A love letter from my bad habits

The pill says:

You pop me in and I pull you back from falling into the empty inside of you. A gulp sound and I quiet the creak of wood outside your window. I kill the dogs in the streets to stop their howling, so you sleep peacefully. This world is a noisy place and I’m glad to let it go silent for you.

The cigarette says:

You light a match and it’s not only me who’s on fire. We burn together, like two lovers sharing heat. Who knows it better to never be lonely and yet feeling alone? I come in packs of ten, wearing a warning label. Guess what I still have people to suck the cancer out of me. They say people die for me. You do too. But I never quit to burn in your love.

The alcohol says:

Dry days, Ten Pms, Out of Stock seem like nightmares and happy hours like lottery tickets to you. According to science, an adult human is 78% water. And there are days when you’re straight 78% me. I am glad you choose to get drunk. Because I sit here in fancy bottles, totally drunk in your love. And I find no other thing to sober me up.

                 

The heart says:

Apart from pumping blood, 26 is the number of times I’ve already been hit by the Cupid’s arrow this year. And it’s not even May. I think you treat me like the heart of a butterfly which lives for 14 days and then dies. I would love you more if you try to make it live longer.

The hope says:

I’ve noticed you do two things every now and then: Throw a fist in the air and chuck me out in the ocean like a silent prayer. I may be a hopeless romantic but my love for you is not wrong in all the good ways. I swear I’ll be the raft that saves you whenever the ship will get busy sinking.

The tears say:

As if everything sad has gravity in it. Each time they make me roll down your cheek, I helplessly fall in love with you. Don’t be afraid of me. Go ahead and cry. This will only boost our love and you will feel better. More love means more tears mean more salt. And salt is the reason that everything can float so well in the Dead Sea.

Forever says:

I have seen you staring into horizons and night skies to meet me. You love to get away with it. You take a little more and a little more until there is no more to draw on, since forever. You should learn to make your choices quick because time is running out and so is my love. A slow marathon.

The paper says:

I am crumpled at my edges and your lack of love is like scissors for me. I am the lover you should be scared of the most. Like I am scared of you that one day you’ll open your mouth to cry to somebody and that nothing will come out. Because I think you’d have given me all of you by then.

Truly, madly, deeply
Yours.

a constant and silent companion

Lonely places should stay

Away from her.

As she will go gaga

And make them

Her favourite places

On this stupid spinning

Earth.

Lonely places should stay

Away from her.

She bears the potential

To fill them with her

Almost presence

And brilliant thoughts of

Nothingness.

Lonely places should stay

Away from her.

Her pulse when throbs

At her temple

is way too louder

than the hard rock

Music.

Lonely places should stay

Away from her.

As she ain’t a ship

And thus, will sink in

Those empty places

With her toes curled

And a smile on her

Face.

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.

one night stand

We stand facing each other

in a cosy corner

of a lavish hotel.

We argue over arguing

in front of a few known

and a lot of unknown people.

We try to knock some

sense out of our tipsy senses.

You crack a line and I- a smile.

A little prayer slips off my mouth

as I extend my left hand

to catch you just right.

A hell of high spirits

is there in the air

and baby heavens

in your eyes,

while your innocent face

bathe in the moonlight.

People sell water bottles

for 200 bucks

as if it will even faintly

extinguish what’s burning

in there.

You set yourself straight

on the backseat

quietly ask me to behave

and just pass out.

I could have almost

calculated it,

if I’d not been bad at maths.

Grounded

I like to imagine my feet taking root in the ground. On a wet land, my feet getting stuck at a particular position. Maybe I’ll remove my shoes off so that the process can take speed. The loose earth in between my toes will soon be filled with moss. Oh boy! Leaves will grow from my fingers. 

I will probably make a good tree. On some May day like this one, people would stop by to take a breather under my shade. I would prefer old couples. Naughty in their hearts and careful in their touch. To get their glands secret some adrenalin, I would let my leaves fall over them. But what I’ll need is some cool breeze.

Summers are bad with cool things. They don’t really get along. Summers make me really thirsty. And when I’ll grow into a tree I will need some water more than usual. If nobody would water me, I don’t think it will be a crime to go down on my knees and lick the grass.

Paradise Turns Perfect Paradise

Sometimes it is okay to chase the sun with the windows down.

Your voice is the only thing carrying across the highway,

disobeying every speed law that you ever thought to enforce upon.

Sometimes it is okay to cross over all the hills, in hopes to get somewhere more beautiful.

Where the sun sets in its full glory and that is the only direction the compass knows.

This is it.

My last journey of 2012. And the very first of 2013.

Elevated at six thousand eight hundred and something feet, we swished quietly to McLeodganj and beyond.

Drove for about 12 hours only to be welcomed by a silver light of a winter skyline, beautiful enough that I didn’t remember where my home is any longer. The clouds were floating in, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add colors to my sunset sky. The stars were beginning to shine. The moon was beginning to sprinkle its inner light. The foggy windows around me were only telling me that it’s the only place I ever wanted to be. The place is believed to be the land of peace and hashish abound. 

Trekked further to Perfect Paradise. There we sat with our legs stretched out besides the struggling bonfire and my lips shrank to the serenity in low temperature. Cupped the gracious Old Monk in my frosty hands when the shrill winds cut straight through the layers of my clothes, then the skin and got wrapped around my bones. I tilted my head towards the starry sky and let out my feelings with a deep exhalation. My feelings got translated into soft fog before my spectacle glasses. I wished if I could fold the sky like a newspaper and keep it under my armpit. 

the place itself is a home to a thousand mystical questions and answers about beauty, the right, the wrong, and the deserving. And music of course. Wonderfully noted, octaved and naturally composed, this place sings its own melody on a ‘high’ note.

During the last day of the year, I got to drench myself into a space, so occupied, so absorbing, and weirdly small shaped hole in the universe. The space certainly got so engaging that plunged me into the ocean of meanings. Far away from the bustle of concrete jungle into the peripherals of serene mountains. Picturesque taste was complimented by Tibetan flavours. That literally sang symphonies in the mouth.  

The morning heat brought with it the vibrancies of purity and newness, and I stood still for a while inhaling just the peacefulness. It's afterall the secret of life. I found myself lost in the oblivion thought of the faces dimmed out and mazed out and doped out and out there for me to search, at the silhouettes of the hills in front of me.

‘How was it that the birds sing, that they gloriously fly, that the gesture which small flowers make when they open in the morning,that the sky is not just blue but ohh bluest of blues, that the pleasant air love idling in the trees without a purpose, that every evening blooms with the songs of peaceful hymns, that the dawns whitens behind the black trees on the shivering summit of the hills?’ 

Walking down the hill in the day time and stumbling back by the bright moon light in the streets of unknown neighborhoods was more than enough to stuff my chest with immense pleasures. When there is crowd and noise, I feel there is some trouble waiting to blow up. And when there is silence and people are like localites of Mcleoganj, there is just perfection and nothing to fill the air. 

After 3 days, the time when I sat next to the driving seat, the rearview mirror framed the exotic collage of my new year. The mountains have left me feeling renewed and more content. I sat mutely among the series of sighs and the awe  just dripped from the corners of my eyes. Passing by the serenity I was positive than I’ve been for weeks, as if something has been given back after a long absence, as if my eyes have opened once again, as if I am tuned to savour the pleasures bestowed upon me, until the time I come back. Only if I had the talent to put the beauty in words... It was mesmerizing.   

  

The best of everything was the company I had. It was fresh, crazy, clever, eloquent, well-informed with a knack for adventure. That is what I call good company. In reality it helped me living a dream. A dream where paradise was a perfect paradise.

Edge of Sanity

I walked down the lane

Studded with strangeness

And filled with magical thrills

Bearing a belief

In my nerves and mind.

The lane I walked

With a heart 

that was hollow and

Eyes full of dread,

I strolled and

Strolled endlessly 

Moving left to right

Gathering in piles

Drunk on the wind

Having nothing

But to feed on my own fears

Just before the eternity,

It led me to a wooden door

Where a cracked lampshade,

 a crumpled paper

Sat on a marble end table

And a worn couch

Laid on a stained carpet.

I found an escape

Or it had found me
the pen in my pocket

felt like a blade
and I bled away the pain
as I poured my feels

Into words and phrases.





If you are not living on the edge you're taking up way too much space.

The nightlife

The sun might forget to shine, the rain might deny falling but the day religiously makes its way to the night. The sun gets enveloped by the apparent horizon. Like hues on a palette unite together and let the dusk, a thief, steal everything. It then paints the sky selfishly. The reptile darkness comes out of the underbrush like a silent snake.

With its poisonous bite, the earth gets without colour. And there they come out, the countless stars, hanging like a poem against the black board. The world gets somewhat lit by the rich light of star dust. 

And it becomes the time for the hungry insects to flush out from their hideouts. They creep in search of food. They crawl out blindly in a crowd of thousands like them. They meet each other. Sometimes it’s in the form of bright, flashy colors; sometimes it’s in the form of mimicry—looking or acting like dangerous insect. They don’t know each other but they know their common intention. They curiously feed on one another. 

The night gets deeper, without the color, without the sound. In the silent darkness two hungry insects eat each other's spit. They happen to exchange thoughts, desires, blood, sweat, saliva and lust. Two hungry insects survive the night by eating each other's appetite.

With the dawn twilight the envelop opens once again. The colors, the sounds come back to life bit by bit. The insects then once more clothe into human beings.