnight in the arrogant daylight

Of the Van Goghs

the van goghs
will die penniless
as they always have
the sunflowers wilted
the starry nights scarred

they deserve it
all of it
for we don't deserve them


we have sought heroes
in imagined wars
and make believe revolutions
we have wronged them for too long

Gods and Demons

how would you feel
if i cracked you open
that closet of a head
and let the demons loose
as if on a rampage?

i could love your demons
for they are real
the crippled gods have fallen 

Let's Sleep Tonight

let's sleep tonight
        you and I
                  crumpled sheets
                             wrinkled lives
                   beyond the inappropriations
                    of a midnight essay  
let's get naked
        you and I
                   broken mirrors
                              crippled legends
                     beyond the desires
                      of a barren flesh

The War at Hand

            tongues
yours and mine
             at war

             gods
yours and mine
            at war

            spaces
yours and mine
            at war


war after war
till just corpses and carcasses remain?

Shtup

goosebumps
                and
the petrichor

The Chameleon Wish

How often have you wished to be a chameleon?

Tailoring shades and hues, striking a muse
Grow an appetite for it such that you forget the very fidelity of your own skin..

Take a closer look at yourself in the mirror; you'll find the tales you dropped by the lost trails

The Idea of Love

How does it feel to fall for the idea of someone?

The ideas of the faces that wake you everyday
The ideas of the skin that feel you everyday

Ideas that you build in that little messy head of yours
As if it were a land distant from the reaches of reality

How does it feel to live ideas, illusions of ideas, delusions you drug yourself to, every single day?
How does it feel when the ideas are gone?

How does it all feel?

Confessions of a Desire

I sleep to you every night
Lying wide awake to the dingy walls and the nagging revolutions of the ceiling fan

And every time I look at you, eyes wide shut, the lips trembling, the tranquil in the silence of your wrinkles
I dream of a crimson canvas

A blunt brick
I smash it once, twice, thrice
As the blood trickles down that face
The desire just gets darker
I smash it again, again, again
The canvas I imagined of you
Turns a crimson blur


Tonight, I could sleep to the sienna skies and a setting sun...

The Moth Story

What are we but moths
Waiting out turns to dance in the fire...

The Twins

They were sisters
Separated at the length of minutes
Their worlds called them twins
They called them fraternals

Habits, heartbreaks, distances
And the thousand unspoken tales

They grew up together
Wishing they could grow together


Silences were darker than one thought...

The End

The end.

Why do you obsess over a fallacy?
A fantasy, an illusion, a make-belief tale
A compulsive, contagious lie

The end, is it for real?
The habit of growing used to newer habits, is that what you call the end?
The pretence of forgetfulness you sink your yesterdays in, is that what you call the end?


The end, where do you find it?
The end, where does it all end?

Backspace

The actuality of a thousand realities would change forever, the day backspaces turned storytellers...

I Love Him

I love him.

And yet, I could cut him open

The blood drawing crimson patterns on the mosaic floor
The air smelling of severed flesh somewhat like a fish market

The disbelief in his eyes
Clenched fists, limbs stuttering, indistinct words drowned in the faint screams
A strange longingness to live


I could watch it all
I could watch it all, like I watched the lives die, every time I went to the meat shop
I could watch it all, till the last drop of blood, till the last fight for life


And yet I'd love him...

Poetry

The poetry will find you in life and in death...

The first time

They said the first time was special
I don't remember what was it like holding hands the first time

They said the first time was special
I don't remember my first kiss

They said the first time was special
I don't remember how it felt the first time I was inside a woman


The first times forgotten in the busy traffic, by the dusty roadside, in the raunchy citylights
Bits and pieces, shredded and scattered in the wounds, in a glass of whiskey, in the distances, in the obvious lives of the everyday noises...

Alphabetical

Compete me?
Complete me??

How you wish there were enough alphabets to feed your choices...

The Uncomfortable Story of Legends

The stories that you tell us as if they were real
Of broken mountains and fallen heroes
They are but lies, all of it.

That's how legends are born; lies after lies, till the facts are lost in the noise.


Of mistaken heroes and chanced rebels
Of shifting stereotypes and accidents we choose to call revolution

We have been growing comfortable everyday, bit by bit, in the skin of lies...

Out of the Box

Have you ever really walked out of the boxes, slowly losing focus, as you treaded deeper into the darkness?

Or, was it all about shifting spaces, one box to another till you ran out of them??

I'd Sing to You

Strumming along the six strings, I'd sing to you, all that remains of the lost lullabies..