thresholds

young.outspoken. more impetuous.

that could have been the diagnosis.

but my pain is old.perhaps as old as yours.

how then is yours so silent

even as mine shrieks,scratches,scuffles?

i wish you would teach me how to calm it down.

but i can see.in your eyes.

you have followed your pain.

into a silence whose ignominy

is second only 

to the disgrace of my words.

souvenir

i send you a yellow heart

for you are its sushine.

the dark dungeons

of viscous disillusion

have found windows

through which

you have entered.

the crimsoned bitterness

isnt a thing of the past

but a part of it

is yellowed by you, my love.

and thats what i give to you.

banality

forlorn roads.not deserted.

their burning neon lights

reach not

the darkness of the heart.

life here

is measured in heartbreaks.

home is far.and i drift further away.

this must be what success tastes like.

musings

find me a muse
happiness.
you would know
where to look.
perhaps the nooks,
those secret crevices
you have found
in our perpetual
hide and seek.
or that dimpled smile
on a darling face
that shines out 
of a memory every day.
day after day.
or the crimsoned horizon
lost forever 
once more 
in another dusk.
maybe leaf through
that yellowed book of poems
to find her laughing
in an august company.

my muse.She rests
in the deepest gorges 
of my bloodied heart.
sunken.exhausted.gashed.
let Her sleep.for some time.
its been long.

meanwhile, i was hoping
you could find someone.
and i know 
with a novice like you,
its risky.
but i trust you.to do justice.
dont disappoint me
my dear.
or you will wake Her up.

unpuzzled

a life lived in pieces.

not a jigsaw

with aspirations

of completion.

completeness.

but in itself

of itself

inadequate.broken.

incomprehensible.

mangled.obscure.

Meaning's futile chase

will be a mere footnote

in the history

of this life.

lived in pieces.

not of a jigsaw.

slideshow

snatches of love.

ringing laughter.

curled up.

in the car's backseat.

snuggled up.

on a speeding motorcyle.

memory's tones

are monochromatic

for a reason.

timeless you

and ageless me

look beautiful entangled.

snares of love.

forever.once more.

on holiday

it isn’t especially beautiful here.

sight seeing comes undone

under a myopic vision.

festive sounds hurt ears

that seek cemeteries.

there is the ocean

somewhere at the end of which

you might get the message

in a bottle i just floated.

it is unlikely though.

for one, you are afraid of water.

i intend to roam streets

from nightfall to dawn

looking for a wilted orange flower.

a street lamped spot of yellow.

ruby cheeked laughter ridden children.

to send you a picture postcard.

you will know my handwriting,

so names will be unnecessary.

or terms of endearment.

always such a burden for us.

there will be your address

(that i recall everyday,

to forget you)

and scrawled in green ink

(what else could it be?)

“whatever”.

compatibility

i want nothing of your delusional world.

your world of love. of hope.

of beautiful visions.

of a lofty existence

aspiring for reachable greatness.

yes. you are important.

but is this the only proof?

what we share

has got to mean more than that.

what we have

is more than the sum of our perspectives.

what this is

is the celebration

of you for you, me for me

and that little suspended space

where a delicate ‘we’ has been made possible.

both worlds intersect 

in longing.

let probing hands and ravenous eyes

help us find each other.

and dissolve.float.

in a gossamer woven of desire.

free from nomenclatures.

for after all, it is but that

that separates us.

so allow me my crass cynicism.

my muck. my slime.

my sub-human existence

that discounts the possibility of redemption.

and you can want nothing of my deranged world.

we will manage.

don’t worry.

for neither optimism nor bitterness

will bother themselves with

‘for how long’.

beckoning

love beckons me.

unrequited.undeserving.

uncherished.unnecessary.

unbecoming love.

an angry love.a tired love.

thwarting love.thwarted love.

hateful love.loveless love.

but damn me.

if i dont answer it's call.

for long long ago

you told me

love is all there is.

and you are all i have.

a menagerie called life

i am tired of being the keeper

of this maddening zoo.

Nothing happens here.

all the time.

and yet this world

never tires of its emptiness.

i try to rattle a few cages.

in the hope of something.

naught breeds. in this fertile silence.

nothing shakes this hallowed void.

not even the sunsets.

thats what gets me.

not even the sunsets.

resident evil

its the lies we tell ourselves.

unbecoming of us.

'necessary evil' is

but another strand of the web.

we have blotted our sight

and refashioned our vision.

made hearing untrustworthy.

surrounded ourselves

with paralyzing offal

to be underwhelmed by 

the stench of eternal verity.

but 

the groping hands.

that is what we must fear.

Truth might lurk within a stray arm's reach.

Beware.

tie them down. or else.

"The horror! The horror!"

eloquently yours

there is something to be said.

in response to your nothing.

constant in its inflow.

but all i have is silence.

damn you.

when i said i wanted to learn

a new language

this wasn't what i had in mind.

love's abyss

your love is a bottomless void.

i look at it from the precipice.

nothing to push me in.

or to pull me back.

there i stand.and contemplate.

its a pretty ravine.with blossoms.

which winter will pluck sooner than later.

on the other side

tottering dangerously close to the edge

is a red rose.

the red rose.

the history of this..this love?

i watch it fall in.

petal by purpling petal.

and i make my way back.

saving myself

for other chasms life is lived in.

ransom

waking up to a dream.

dreaming up wakefulness.

not knowing which is which.

irreverent desire

blurs boundaries

in a beautiful terror.

this has to end.

you need to leave.

i hereby claim

my body and soul back.

proxy

a rumpled bed.all raspberry.

its been another sleepless night.

of pillowed coziness.

weary mornings greet vacant eyes.

i know your silences.

made up of closely guarded nightmares.

loneliness is not your burden alone to carry, love.

i am here.for you.

i wish you could see me.

i want you to stop cleaning.

to stop gazing at my picture with betrayed longing.

i am not gone yet.you have kept me with you.

just follow the noose around your neck.to me.

clockwork

a moment ago

i met you

in the kernel of a dream.

life's night sky

exploded

with your fireworks

but you are

the companion

of my rakish darkness.

daybreak brings its

accustomed promise.

my loneliest hours

are those of the sun.

a choice

i choose my silences

more carefully

than my words.

i reserve them

for my most intimate.

the world can have

these meaningless words

If it cares

for like it,

they are impersonal.

pretentious. treacherous.

unintended in what they say.

but silence,

ah there's a friend

who makes life beautiful

and the people in it

real.

fare thee well

a love unrequited

remains untouched

by experience.

when i hold it

the taint of my hands

rubs not on it.

it is the little light

in the dark chambers

of my cold heart.

its been a long wait

through perfidious dreams

and muddy reality.

the unending years

have tottered to a halt.

i can let you go now.

now when life unleashes itself

nothing will be exempted.

i will be whole again.

So, farewell to you,

my friend,

it's been a pleasure.

what can't be said

i can't say

i am full of sorrow

you will call me boastful.

i can't say

i wish to die

you will call me gimmicky.

i can't say

i am tired of pain

you will ask me to join the club.

i can't say

i don't want to be labelled.

you will call me demanding.

i have said so much.

already.

without the hope of understanding.

which was all i asked of you.ever.

it is time to go.

and now

for once

you cant say.

anything.

edges

gaping.gawking.

stay asleep.lie awake.

in the blitzkrieg of life

entropy is the final frontier.

i am there.

now let us pause, oh life.

breathe.so i can stop.

going quiet

i wonder at your silence.

sudden.entropic.

expected would be a lie.

the mind refuses to give in.

seeks refuge once more

in the world of words.

"et tu, Brute?

then fall, Caesar."

the fall

sleepless nights.

swooning days.

the gift of love.

who would have thought

falling out of love

would be the same

as falling in?

intimacy

once again between evening and nightfall

i return home to a crowd.

i wish there was more room,

it gets claustrophobic sometimes.

but every day i get to choose my confidante.

and nobody minds.

over swirls of smoke

i tell them about my day.

they have faith in my stories.

they never question.

sometimes i anticipate their thoughts

and set their mind to rest.

its always a quiet

intimate gathering.

they aren't friends really.

it is difficult to give them a name.

i know you came the other day. 

and all you saw was furniture.two chairs.a desk.

and books.mauve walls. 

curtains hiding windows with broken louvers.

and yet.

i had a more meaningful conversation with the chair yesterday

than i have had with you

in months.

borderlines

somewhere

in the in-between worlds

of night and day

sleep and wakefulness

truth and lies

daydream and nightmare

faith and hopelessness

our love blossoms.

illusive.ever elusive.

you and i are destined

for the horizon.

will you come with me?

in conversation

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

How ominous.

what if i were to say

i am in the throes

of a forgotten

not yet forgiven love?

would that count?

i see you

look at me intently,

then look away,

and start talking of the weather.

yes, i know,

what else could have been said?

i shall retire once more

into my silent world.

perhaps that is how it should be.

and so,

i hear myself say

“i love pumpkin,

especially how my mum cooks it.”

your smile tells me

you are satisfied,

and we can move on.

questioning the answer

How do you do this?

“It’s so simple”, she says

“Just be yourself.”

As if my ‘self’

is frozen in a bottle

or drawn in perfect dimensions

with a scale and compass.

As if i’m not

the water

that takes the shape

of what it is poured into.

How do you do this?

I ask again, and walk away

without waiting for an answer.

passing

Time sits still, on his chair

that has long stopped rocking

staring at a jumble of words

in a carefully preserved

nameless notebook.

Who was I annihilating?

the old man wonders.

a wary realization

of a wrong choice.

what remains is the mystery

of the megalomaniac.

the unobliterated words

on the last page,

as if written

for him.

He is in my shoes now.

He can’t go back.

And he will never know.

memorabilia

a lonely guitar

stands against a dark cyan wall

staring, without a wink

at the purple clock across it

unceasing in its pursuit

of the future;

taking in the loveless smoke

that invades the room,

wondering

if it remembers

the melancholy tunes

of its past

its strings

weary with anticipation.

the story of old love

is but always

one of resigned acceptance.

a day

a butterfly in flight

tentative flaps

around a sunburnt urn.

pigeons in conversation

a flood of sharp kisses

hurtful love.

a waspish embrace

in a playful chase

through no man’s land.

an overcast sky

handholds the afternoon

to premature death.

All in a day’s work.

a difference of opinion

Old friend,

i am not like you.

i want the madness of passion

the rage of heartbreak

the impracticality of suicide

i can never be like you.

we will be friends

who could never be lovers

for friendship is practical.

doable.

love? futile.unprofitable.

a ridiculous waste of time.

ah hold fast to your time my friend,

i have my own appointment to keep.

so long.

(you will come i suppose

for the funeral.

play 'driftwood' for me.

and make sure

on my tombstone

they engrave nothing practical.)

going around in circles

the lone bangle

that dangles from my wrist

is all i have of you.

in it

the circle of life.

yours.mine.

which is but the same.

i am you.

i wonder

if i am floating in heaven

right now

and you are scribbling this

as the bangle scrapes

against the coarse paper.

once again,

the bangle.on the wrist.

does the wrist

hold the bangle?

or is it the bangle

that encompasses the wrist?

life's deepest questions

lie in this,

the lone bangle

that dangles from my wrist.

you

you are good for me.

your absence

fills the gaping holes

in my heart

and

makes me whole again.

i can breathe now.

you are good for me.

in other news

in a mounting stillness

an unlikely fluttering.

life breathes in dusty corners

cluttered with things unneeded

seeks not the nurture of love.

elsewhere,

an aged fragment of paper

retraces its reluctant steps

to its faded owner.

a forgotten reminiscence.

an old love letter.

of certain loves...

it breathes in spurts.

coughs a lot.

lies unclaimed.

occasionally identified.

its faded photo

on the ‘wanted’ board

is a blotch.

dead or alive.

same difference.

the ring stays worn

halfway through the finger.

no further,

either way.

words trail off

unwilling

to complete themselves.

silences

take turns.

stab, first.

then choke.

but just enough

so that

it breathes in spurts.

coughs a lot.

this halfway house of our love

needs to be burnt down.

a piece of the past

something stays remembered

independent of bearings

of time or context

dances on the fence

of memory and oblivion.

tangible

but unreachable

the mist of thoughts

the conundrum of senses

forgotten

yet unforgettable.

remembered

and yet 

so forgettable.

glitter

an exuberant moment dances
to the tune of forgotten love.
monochromes of life’s evenings
indelibly crimsoned.