Broken yet complete

The pile of dust on the Irish carpet, I thought

of love to be that dust,

Like a unwanted desire to be wanted,

As if it’s all about surrendering your worth

to a pedlar or

letting a clown paint your face and mock at it

inartistically.

It was a tip- tap game, with millions of buffaloes

on a cliff, stampeding off,

or an exam, as essential as your life but

you are destined to fall, and poorly, even from a

table as high as a five year old – fall.

I hate sun and it lives on my head

I hate rains and they believe I am their partner.

This is what, the whole scheme was written for,

by a wise, wise** shrewd old man,

to break the youthful heart

into the whims of a witch, delicately savouring its

pieces,

feeding on its fleshly life.

Ghostly love/like

This was all I ever wanted

In a reflection, ambuscading, through a key hole my deep blue eyes

roving, before the drapery conceals me, I

touch her creamy back, wonder the imperfection

inviting me.

Out of the disproportionate window,

watching over her, I anticipate this time, all I ever need.

Painting her as I fancy the thick curls brushing

my face, the flickering eyelids teasing me,

I run to reach to her

but she shuts the window.

Admiring the satin skin in faint stars, till the

gentle breeze flows me in through the gaps, minute gaps.

I listen to her plastic talking, all night long

to a many people, I think I never knew,

She perceives my presence

around her ear,  when I whisper, around the age old lamp

when I blow the candle, around the chime

when I present my heart,

but

she ignores,

she overlooks her hand held against mine.

This brings me down from the ceiling down her bed,

I hear her, loving someone,

but I don’t know how to cry.

Waiting eternally to go back to where I belong,

Out her window, out her scent

till with morning light, she sends me free

only to lie and think of her, waiting eternally to go back

for a dawn to rise all over again.

Eyeing her all over day, searching for the words

I ll have to say,

till at night, I see her loving someone.

Sister

The sisterly threads tied in our notions

takes me to her gentle world every time

she makes a way to look into my

 misreckoned world.

I find in her- an unconventional cheer

some impalpable moments, the moment

she reads my face and laugh

“you aint that beautiful now”.

The holy nights used to fancy

 under our blue stars

 when she warmed my numbness

with her saintly arms.

Yearning to stumble one such evening

again, to wear the foolish

delight, of her being a fool

again, in front of my eyes.

Snow white is gone, now no river flows

in my room, see the canvas

in our heart getting lusterless again, for

I can now only wish you.

The rabbitholes long to see us, they

told me,  the giggle, the laughter

we so apart, the hearts don’t match

or this is an illusion.

Last noon, you came to me, a

revelation offered, and I fuzzed,

there lies a kid, who wants a

friend, a companion, a sister.

There goes my bode, you child

I know “I am not that beautiful now”

but I will make you beautiful..

forever.

500 days of summer

His world, from tiny droplets of naked blood, fell into my coarse life.  The incontrovertible elements, snowflakes, cautiously extracted leaflets and all the wordings of my reserved days, so effortlessly dwelled in the red and white palms of his hands that I knew, the animal in me would habitat in there, unafraid.  The aura enveloping his unconventional reasons, buried me in him, every time his scent reached to me.

Rains were only tears, but somehow the ill matched, passive alliance belonging to none of us, encompassed both of us. The deep blue, salty water gushing past us, evaded and the clouds accepted their lost partner.

I termed him ‘Dream catcher’.

On the roof, with light glimmering, his naked self was ravenous appetite to me. I ate his inner persona like an insatiable beast. It did not hurt him, I made him alive, immortal, in my arms. These moments, pilfered out of the pits, tranquillized the stormy amalgams of pain and whiteness. Soon, the voracity for his precipitation ripened. He served, not as a cat’s paw, but as words serve the paper, relating to its loneliness, a meaning.

If he was beauty, I was the reflection.

Those 500 days saw a hundreds of seasons.

The redness around averted manoeuvres and ached some eyes, far away from the sky of the birds.

As they say, the time finally arrived. The ‘nemesis’ putrefied my blood- ‘the greed’.  The pernicious trumpets assaulted my home, and turned me into a rogue, a cad, devouring the red flesh.  The forest was impervious to my calls, all I saw were vacuous glances and all I heard were my own sobs.

I deceived him, and now my soul deluded me.  The worlds laughed at me when I laid, scribbling on the sands and the dark water engulfed it , in no moment, the water from the eyes.  It rained and I showered to wash out the greys…             but the unfathomable silence choked my hope.

I was in a desert, a dry place with no ends, no mirage to console, just ominous air and black sun. Should I relinquish…         I disintegrated.

Daring not to look up, I tried hard to forget and silently die but...

…ruffling in my hair,     I felt loved.

The elixir of his truth, and I was reborn. He made me immortal, in his arms. He walked the deserts, cried in voids...              loved me with all.

He is my abode, the habitat of an animal, a madwoman laughing, unafraid.