in congruity

brazen clamorous haggling

and

Amadeus’ Symphony no. 40

a collage of colorful bangles

and

the clinking of broken dreams

picture perfect framed walls

and

worn windows with broken panes

dinner for two. an obscure bistro.

and

i reserve you. for me.

confession

can you lose something

you have not yet found

that was never yours

my greatest fear

is losing myself

as if i am frozen

in that picture frame

gathering dust

on the mantelpiece

my greatest hope

is to find myself

which is

but to find in myself

a greater harmony

between

the belief and the perception.

let us leave

the lost and found

for things.

for me,

let me just discover.

fairy tale

it eats away.

at everything.

little by little.

stab by incisive stab.

bruise by burning bruise.

gash by coagulating gash.

this corrosive sadness

used to be love

once upon a time.

albatross

a legacy.of stories.

reluctant inheritance.

sitting in a pile of ash

wading in a pool of blood

tells.me this

blotting

burning

bleeding out

of stories

has been futile.

they are more alive

than ever.

engulfed in a scent

i have failed to notice.

raat ki rani on a winter's night.

dying jasmine temple discards.

a long shut up room.

an old book.a new dress.

wet earth.mould

summer breeze.

autumn haze.

but every scent.

scentlessness itself.

imbued.with you.

my stories have become

all about you.

you have disinherited me.

my beggared existence

knows not

what the greater burden is.

choosing

a chosen silence.

there are words.

to be sure.

hollow.polite.needed.

always measured.

nothing more.

amnesia.lack of practice.

for whatever reason.

conversation's winter.

sustained.unsustaining.

a perfect drought.

sooner or later.

choice becomes compulsion.

compunction.

eventual extinction.

the power to choose

a journey full of doubt

a deserving conclusion.

unsubscribed

not a disconnect.

this.

not likely to be fixed

by the cable guy.

customer service

is a monotonous tune

from neverland.

half.forgotten

all the fidgeting

violent lashes of temper

Caterwauling.

pointless.

there is no way

to resubscribe.

our channel has been discontinued.

to be sure.

there is you.

there is me.

but the 'us'

exists no more.

low trps.loss making. they said.

survival

i went and got myself

some sorrow yesterday.

i had the choice

of happiness

but

happiness is difficult.

it creates the need

for another.

to share.

sorrow - easy.simple.

it needs no one else.

it can be by its own.

multiply.subtract.

do all its math

by itself.

there is much to learn

from such self sufficiency.

man may not be an island

but it doesn't much matter

when you are drowning.

downpour

rain falls on me

like your love.

drenching me.

leaves me with

the lingering taste

of you.

suppled skin

stays intoxicated

in your fragrances.

suspended

it is the talk

of things.

worldly.

that of love

has passed

to the netherworld

of dead languages.

nobody would

know the difference.

not one would find out

the compulsions

of small talk

that hold us together.

we are prisoners

of our narrative.

freedom seems undesirable.

though necessary.

but then

this now strange notion

of 'us'

was borne of desire.

why should it be

any different now?

let us be.

as we are.

in fermented desire.

frozen in time.

fixed in story.

may the lie of together

outlive us both.

love's course

should you be happy

that you make me sad?

incredibly sad.

i see a worried wonder

in your eyes.

ah my love

you should know.

its you.there will be sadness.

it has become a part of me.

what does it say

but that

the chords of my heart

are still all tangled up

in you.

the fragrances of first love

linger on

not just in memory.

the ache of heartbreak

is keenly felt

in every conversation

and through silences.

you and i

will amount to nothing

my precious.

and thats the

most beautiful part.

for slowly

the sadness will wash away

a catharsis.

and all that will remain

left behind

but not unwanted

as if rarefied

will be love.

amorphous

it speaks to me.
this parrot green
covered book.
it tells me
of a world i know.
but foggily.
i could be this man.
on page 46.
but i am sure
the hands that made him
have never been in mine.
not even the familiarity
of a handshake.
perhaps the affinity
is incidental.accidental.
sentimental.
who knows?
by page 107
the trajectories of our lives
have diverged.
i am her now.
at the end of page 108.
but then.
its time tested.
by the time i reach
parrot green conclusions
on Page 453
i would have been
many.
many would have been me.
never to cross paths
ever again.
a new page.a new possibility.
the terrain of the book.
many possible lives for me.
the end of the book.
my choice.for my life.
for when it goes back
into dusty cramped
wooden corners
i will be me.again.

visitation

revisiting a cemetery.

to find graves.

newer,but older.

a known love.

an unknown past.

a past love. inevitable.

a love. past the inevitable.

nothing changes

and yet everything.

to be outdone

even in death.

there they lie

together.

the unholy intruder

with flowers of love

for one

must leave

with the flowers.

for autumn leaves

cover the graves

in a unison

that cannot be undone.

verdict

distilling love.

filtering out the unwanted.

villainous expectation.

let love be pure.

independent of you.

i choose for me.

a concentrated love.

so let it not be

i love you

but that i love.

love-hate

Don't unchain me.

no. thats not freedom.

have you been blind?

the splotches of blood

the bruises.

infested bile.

if not.your abuse

what will i fight?

what will be left of.life?

you are doing me.no favours.

that last time i escaped

when you thought you caught me?

and then punished me

for the transgression,

remember that?

that wasn't you.

i came back.

i led you.to me.

otherwise

disappearing was easy.

has always been.

But easy ways

have never appealed to me.

except that one time.

when i chose.you.

that had been simple.

it was that moment

when you had said

you.wanted to choke.me.

so now.no.

I refuse to be unwanted baggage.

i am not the furniture

you leave behind.

i am that knife.that bottle.that joint.

you carry on your person.

enmeshed together.

the devil is the saviour.

who could have thought.

frames

a surreal moment.

of conversation

free flowing.natural.

unbelievable,but there's laughter.

almost like another time.

frozen.

in a monochromatic frame

ah.but.

i can see your hesitation

the unsure eyes

the half open lips

the unnatural pause.

relish this new frame.

let it join

the hallowed collection

with fraying edges.

dont ruin it

with that

i love you

thats dancing on your lips.

constellations

all of your faces

on the canvas

of the night sky.

the twinkling trajectory

of all that's been.

i tried to show her

last night.

that's my life right there

i said.

all she saw were stars.

and wanted me

to give rest

to my tired eyes.

My tired eyes.

as if she didn't know me at all.

when i go back

there will be

one star less tonight.

but she won't notice.

witness

peacocks in the sky

dancing with the moon

a little girl on a terrace

counting stars

clouded visions

nightly exhibitions

a hesitant breeze

knocks her over

who would know

the last thing she saw

were the dissipating

peacocks

in a cloudy vapour?

someone saw.

but then she.never tells.

always the silent witness.

perhaps some evening

you can sit with the moon

and ask for her stories.

why you?

because i have seen

how she looks at you

through the windows

of our room.

now you know why

i always draw the curtains.

amores

i am the hope and dream

of a thousand stars

that wake up to nights

and lose themselves therein.

ah.for a love like that.

i sigh.

i carry them

in my heart all day

to see up close and personal

my own paltry loves

that change as seasons do

and find repose

in a hundred arms.

ah.for a love like that.

i hear them sigh.

crimson

colour the walls red.

sparkling.jarring.

bloodcurdling red.

and on them

put up pictures.

of dead loved ones.

in white frames.

you are likely

to run out of pictures.

i vaguely remember

photographic bonfires

on birthdays and anniversaries.

there is a stack of newspapers.

old.new.bought.borrowed.

you will find

a pair of scissors

in the drawer next to the bed.

dont mind the pills.

cut out obituaries

and use them.

for the bedroom walls.

maybe then

they wont call me crazy

when i say

strange dead people

watch me

in my sleep.

the haze

another reluctant morning

greets me

with a detailed plan

of nothing.

the same implacable sun.

the same inexorable conscience.

hours stretched out

like a parched street dog.

nightly repose shall come

as always

at the very brink.

saving me

for another tautological day.

it is my fervent

and only hope

that some day

night will get caught up

in constellatory traffic.

or the charms

of an amorous dusk.

and get late.

not very.but just enough.

and reluctantly

lie awake

till dawn waltzes in

with more dreary nothing

to tell her

its all over.

a quiet day

tapestries of love

adorn peeling walls

of an empty house.

embellished with

its usual noises.

it has been a quiet day.

unendingly fruitful.

in thoughts of you.

i am finally

at peace

in my longing for you.

a tribute

contemplating life.

at the end of one.

the search for.meaning

begins again.

lets see when

the mission is aborted this time.

for now.

this is the only tribute

i can give to you.

thank you.

i know not

if it was a life well lived.

or fully.

but in its mortal moment

it made me pause.

even if fleetingly.

like lives seldom do.

it made me reach in

turn myself inside out

even as wolves waited.

it made me realize

i am as much carcass

even though i breathe.

in your bodily stillness

in the loss.of your loved one

i have gained

my reason

to ebb the flow of.life.

thank you

for telling me

its not worth it.

release

waking up

to death today

was a strange feeling.

everything seemed the same

but i watched from a distance.

it was not

the shadowy self

of dreams.

this was me.flesh and blood.

rotting flesh.and splattered blood.

or limp flesh.no sight of blood.

either way.it mattered not.

There was no heaviness of heart.

couldnt be.afterall.

there's air.and here.with me now.is vacuum.

but thought fosters like a weed.needs nothing.

i know what i shall say

when i meet him -

"Death be not proud."

ah.but in this case.

i see no smirk on his face.

as if saying

a wasted life takes all pleasure

out of death.

a mindless ritual.

thats what i was.

and he parted saying -

"you can thank me later."

sensation

not loneliness.

just boredom.

this time when

heartbreak came by.

its been a day.

or a few.

it could have been

a few hours.

i can recall the scene

only vaguely

but without a tear

or heaviness of heart.

and i think of you and me

from another time.

crisp still in memory.

now that was a lesson

in how its done.

the stomach churning.

the nervous palpitations.

death.but one more breath.

perhaps that was the last time

it mattered.

the pus of love removed.

now i understand, permanently.

lets meet for coffee.

i feel the need to feel again.

impasse

fading petals aching to give up fragrances.

wailing laughter battling stillness.

or the other way around.

conversational canvases splashed red.

blanks.beeps.a mor(o)se code.

a handful of fire to etch a forgetful memory.

a life lived grasping at straws.

it begins again.

she and i

she and i.

not friends.

lovers of the same you.

you brought her first.

and me at her insistence.

in different ways

you walk over each of us.

over and over.

and yet i am

a more intimate part

of your day

your adventures

of you

than her.

I who you slather.

with bits of you,

with your muck

Your slime

Your grime.

she who gets monosyllables

and silence by day.

separate rooms by night.

who said there were

no perks of being a doormat?

vacuous

i miss the pain

the heartache

the emptiness

the desperation

that was your absence.

now there is

only an absence.

not a void,mind you.

the thought of you

is a blank.

a constant one.

like a heartbeat.but dead.

a single unending beep.

my days and nights

- a curtain of haze.

fleeting time

going nowhere.

you could change all this.

but i seem to have found

a penchant for deadpan life.