emotion

Melancholy

Beyond a labyrinth of half-broken rollercoasters

And rusty rides of a park long deserted

Lay my dull heart, numb and unmagnificent.

Forgive me

My trespasses

Dear one

I will never be the one for you. (more…)

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Growing Up

I told you long ago
That I had grown up
Altered for the better
Casually crushing
Your hopes for sympathy
Forgiveness
Needless chatter
Comfortable silence
I said
It was never love
Child’s play
A rocky distraction
Of youthful lust
And clandestine mistakes
Today
I remember you
As I tell my story
To another one of you
Charming
Caught in a haze
Of blinding allure
Distracted as ever
Perhaps
I have not grown up at all (more…)

Ride

Death is a white man with alabaster skin,
pretty blonde hair,
un-calloused hands
and eyes grey as a monsoon sky.

I met him just last week
In a dream where old friends became strangers
and god was nowhere to be found.

Death was a man
and there was no fire, no streets paved in gold,
nothing waiting for me-
just a polite gentleman with a black Cadillac
ready to take me on my last ride.

He opened the door to the back and led me in,
whispering secrets I could not comprehend and
answering the questions that were running amuck in my mind.
Then he closed my coffin shut and all I knew was darkness.
There I lay,
as I felt the car move at blinding speeds on a curved road
much like the ones back home.

I wondered why my last ride was so miserable,
But then I heard him say it was for the best.
It was better for me to feel and not see
The life I passed by.
So that when we reached,
my heart would be free
to turn to dust and
return to nothingness.
For suddenly I remembered all the people I loved
And all ones I hated
And in that moment, I did not care anymore.
I became free.
Free to approach annihilation.
Free to die.

You see,
Love is strange. But, death is stranger. (more…)

The chores I hate

I hate sweeping floors and mise en place
and to do for people, things
I know they can do themselves.

That is why, I create lists upon lists
of the chores I hate,
knowing that I will find solace
only in a few moments
of unguarded poetry.

But then, one day
my father told me
my poems were no longer poetic
and my words, no longer enough.

So I decided that day,
I’d stop writing
if writing was to be a chore. (more…)

He goes through phases

He goes through phases with his hair and his heart.
Sometimes, he likes fur and big goggle glasses
but then, he turns grey and is a mystery all over again.

I tell myself I know him,
but there are nights when
I see dreams of his face but not his name.

It’s difficult to remember it all.
It’s difficult to articulate it all.
So, I bury the memories under sand
somewhere in my mind’s backyard
and walk away. (more…)

Tell Me

Am I a dilapidated structure that looks like a castle on the outside?
A mirage in a wet desert of unclean dreams and forbidden conversation?
Or am I real like your breathing on my neck, gentle nudges towards the sad, narrow path?
Tell me, who I am. (more…)

Politically Correct

If I was not careful with my words,
diplomatic, biting my tongue and lip –
I’d say, Godse’s spirit runs free today
like an untamed horse galloping
on no man’s land.

But then I won’t say it, for fear
of being branded with the anti-nationals,
grouped with the seditious.

Screw it all.
I just want to teach peace
and quit the violence the way
the whites quit India.

Political associations are the bane of my destiny. (more…)

Boys and Girls

Narratives are often exaggerated
for fear of unaroused laughter and silent
mockers. There are those that wear diamonds
in their ears and walk around with side swept hair
and burnt broccoli in the pockets of their white collared shirts.
They do not care for comical stories of unrealized
imaginations and dreams of blemished rejects,
dark skinned and unlike their distant loves.

The world may talk of new beauty beyond sizes
and colors. I know white creams and botox
still make the most money.

Photo credit: kissabug via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND

Why do you sing of them?

Because he loved me the least and he hurt me the most.
Because somewhere I got tired of still waters.
I fell for tsunami waves, crashing on my shore
destroying every little piece of me. I hated him in the beginning.
I hated him in the end, but somewhere in between
I fell in love with the idea that the roar in his waters was meant for me.
He screamed and cried, and I cried too. And somewhere there
I began to see the words and melody that formed on my lips. It was
magic. But the painful kind. (more…)

Salt Lake Fury

Red hood cars with metal rims were prepared
to whisk away that indignant girl who votes for the hand,
and Baboo ready to spring on those
half-wit photographers who had no credentials to their name.
There is no value for framed certificates in this land of street credit.
Motor cycles burn. Lathis charged.

It’s just collateral damage. (more…)