Heartbroken We Are

A bunch of heartbrokens
we are-
finding solace in poetry
and music
and in the books about
cruel loves
that suffocate the very
first grown hearts

And we confine ourselves
amidst the
consoling warm talks
of heartbreaks and loves lost
to evade the wind
flaunting in night its
lover's perfume

Then we get drunk in the ritual
circle of togetherness
to let the wandering thoughts
get dispersed in
the deep dusky liquid
and the intoxicated mind to
feel the bluesy sky
living its own silent woes
and try and make sense of
all the conversations that were lost
and all the conversations that were not.

Mirror

The playground of vain person's expressions-
to be practiced haughtily till perfection,

The source of libido for narcissus of all ages
and the ones yet to bloom,
for whom you've always been
and always be comfortably perched among right walls.

Helping your frequent visitors manufacture
delightful uncomfortable smiles,
fostering vanity-
inch by inch, till it starts
hurting the ones unwelcomed in your vicinity.

Wounding people with the adorned knife of aesthetics,
a discriminator-
you conspire hand-in-hand with fate that has been
unmerciful to the ones not blessed by
the right combination of pleasing geometrical parameters.
Those marred by symmetry,
unforgiven by scars,
mocked by blemishes and blisters,
who avoid you like plague.

Empty in yourself,
fulfilling you have been to your guests-
pleasing them with cocktails of emotions to choose from
in the celebration that you can host
any time called for.

I understand you are just doing your job.

But,
I personally think-
the world could have done without you.

A King, A Queen

I am the king of all
that can be this side

You are the queen
of the other shore.

Acquaint me to
your side of
breezes
and sand castles.

Some Nights

The stars help smile away
the blistering perforations
that this life harshly drills upon
like a dutiful poor worker

The moon helps cheer up
the dark grey
that you paint in my heart
with cold pastel of indifference

Nights are for reminiscing

Nights also are for altered reminiscing

Palace of Porn

I arrive here once again
O palace of flickering images,
ones full of basic rustic lust-
smoking out of a common man's chores
when he is tired at night.
Of old men's latency, repenting their
unfulfilled past
wishing easy shoddy nubiles.
And of newly formed teens, with
soft spacious moustache
awakened by the first heat of carnal curiosities.

O grand palace of porn
I come to you again
in this lukewarm dark dorm
with broken seats and scattered fag ends
to join my fellow fugitives,
who for now are the rulers of
a few happy aroused moments,
when together we pleasure
the senseless attempts at humour
and await the precipitation
of tensed cinematic moments
with precise patience,
which will soon be dried by the
harshness of outside daylight or
put to oblivion by the frozen quilt
of the silent night.




(In the memory of Lakshmi Palace- a cinema hall that played B grade films in Banaras)

A Certain Man to his Grandson

Clouds are the
disturbance in the meditating sky

Beauty pleases itself
in its acquired mediocrity

People are drawn together
by greed or fear

Moods swing in us
but the earth is bored perpetually

Chaser of love is the one
left bereft

Someday you will understand

Flee Like a Bee

Let us flee
Like a bee

People are vain
People are pain

Lets just leave with what we got
Peace of joy cannot be bought

Pack all your smiles-
that is all I need
And put my favorite one
on the top indeed
If just in case
I lose the key

Let us flee
Like a bee

?

Schrodinger's black cat
jumping over the pile of rice
plated symmetrically
on a brass plate
placed aesthetically
beside other eatables
all with defined boundaries
soon to merge
in front of a brown brahmin
smeared with grey ashes
on forehead,
robed in loose saffron,
&
a yellow sacred thread

Randomness
or Karma ?

Mosquitoes

What are mosquitoes?

Those which avenge on blood
for being expelled to thrive in drain

Those which proliferate in plethora
unaffected by the stink of
moist leftovers of abundant others

Those which roam from one darkness to other
uninvited, unwanted, loathed, repelled
battling every resistance- of men, of science
to survive the day
uprooted, attacked, murdered- unaccounted

We are mosquitoes


.

A Renegade's assertion to his girlfriend, who soon will break up with him

Even if you pull my pants down
amongst the crowd in town-hall,
I will not be ashamed

But if I fart now
you should take it with an unruffled demeanor
for you only suggested the delicacy
telling that it was the best around,
and didn't you love its smell earlier on,
when it was served hot ?

Far Away

The waves
on the moonlit beach
sprinkle
shiny little jewels
that adore your face

The wind
flickers the candle
that your
brown matchstick eyes
inflame in my heart

Innocence

Lighting 

up the 

porch 

all through 

the night

with all

its watts

how innocent
the same
tubelight
looks
when
daylight
has befallen


.

In Dark Woods

Sanitizing lust
has been a modern invention
Out there in woods-
they follow the wild convention


.

That Cliched Little Thing

Will
this romance
brewing under
dim lights
slowly
& patiently
showered upon
by the songs of love
with slightly
increased bass
taste
like just
any other?

Or

Are you
the sweetheart
of eternal recurrence ?

Conclusion After Considering Certain Possibilities

Perhaps death is an error
because of a missing bracket-
somewhere
in our inbuilt programming codes
that fate forgets to correct.

Or

Perhaps death is a soft sand
where our ego wall crumbles
perpetually
to be its wholehearted, unfragmented,
and bathed sleeping mate

Or

Perhaps death, like black hole
is the boat to the other strange land-
intoxicated
with colours unperceived,
with sounds uninitiated.


But till we die, we are indestructible
And life is already short-
so why hurry ?

Everyday Woes

O Aviator
through the
chasms of
ordinary dreams
about women,
wealth
and recognition
toiling hard
under the dictates of
the long
hands of the clock
reaching home
always suffused
with sweat
why follow
the sun that
shines for us ?

A Dusky Girl With a Bob Marley Look Alike

As I light a Camel lights
in this cool, mild lit restaurant,
I see this dusky girl on the other table-
with a Bob Marley look alike.

This dusky girl
all the more dusky
because of her silhouette
is flirting with her fingers
with this over-enthused Italian Bob Marley.

With her lips apart, she nods
to every sentence that he is about to complete-
clanking with and then tastefully placing
the sugar-splattered, coffee-nostalgic spoon
between her lips-
as the only distraction in between.

This Bob Marley with long hair and tattered shorts
must be knowing a lot about life.

Half Intoxication, Kitten & Pink Lettered L O V E

Wasn't really thinking hard.
Thoughts were just drifting-
without purpose, asunder.
You looked like a kitten, an innocent one-
with threaded whiskers.

A dew drop girl you are, I realised
full of untasted purity
correcting my mispronunciations and
scratching my arms with your nails
when teased.
Looking up with eyes widened and
smiling with twinkling smiles

And when you were lingering all over my room,
in my half intoxication, I noted the
pink lettered L O V  E  blushing all around you

My pillow abounds the crayon-painted heart shapes
and my perfume misses the touch of your hair

I know our being apart is as per schedule
but sometimes this is so unfair

.

Petals

The young shapely petals
that I sent you
must have withered on their
way to greet you.

While they were chosen to
remind you-
of your daintiness
and your fragrance,
they themselves must have turned
drained, arid and pale.

But do not take them-
these tokens of affection
and keep them warm and safe
in the secret place you adore.

Instead,
collect these fragile petals-
one by one
to place them between the pages
of that thick and dusty book-
you've always ignored the most.

And then try not to remember it,
and not to take care,
and not to remove its dust weekly,
and let the days just pass by.

And after years
if you come across
these long forgotten folioles-
hidden amidst that
coy hard book in the corner,
you'll find them smiling
through their minicular veins,
and those little rusty lanes.

And when you listen,
they will whisper softly
with their broken
crumpled patches:

"Even if you wade through
the fields of season
to pass through
a hundred mellow autumns
you will always bear the fragrance,
you will always love the rain,
you will always tickle senses
you will always stay the same."