poet

Breaking hearts

Your heart will break

If you allow it to.

The songs you sing

Are only sad

If you want them to.

I could tell you I love you,

You could hear that I hate you.

It’s all relative.

Your heart will break

If you want it to. (more…)

New poetry on the Tuck Magazine

I am happy to announce that I have two new poems, ‘Sometimes I Forget To Think‘ and ‘Mountain Speech‘ published on the Tuck Magazine,a political lit, music and arts  journal based from Canada.

The link to the poems is http://tuckmagazine.com/2016/11/16/poetry-613/

So go right over and check them out! 🙂

 

Narratives of the Lake

I enjoy solitary walks on the side of the murky
lake with its gluttonous fish and their unthinking feeders.
It’s therapeutic, I tell myself.

The grey-green grass, dew kissed leaves and dark marshy footpath-
They’re all part of the poet’s parcel.
I’m supposed to love these kinds of places.

Some days, I pay the men with the horses exorbitant amounts
so I’d have a pony to pretend was mine.
The ones I got were always ordinary,
ordinary as the dull grey pigeons that shit all over the city
buildings in New Delhi.

In Shillong, the lake is more alive
but the fish have dull eyes as they gather beneath
the bridge, fighting for their bread crumbs
and corn chips.
The water reeks of death
like someone was murdered and drowned
as naive fish watched and waited.

Do lakes and death walk hand in hand?

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…)

This Summer and That Summer by Sanjeev Sethi

I’ve been reading a book named ‘This Summer and That Summer’ by Sanjeev Sethi and I have been enjoying it greatly. If you’d like to read my review on the book, check it out via this link-

https://5feettall.wordpress.com/2016/06/06/a-book-review-on-this-summer-and-that-summer-by-sanjeev-sethi/

For now, I’m going to share one of my favourite poems from the book.  (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