Yet another

And just like that,

The light falls on yet another day.

Yet another dream gets to stretch its limbs,

Yet another hope has a chance.

Yet another light rekindles in the shadows.

Yet another question goes unanswered,

Yet another bird is not yet extinct.

Yet another day to seize,

Yet another day for the farmer, for the breeze.

Yet another round of the sun,

Yet another earthly run.

Yet another chance to succeed.

Yet another reason to not pay heed.

Yet another this, yet another that.

Dear earth,

Haven't you still thought of yet another act?

To the evening sky

Why are evenings so beautiful if it's going to be nightfall?

If I do a live commentary on the weather would you watch it all?

How the sky and it's clouds change colour so often

From golden to orange to red, molten

I think the sky likes to take turns

To match it's favourite flower's burns

Today it is the gulmohar red

Tomorrow it will be the violets, they said.

Don't you think the clouds should also have a say?

In matters of importance like these nay?

Carry forward

They say old habits die hard.

Is that why I cling

to a particular idiosyncrasy

of a past lover

and shamelessly flaunt it in front

of the next?


I ask for cold coffee at Candies

even when you're not there

For Nirmal Verma at the Prithvi bookstore

after realising his brilliance

I look for a book

with your common yet filmy name


Why?


Maybe because I like to own my scars

instead of hiding them.


My playlist bears testimony to the fact that

Carnatic music and Jazz can co-exist,

thanks to you two.


By the way, ever since you told me

about the empty rhyme scheme

my poems haven't rhymed.


This once, I want to kill

an old habit

of mine

Of loving people

past their time

Did you even love me?

Did you even love me?

Or was it all a farce?

The concerts, the movie dates,

And the talking under the stars?

Whenever I see you now,

And trust me it's more often,

There's a burning rage inside me

That I'm trying to soften

My restlessness on seeing you is now gone

Instead there is composure

But the storm still rages within,

Why was there no closure?

I wish you find the peace that you were seeking

Within you somewhere

Or if it was adventure and pace that you were seeking

May you follow your own dare.

Daily ballads as reminders to the lover

Listen,
At the day's end,
When I'm tired to the bone,
Won't you remember the language of love on my tongue?

The magic I bear in my eyes, and
The words I speak with passion?

These words are as close to me as my skin.

Don't remember the small differences that tend to creep up.

Think of the many tender afternoons and evenings that we've spent together
Conversing as only we can,
I don't speak, but you listen.

Your eyes follow mine.
I blush for a second,
Then adjust.

I focus,
After all, every inch of your heart is mine.

When you smile feebly,
Remember to add in your smile,
A little bit of my sunshine.
And smile, as much as you can.

Listen,
As the evening dawns upon us
Won't you remember?
How we spent today's twilight hour,
There was laughter and lots of banter.

There was a little crying in pain,
And sighing in heavy breaths,

But even this sighing was sighing,
Over how, we fell in love, yet again. 

Birthday reminders

To my dearest Shweta, 

Every artist needs a little reminder sometimes. 
Artists like you and me,

Today on your birthday, I would like to remind you 
Of the exquisite act only you can do

By sharing a piece of your life with others

Today, on your birthday, I would like to thank you, for reminding me of my strengths, among other things

By gently nudging each other, I'm sure both of us will evolve as artists

The aim is not to make the world better suddenly

But to make the day more bearable

Spending time with you has always been joyful

With new things to learn and appreciate

Here's to stopping and staring at beauty 
And not missing out on each other's company. 
Here's to making slightly better life decisions.

Here's to artists, like you and me. 
Here's to you and another year of exploring life. ❤

Have you ever?

Have you ever
held someone
as they sleep
in your arms?

Have your heard
their soft breaths,
and sighed softly
at their utter beauty?

Have you ever slept,
and felt
the eyes of someone
gazing at you admiringly?

Love can be harsh
to those
who aren't used to it yet

There are some
who only give

Have you let love in, yet?

Poets are fools

Poets are fools. 
Don't get me wrong. 
We are rebels and leaders
And change makers,
But at the heart of it all,

We are fools. 
We wear our hearts on our sleeves
And our beady eyes are too eager to learn

This yearning of sorts has brought forth
The language of loss

The first time I was heartbroken,
I vowed to myself
To not be vulnerable. 

But without vulnerability,
There would be no poetry. 
And hence no life. 

So when you tell me I'm sensitive,
I am taking it as a compliment. 
For my poetry. 

Poets are fools. 
Words are all it takes to please us.

Things left unsaid

Did I tell you that I still miss you sometimes?

Especially when someone plays a sufi note

It reminds me of you and pains just a little

Whenever I see a handwritten note

I still remember

The shade of blue you wore

The one time I closed your shirt buttons

The one time you touched my bangles

And how samosa made you a glutton

The one time you left marks on my neck

How you never let me give you a peck

You know what else you stole

Apart from my half a smile and my kohl?

The twinkle in my eye and the ring in my laughter

Just thought I'd let you know after

You've spoken about your favourite books

My playlist has been explored

The latest movies, coffee, poetry,

Is there nothing to tick anymore?

But can you hear the still noise my heart makes,

When you try and make eye contact?

Our hands touch for a millisecond

That moment is as sweet as the coconut water

We had on the beach

Natural

I just keep wondering

What more?

Would you like to explore the recesses of anything except my mind?

Where do we go from here now?

Your place or mine?

Date night

There's jazz

And a picture perfect pizza lays on the table

We both await you,

Me and my mozzarella,

I await, then tire,

then despair,

My desire for you,

like the pizza, has gone cold

And then you come.

Something inexplicable happens.

The butterflies in my stomach jump.

Should I let these innocent creatures believe

in re-birth?

(even though I might not)

At your sight?

Help, I say on Sunday

Bored with myself

Phew I say on Monday

Work has come to rescue

By Tuesday, though,

thoughts of you begin to seep in,

(thoughts of your being begin to seep in)

Wednesday I keep my hashtag game strong

Thursday, yes I survive

A story here, a post there

You're emptied from my mind

But Friday comes,

And the filter goes,

I have the absence of of you to keep me company

I get high on the thought that

You might

return.

By Saturday, my week's resolve has weekend.

My dad

Is the comfort of a crumpled shirt at the day's end

Contentment and contemplation

Happiness,

Dad jokes,

Grey hair, well oiled

and neatly combed.

Curious eyes

The most genuine smile

His nose, which was in books,

Is now in business,

His is the eagerness to

learn whatever's trending

Love, looks like this

A hard working life, well lived

Age, looking fine

Believe me, when you see him

With his specs perched atop his head

And a single sweat bead on his neck,

You'll know what I'm talking about.

Home

Do you ever get this feeling,

At the bridges of those huge train stations?

Where there are intersections?


No,  not that of leaving permanently

for an out-bound train


Even if you're going with people

Who you've called home all your life

There's  a queasy feeling

Like you've left home behind.


Does it hit you?

Do the people on the huge platform crossing by

give you the impression that they are

bodiless souls or soulless bodies

Flitting away into nothingness

And exchanging voids?


Maybe only I get this feeling

Maybe it is because people who I've called home

Left me

I know I shouldn't have.


Because homes are something

you're comfortable in.

You don't go house hunting.

Home beckons you.


You can't go to a house, find potential

and then wait for it to be your home, or wait,

do you?


I called this someone home,

Too soon I guess.

Something like a week and a half into knowing him. Or

A month and half, I dont know.

Was it actually a year and half?

Anyway, what's important is that it remained just that half.


But what we should learn,

Is to live, nevertheless.


You know the funny thing?

I'd once read this quote that went something like:

It's okay to make homes out of people if.

And I lost the quote.

Now, tell me, how am I supposed to make a

home if I can't remember a quote?


I've tried, you know

I think I've tried it all.

Finding the quote,

Leaving the home be.


But it hasn't worked so far for me.

All that poetic bullshit they say?


"My darkness and his darkness are friends."

I'm going to wait it out and see if it's true.


I'm going to wait for home to come to me.

Homes, old and new. 

If you need a heart to break, take mine.

Don't do it for your sake, do it for mine.

If you just need another chemical to balance the equation,

Control the reaction,

Why the hesitation?

If, to heal, it takes blood and meat to feed on, take mine.

It it takes all of me, to repair just a part of you, be mine. 

Let's talk about the books of yore.

The sea and the shore.

Coffee beans.

Sand grains.

Songs.

Stories that never end.

Sparkling conversations.

Cackling laughter.

Genuine chemistry.

Intimacy.

Book covers.

Past lovers.

Feel good fuzz.

The daily buzz.

Soft toys.

Your favourite car.

Your first memory.

And then, me.

You.

And the stars in your eyes.

How beautifully you behold the sky.

At dusk. And dawn.

Twilight.

Which shines bright.

The reflections they make.

A bokeh on your face.

The simply satisfying smile.

Which is achieved through pasta, bread and wine.

Cheese.

Cake.

Soup.

Breaks.

Coffee mugs.

Tired hugs.

Let the conversation run through its path.

Let the jokes carry on as unasked.

I wish these talks never end.

Ways we have to never mend.

Destiny may take its turns, agreed.

But let's continue to meet, shall we?

Help.

I need help.


I don't know if it's just a story

I'm telling myself,

Or if it's really true

But all I know is that the fresh

scars have teased the hurt anew.


The blood curling, hair raising

defiant cries went right through you.


Do you really know now, why

you are one of those few,

That I come to?

I see in your eyes the same fear

that I used to have too.

The same quivering of lips, the same nervous chatter, the

same night chills and cold sweat.

The same restlessness.

The same listlessness.

The same nail biting, teeth rattling fear of the unknown.

Under you, I can smell the suffering of a past that refuses

to let anything else haunt you.


Tell me now, if I can really tell

you, all that I've been meaning to.

Deep, dark secrets of the yore

that no one but you must know.


Sometimes, I laugh at the inevitability of it all.

It is a bitter, scary,

cackling sound that pierces the sky and then pierces me right back.

It tears my heart apart into two perfect pieces.

One, that was yours, and one that can be mine.


Each fresh day, I awaken to try

and experience something akin to a life.

But darling, tell me, doesn't the mere idea of love,

now that you've known so much,

not scare the hell outta you?

If not, tell me, what I must do,

To leave behind these lingering

demons, that have a way of climbing behind my back, like old friends,

or little children.

So that even in the silence, I don't hear sounds, that humans aren't supposed to.


A grave has been constructed for all our dreams to fall back to,

A dark place, where I can still see you, love you and hold you, without any ado. 

When the sky becomes dull and grey,

And gloomy weather takes over the day,

Come to me, and I will sing the tunes to make you gay.

When bright sunshine is what you seek, I’ll be your ray.

If it takes pancakes to see that warm, honey coloured smile of yours, darling, go on, have it your way.

But listen, I really hope you know this, I’m not letting you go anywhere, not yet, nay. 

While it rains outside

While it rains outside,

I wish you were by my side,

Whispering the profound words,

That only you can.

I wish you were,

The yellowing, fragrant pages,

Of the book that I hold close.

While it rains outside,

I wish you were here,

To share your my loneliness and my coffee,

So that I could tell you my stupid little conspiracy theories,

And you would listen to them, half-smiling, half approvingly,

Ever like the sly Sherlock.

I wish you were by my side,

While it rains outside,

So that we could hide,

And confide,

Under my warm blanket by the bed’s side.

But you are lying somewhere,

Unknown, of me and my existence,

And, of my heart’s desires.

Your nose is in a book.

Pray, tell me which one it is,

So that the next time it rains outside,

I can have you by my side.

Demons

Your demons are mine now

I want to hold you and then hug you,

Till you become like me.

Bright, shiny and happy.

Complete.

And even if that means,

that I'll have to hold you,

When you can't hold yourself together,

That's something I'd willingly do.

I'd willingly make slow, soft love to your wounds.

Till your demons hide in mine.

And our demons become one.

And then, let's get ovet them together.