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.

The god of stolen things

IT’S BIG ENOUGH 

TO  MAKE YOU FEEL SMALL

 WHEN YOUR MOTHER

CLOSES HER EYES AND 
QUIETLY WEEPS

BECAUSE SOME MEAN VILLAINS

BROKE INTO THE HOUSE

AND TOOK AWAY

HER LITTLE POSSESSIONS

KEPT IN THE TEMPLE

AT HOME.

SHE DOESN'T KEEP THEM

CLOSE FOR TOO LONG

AS THEY TOOK 

AWAY HER THINGS

AND NOT HER GOD.

HERE I JUST STITCH

THE WORDS OF DESPAIR

BECAUSE I THINK

I UNDERSTAND HER

SADNESS.

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.

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.

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.

Miss Drown

when you're missing

At times

I miss you

helplessly

And Thankfully

My eyes shed tears

From the inside out

Else,

I am quite sure

That all that live

silently in the hollow

spaces,

virginal in the dark

places

underneath

the fragile bony walls

of my ribcage;

would have to learn

how to swim.

I never learnt

Swimming, rather I

Learnt to love

I’d drown

Anyway.

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.

the title goes down here

A melody fades in

with a tender slide of the fingertips.

As they move from here to there 

parallel to the notes of her moans.

A deep note emerges with the seal

of every warm peck on her cold skin.

From her throaty C to her shrieking A sharp

while her eyes wide shut.

She lies herself like an heirloom instrument,

to mark mystical lyrics for a second, too long.

The symphony escalates when both hands

play her, bass and treble clef alike.

As and when those lips are tongued,

a basic instinct wanders behind the jaw line

to inform how to play her brilliantly.

Fingers crossed in sync then pace up the rhythm

and harmonise with her secret slit delta.

The intense graceful treatment

brings her come to a climax.

The melody starts to dissolve with

three fingertips pressed hard where she arches

the gentle slope kissed, where she dips

and for it she inhales sharp.

Besides her, the ghosts beneath her ribs

come on their feet

to give a standing ovation.