Paradoxical Wreck

I stayed under the moon too long.

I am silvered from

Collecting the names of the lovers

Who treated me like flowers

In those two arms

And threw sorry along with me.

Both crushed into a pile of memories

Of little and little more of their lives.

It’s a fact all that is silver

Doesn’t have a lining.

Not all those who are crushed,

Fade.

Sometimes you don’t need a line

But a fork to pick yourself up.

Especially, when that building came down

Before you could find a way out.

So, I cross my heart and

Find my place in a corner of

The elevator shaft.

These cold days of December

Burn brighter than the sun.

As I watch the elevator

Coming down, I realise

Why was time invented.

Slow and steady is the promise

While time unceasingly moves

In one direction

And usually heals if you let it.

Screw that, it’s paradoxical

That I break myself, to remake myself.

Like every other brilliant process

It takes time.

MIND IT

A loaded gun in your own hand may not kill you

but your mind loaded with the thoughts

of your lately wrecked relationship

can destroy the shit out you.

Even if it wasn’t a relationship.

Your own flesh tires you up.

Diligently questioning about

letting it revel in his

and for making a home in it.

Your own heartbeat stares you

outside of yourself, panting and

waiting for some clichéd answers

to calm it down.

Underneath your every breath,

You hear some soft lines

Of the poem he left 

In the corners of your mouth

while kissing the last time.

Your eyes forget to function

And take up different climates

From torrential downpour

To the dessert like dryness. 

 But they never forget to open up.

Every organ turns into

An explosive device

And that’s… that’s what it does to you.

 Every passing day you just

end up surviving the series of blasts.

Things that matter in the end

Budhha said

“In the end only these things matter

How much you loved,

How gently you lived and how gracefully

You let go off things

That were not meant for you.”

I can’t measure the first two things,

I’m shy at saying I love yous,

It’s like a monumental task for me.

But I’m sure the last thing

Is going to mess up everything.

Because I know you’re not

Meant for me

And I have no idea

How I’m going to let you go off.

I’ll forget about the gentleness

And the gracefulness,

As living will be an awkward,

a tough practice.

It will hurt a lot more

And matter a lot less.

One of the best things

For a girl could be

Growing, growing 
and growing up
As a little heartbeat

In the hands of the
 first man of her life.

To become the replica
 of her father

Would be the best ever

Gift to her.

It would help

In his absence on few days,

The father’s day,

For instance.

Time travels 
only in one direction

But some of the
 thing could be hers

Only if he believed like her

That he was not his illness.

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.

  

love angles know where they turn

MY GAZE COULD ONLY

HIT THE SIDE OF

YOUR FACE

WHEN YOU WERE

BUSY WARMING

YOUR EYES- UP

FROM HER BOBBY PINS

TO THE EDGE OF HER

YELLOW PUMPS.

I COULD NOT HELP

BUT SMILE

BEHIND MY EYES

AS SHE WAS BUSY TOO

CUPPING THE WINE GLASS,

FLUTTERING HER EYELASHES

AND DROPPING A DRY LAUGH

HERE AND THERE,

UNAWARE OF THE

FIXED LOOKS AT HER,

OF ENVIOUS ADMIRATION.

SHE SEEMED IN FACT LOST

MAYBE IN THE HIDDEN

PRESENCE OF SOMEONE

SHE LOVES.

HOWEVER IT’S FUNNY

TO SEE HOW YOU KEEP

YOUR SOUL ON SALE.

A library of your love

And should you ever happen to leave

Or in whatever case it is me,

I’ll always have the words.

So many words dipped in ink

Filled only with your scent.

So many words with so many

Letters huddled together

In your eloquent sentences.

So many words including all

 The whispers and longings

You drew on the surface of my skin.

So many words we exchanged

Without even giving them

The privilege of voice.

And so many words will always

be with me because once you

were with me.