The Sky Always Rests Facing Us

A quiet gaze at the sky
is never really quiet

Transparency, simplicity
something seems right up there
to stray, to find, to let go

Back down here
are people always in check
and equally opaque walls


.

The Curse of A Beautiful Smile

  

She has the prettiest of smiles 

but sometimes sad, sad eyes

.

The Boat of Heart

Drifting on the boat of heart
without a longing

It looks same, the new same
everywhere

Evening
a sun squeezed evening

Wind crawls through the knuckles
circling gently around blades of grass

A fresh evening scent
Life
waits on both the sides
yearning to be lived

Serene

Wild flowers live in hope
sweet and decadent
the whispers of river

The river is gentle

It sounds calm
when the oars cut it across
It sounds way simple

.

The Innocence of Sadness

Hope is like a fine fragrance
just a little dash
enough
to cheer you up long & bright

On the other hand

whenever you try to divide sadness
it leaves a remainder
enough
to make you sad again


.

Sympathy for Lust

Lust is denied

the format of an objective question

Always a brief explanation is required

in around 100 or 500 words

Lust-

the acoustic version of Love

.

A Dog, A Butterfly

One unkempt, infected dog
in its heat
barks at flowers
burdened to the core
with its frenzied displeasure
against anything beautiful
or nearly close to it

Hanging low from
the other side of wall
are green scared branches
with flowers in white
almost dried under the
burning callous sun

Insanity of the bark
carries far
A few passer-by
hurl at it stones
casually, or
out of thirst
Hardly any shade around
straight built walls

A butterfly appears from
nowhere
sits quietly on its back
and starts licking
its maddened
dishevelled fur
around where
fleas had always
been shitting
and making merry

The butterfly holds up
gently,
patiently,
thoroughly

The fleas
flee
one by one

This dog with burning eyes,
almost always
had a frothing mouth

A soft touch
was awaited for long

The incessant howling stops.


People tend to seek roses-
but only the good roses

That was the only instance of love
I ever witnessed


.

A Late Night Cigarette Seller

Crossing the road
on my way out of a bar
I saw around the corner
a late night cigarette seller
carrying his stuff on a tray
hanging by his shoulders

Hurriedly I asked
for a mouth freshener
before getting into my ride

But just as I looked into my wallet
I realised that I didn't have any
change
So I told him not to mind
whatever I had asked for
as I didn't have any change
and I got inside the car

While the car was  swerving around
to find a way out
he quickly tore a sachet
and handed me over
indicating offhandedly
that I still keep it

He wanted me to have it
because he knew that I wanted it
but more so
because perhaps he knew
what wanting felt like

He works late at nights for
every cigarette at hand
for a margin of a rupee or two.
I presume he understands a simple desire
very well

On my way
I decided to look out for him
the next time I get to cross that street
when it occurred to me that
in the quick succession of events
I never could take a look at his face


Now all I have with me
is a nameless, faceless
fifteen year old
late night cigarette seller
one who understood
what simple yearning
could mean to people-
no matter where they came from
or how satisfied they were in their lives
or not


.

A Quiet Upward Gaze

when delicate cotton flowers
swell equally on both the sides,

white trail of a jet plane
tries to fence which side of the sky?

Dead Hawk

A hawk lying dead
beside railway tracks
over dry gravel stones-
That was the closest
I saw a hawk

It looked like a bloated
small sized black
plastic bag
filled with garbage
abandoned
almost buried
in the hot gravel stones
spit upon in passing
pissed upon in evening



Majesty, nobility etc.
are bonus levels
to hog points
in the game played seriously
by the living

While dead,
this hawk
could have easily
been mistaken
for a regular dead crow
with its beak open
and feathers apart
like how they are usually found
next to a railway track


.

A Sigh is A Prayer Not Aware of Itself

Day after day
the ritual evening assessing
of the only liveable possibility
amongst the hundred empty possibilities
with a cigarette in hand
and songs playing on the earphone

Heart yearning constantly
for a way for its wishes
to make through to
its comforting conclusion
A mild rage,
this silent desperation
to make it happen
somehow
anyhow

The song starts rhyming the reverie-
it befriends it
you play it on repeat,
the song inhabits it

This song now
has become an evening prayer
with the smoke of the puff
illuminating the evening clarity
over the just lit lights
and the low flying crows

This is what makes a prayer
a prayer-
the calm will of a warrior
in need of some help
to fight fiercely for
a true longing

Amidst the chaos of the city
and the dimming sky
this narrow lane has become a
holy place
because a prayer has been needed
by a burdened soul

A prayer, this hurt
hurls with the dust
upwards
longing for sky
one day, everyday
all over
Innumerable instances
of this world's inadequacy to provide its humans
the warmth deserved by these humans

Whoever keeps a note?


.

A Girl Always Just Two Hands Distance Away

I see
something
quaint
yet ductile
in you,
sensible
but vulnerable
to the ways of
the world yet
to be discovered. I
think
you ought
to charm the
devils of life
to your sweet
inner
seduction.

I like the vibe
of a volunteer in
you.

There will be
hoards of
men
who ought not
to have
kissed you
in your
drunken
ecstasy. And a
few, who
perhaps
deserved it
a bit more.

May you stay a
fair child,
always

Time Is The Best Band-Aid

"Time is the best band-aid"
I told her
She hesitated to believe

Pain is hurtful to let go

Like all the other women
she looks lonely
travelling in the ladies' compartment

Only escalator seems gentle to her
It understands

Poor mighty escalator-
cursed to the fate of Sisyphus

He was an artist
She was in awe

A man, most definitely, is hollower than his works

Time, still, is the best band-aid


.

Happy Birthday

Birthday girl's
name-
perfect graffiti
on the cake.
Burns a
tiny candle,
spitting below
another year

Damn!

.

Front Seat of a Bus

He counts
in chunks of five
the white rectangles
midway through the road
passing
underneath him
in quick succession

To some it bequeaths
love and hate

To some it confines
solitary fate


.

Just Like A Commode

Some things are like commode-
however beautiful they might look,
are meant just
to take other people's shit

Things that you
lust in her,
she is
sorry about

She is not always lonely

Just like a commode

Girls With Zigzag Hearts

With time

I have realized

that the rare periods of

solitude with

unshared, disengaged self

is a better keep than

dispensing time

playing

hide and seek

with ordinary crotches

inside expensive underwear

What I still don't understand

is why

girls with zigzag hearts

and messed up heads

have lively eyes

but

melancholic

cunts

.

Boyhood

I was jinxed
till the spell broke

when for the first time, I saw

a woman nude

That's when I realized
that without clothes
women are
different creatures
altogether
A different creation
deserving a separate noun-
an abstract noun
a different horoscope
too, perhaps

A trickery
this surreal haunt-
one move
to betray mankind
stealthily
A hypocrisy
A punishment



I was a boy
agape
besieged
grappling with the secret
of this dual existence

But
soon I understood
what business of being a man
would be like
in one serious aspect


.

Thousand Hearts

A man is
born with thousand hearts-
to be plundered one by one

A woman is
born with thousand hearts-
she, chooses carefully

Tales of Heartbreak

Told by the broken-hearted,
their own heartbreaks
are often one of the most
beautiful tales

Pity, it could never be told the same way
word-by-word, to the ones
who broke their heart

But perhaps the story of a heart break
can only be told beautifully
this fucking way

.