hope notes

1.       Going on your first date, second and third that eventually turn into a wedding, aren’t you?

2.       Celebrating your first anniversaries, second anniversaries, fiftieth anniversaries aren’t you?

3.       Having children?

4.       And then grandchildren?

5.       Watching sunsets that never seem to end?

6.       Holding hands with someone?

7.       Watching your kids grow up from the size of a cauliflower?

8.       Watching your parents grow wrinkles and grey hair and curl with age?

9.       Wandering places to find something or the other?

10.   Being a superhuman to someone, aren’t you?

      

Because I hope so

meaningless name

SOMETHING 

SHAPED LIKE WORDS

 PERCHED ON MY LIPS,

 BURNING.

THEY HAD ASKED ME

THE MEANING OF MY NAME.

AND I COULDN’T GIVE THEM

ANY SPEECH SOUND

BUT A GASP OF DESIRE.

SIMPLY BECAUSE 

WITH EACH LITTLE THING

 THAT I DO,

I AM TRYING TO PERHAPS

GIVE IT A MEANING.

A touch of almost everything

My waist misses your hands

Squeezing it.

You may not know, but

There are rivers and

There are different countries

In your hands.

Using them, you create

A firework and sometimes

A layer of snowflakes.

Your hands are the

Most beautiful creation…

Those have been around

A little more than inside out.

And while I lie down

In a whatever room

The pages of the flapping

Calendar are rude enough

To remind me that it’s been

Twelve and a half days

Since you touched.

  

In bits and pieces

She had a body

half filled with

heavenly blunders

and half with

demonic duties.

She had a body

temporary with

permanent madness

that kept her

moist.

She had a body

that had been

to a few places-

open eyes, and a

chest with hell yes.

She had a body

that rolled around

in her favourite dress-

that came back from

only some.

An elephant in the room

An elephant is parked on the leather couch of your living room,

and you’re trying to spot it, far in the forest.

It prefers to stay inside rather run out to you,

because running requires lifting all 4 feet at once.

It has big ears but useful only for fanning, without your words.

It has a huge trunk that waits for you to introduce first.

Its wrinkled skin gets goose bumps with just the thought of your touch.

An elephant is parked on the leather couch of your living room,

silently thinking how you’d call it, post your booming fit of laugh.

Here inside it feels lighter without the sunburn,

but deep inside - the 50 pound heart is getting heavier.

It expects your vague realities to be poured in not less than a gallon.

They make its favourite cup of tea, especially on a hot and dry evening.

Just offer them without any peanuts, as elephants don’t like them.

An elephant is parked on the leather couch of your living room,

hoping to see you before it turns into a stone, into a statue.

While its big wet eyes give a chase to the quarter moon of the night,

the eerie quietness stays and refuses to go away.

Unlike the people who go away.

They always do when they give

a fuck about the damn elephant in the room.

Cradling in hope

She is unbloomed.

Not young enough

To know everything.

She likes to believe

That everything

Is short-lived.

Just like this

Dark night

That matches

The colour 
in her eyes.

She has a bed

To lie down,

A pillow to rest

Her frightened head

And a sheet to

Imprison herself

From a creepy

Pair of hands

Approaching the

Growing curves

On her body.

She tries firm enough

To leave no gap

For the sinister to enter.

This entire summer night

She breathes in

Snowflakes.

Staring through the

Cotton sheet

At the shadow

On the opposite wall

With a will to blink

Not even once.

Escape is what

She wishes for

Clutching her

Fingers crossed.

For her

The freedom

Lies in being

A hassock.

And she learns

Liberty is not given

It is simply taken.