Punctures

I thought it is easier to die
but the stones keep puncturing my skin..

graveyard story

I will crave in my grave
when the night will sing
I will crawl and howl
at the silver moon
I will prick my wounds
when the flowers are close
I will cry with wolves
until I die again.

untouched feather

then there is nothingness
and I still find you in it
like an untouched feather
descending.

I wonder if I love you

I wonder if I love you when I'm numb,
when the faint old sense lingers within, 
when the heat dissolves in my blood
and passively increases the craving.

I wonder if I passively love you,
when there are no feelings left,
when every breath feels like a cough
and drains my body at night.

I wonder if I love you at nights,
like the flame of eternity on mountains,
like the way I used to love you always,
like plain LOVE for LOVE.

O solitude

O solitude
Sing for me
The lullaby you composed.
Eager sleep awaits
To cuddle in your voice.

Air

I dwell in today, conscious and aware
Of baby fragrance around me
I breathe in what you breathe out
The air brings you to me
I gain you with my every breath
I mature and evolve
There are no breaks
No pauses here
Just breathing
Because the air brings you to me.

At the end of the day

I was floating with the wind
He captured my wings
I was lying on the ground
He crushed me beneath
I was waiting at the door
He locked me in
I was basking in the sun
He burned my skin
I was singing with the cuckoos
He killed them for meal
But when I was sleeping on the bed
He kissed my cheeks
So I bought some time
To sleep at dusk
To hold him close
To wait in silence
That he will love me
At least at the end of the day.

Just like every night

Just like every night
I sit tonight
with no idea
but a feeling
overwhelming.

Object of obscure desire

Now I have hugged you a million times
that every hair on my hands
knows your touch
each pore exudes your scent.
I have swallowed your tongue, it lays inside
that I taste the melting sugar
in your mouth
your yawns and sleep are mine.
The space besides me holds your body
that I keep you neat
and you neatly shine
that I see you but you're free.

The blanket

There is a room
and there is a blanket
on the bed
waiting.
There is a faint
memory of warmth
on the fur
fading.
Every dark
before and after the sun
shadows the blanket
which remains
still.

My heart weeps

My heart weeps
but the cheeks smile.
Mind is in conflict.
Is it happiness
of weeping heart?
Or sadness
Of smiling cheeks?

The becoming

There's a steady defined growth on the tree in my backyard.
I'm seeing it since the days of my childhood
I play around with it, soak in it's shadow,
Decorate it, treat it, test it.
I find new leaves are fresh with juices.
I crumple the older ones beneath my feet.
Till they disappear. The ground has been strong.
The weather has been changing. The air deteriorating!
But the tree survives. All the changes.
The steady growth on it remains unchanged.  
It grows every day. Inch by inch. When I touch,
It's absorbed in my pores. I feel it now inside me.
Growing everyday. Inch by inch. It tastes sour.
Sometimes bitter. The polyploidy has entered my spine!
Latent in the lysogeny. It surfaces like flu.
Reddens  my skin with rashes.
Bubbles the dust in urticaria.
I become ostrich faced. Tiny little head
Trying to find a hiding. Then.
It disappears. In the ocean of million such particles.
I mirror him. My plasmodesmata carry him from my toe tips.
Towards the bud on my face. And when it falls off,
It starts a new life. Just besides the old tree.
The sun becomes comforting. I hold the soil and stand.
My arms lifted to receive the 680 and 700.
My thylakoids fill up. The xylem and phloem bring up to me
The sweet milk from the earth's bosom.
And I stand. Motionless. For years to come.

Repulsion

What do you see -
The dying wall
Or flying wings?
What do you take in -
Through your breath
Through your skin?
What's on your mind -
The twitchy veins
Or wrinkled leather?
Where have you been?

All alone.
Oiled in fear.
No stains.
But old scratches
Of repulsion.

Home

I dwell in those emotions

In your knowledge of my existence

In those tears not demanded

Within those suffocating fears

Beneath the pillow

Inside scattered vowels

Enclosed and sealed forever.

Being

There is a compulsion, an anxiety speeding up to throat, madness shooting out from mouth, urge to accept and proudly declare, the scars to the world, pieces of me.
There is a drug made from my bones; it's yellow, red, green and blue, pouring the absolute with absoluteness of resolution.
There is destruction of self and a birth of mental sickness.
I stand before me to watch myself, whirl like a cyclone on that melody being played on those lusty white-black bars. That grotesque is my beauty.
Those blunt knives are scales on my skin, finely grating every inappropriate touch.
How fabulously I execute every crime! How modestly I demand every allegation!
It's because I'm a snake that I can not disown my venom.
But time and again I shout, time and again I scream, time and again I validate, the dark side of me.
But since it is one of the greatest luxuries, I cannot deny myself the luxury of it!

Hate

A strong desire to hate.
Hate the sadness.
Hate the timidity.
Hate the lack of knowledge.
Hate the lazy mood.
Hate the speed.
Hate the rigidity.
Hate the air.
Hate the emptiness.
Hate the root.
Hate the hype.
Hate the mental-block.
Hate the inability.
Hate the inefficiency.
Hate the incompetency.
Hate the hypocrisy.
Hate the attitude.
Hate the indecisiveness. 
Hate. Just hate. Nothing else.

Rock

There is something wrong. I keep refusing. I say NO as easily as people breathe. I nurture intense hatred. I maintain silence. I shut myself. Inside.

Murderer

I saw you at 3.00 in the midnight,

in your casual dress and old floaters,

talking to that group.

Your hair looked dry, so did your hands.

Sans any concern. Sans any care.

You just stood there. Besides.

A polythene in hand, is that an explosive?

To rip hearts apart with red splash?

I do not know those who talk to you.

I do not know those who will die.

I just know about myself,

who died last year.

But I know why you murdered me.
It's the same reason I murder people.
Perhaps it isn't what I see.
Perhaps it is just an involuntary suicide. 
So I die everyday.
Everyday people die.

Halt

I was riding pillion with my friend on his bike in the area where he used to live few months back. I asked him why it is not possible for him and his girlfriend to come together again. He took a left turn from the dead-end, answered to me and the very next moment, he applied brakes, suddenly.

Earlier that evening, there was a casual short after-office meet up with friends to chat, laugh, talk and while away the after-hours. I do not remember exactly what my friend said but he was saying something about the day or time I guess, something like, sabka time kharab chal raha hai... and I seconded him on that because few minutes back we heard from another friend that his manager indirectly told him to focus on work more than dance. That another friend is an intern and an awesome dancer :D. I could clearly notice his emotions oozing out through his welled eyes, expressing themselves in slightly-guilty tone, dejected voice and underplayed body language. He wanted to be strong. He even pretended to be one, but since, both, my friend and me, knew that our dancer friend is distressed, we consoled and suggested him and gave him free advice (like every other Indian) about what he should do in such situations. I really felt bad for him and was thinking to myself how I would have felt had my manager spoken ill about me to someone in my team. I would definitely have had a hard time digesting that. I knew I could not have taken any such listening(s) lightly. Keeping myself in his place I tried to calm him down. That kid! He went running up the stairs saying, I better get back to work now...seems like I'll have to work in the after-office hours also...

Then this friend of mine, who played wise along with me in giving free advice, updated me with his story of convincing his manager for a mini-vacation. Poor fellow had booked all the tickets for to-and-fro journey and now his new manager was not agreeing to it. My friend explained how both of them were trying to convince each other, my friend to his manager on - why to -- and manager to my friend on - why not to -- go for vacation. I thought to myself, what kind of a set up is this?? A place where we have to beg our seniors to allow family meet-ups, where we have to deprioritise the blood-relations and give utmost importance to spending 9 frustrating hours, helping clients, solving their issues, a place where we lose our ease due to some issue, not concerning our health or family, but the one which is of great importance to some abstract concept called – business and industry, which we can not really see, feel, taste, touch or listen to. We are paid. Paid modern-day-servants. Servants, each wearing a customized blue tag in his neck for individual-identification, like those of the mute pets. We are a high-class servant community, doing a bleached-white collared job in the air-conditioned edifice called - the office. We work and get our monthly wages. Honestly, I did not think all this right at that moment. This is just an expansion of my initial thought. I'm just writing compulsively about things I hate. At least there is no manager here to unnecessarily restrict me with a max 500 word limit. Well, I've already reached 566.

So, was the time was really not good? For me? I was neutral with all my emotions and frenzied thoughts dripping dry in the towel of oblivious time. And anyways, who defines what good is? We left for home. My friend drops me everyday at my new home, where I still have to get settled nicely rather perfectly, and also picks me up everyday in the morning for office, because I stay very close to his house and because I am good friends with him. :)

I was riding pillion with him, from office to home, playing a financial advisor, talking about managing resources, irritating him with the same old story of how badly he rides on the Indian roads with uncouth architecture, a perfect texture for the villagers of the beautiful city, and wow-ing my expressions with every sudden could-have-been-accident. We decided to go to a temple situated in a place where he used to live earlier. Fortunately, it wasn't raining. The rain started very late, after my friend dropped me at my home. Generally, I like rains when I am at home. I like to watch it fall, heavily, making that unique noise which helps us recognize the rain without seeing it. How melodiously beautiful nature is, with distinct sound of the swishing winds, roaring waves, rustling leaves on the trees and the dried ones cracking on the ground! We do not need eyes to see them. Just sound is enough for us to recognize their existence. The moment I got to my room, I heard the rain-noise but this time I prayed for the rain to stop because my friend had just started his journey, not to his home but to the old place from where we had just then returned. He was little disturbed, little uneasy, little unsure of how he felt – sad or happy or surprised. He didn't know what to speak. He was just aware of a fact, whose knowledge was troubling his heart. He started his way back to his past.

He was in a perfect mood earlier when we left from office. We had casual talks on food, city and things to-do. He visited the temple while I waited for him outside observing the road-side vendors selling different stuffs each with some significant holy trait like the color red (the red and black threads to tie around wrist or wear in neck), the photo of the God (on rings, bracelets, small frames which can be kept on tables), books on that subject matter, small idols of the God, etc. I observed people, pondered on the religious/spiritual belief system, watched them join palms in namaste-form and walk in queue and murmur some short words repeatedly. I too used to indulge myself in such actions which gave me mental satisfaction of someone is watching me, protecting me, is there to help me and fulfill my wishes. That was all past. I have changed. For better? I do not know but at that moment, all I was concerned for was the prasad, because I was hungry but there was a huge queue for that also. :(

My friend completed his procedure of paying obeisance and even got the prasad. I waited for him to wear his shoes and then we walked back to his bike, eating the lovely prasad on our way, and deciding where to have food. He knew that area quite well. The place where he had parked his bike was just below his old house. He felt nostalgic. I could sense his emotions because I knew, that is exactly how I will feel if I were to go back to my room in IIIT-H, the place most precious to me. We had lovely dinner at a restaurant and he was still in his good state. The post-dinner tea at a very famous place added on to the relish-ments of good food and supplemented to my post-food sweet needs. He was pretty normal then also. Then we started for home. And I do not know why, out of no where, I asked him, very genuinely, yaar tu aur Neha fir se saath me nahi aa sakte kya? To which he expressed discontent by nodding his head with irregular movements saying, wo to ab possible nahi hai... and then he paused for two seconds took a left turn from dead-end and said, shayad wo abhi Canada jayegi.... and the very next moment he applied brakes. Suddenly!

For fraction of a second I did not realize why he did that and for the remaining fraction of that second I could not believe my eyes. I had never seen her in person but knew that she was herself by the way he applied brakes, got down from the bike, unknowingly pushed me aside, looking at her, totally taken aback by surprise. There she was, his x-girl-friend, standing before him, taken aback by surprise of seeing him in the middle of the road after so many months. She had returned to the city from her hometown just to resign from her job. And he was not aware of it. Watching her standing before him, on the narrow lane, just after he said shayad wo abhi Canada jayegi... my friend just did not know what to do. He lifted his arms slightly away from his body, in a gesture showing his helplessness, repeating just one word in a happy-sad-surprised voice - kab? kab? and walking towards her, diagonally forward, on the other side of the lane. She? She could not believe it was him who braked his bike before her, and was then walking towards her, wanting to hold her in his arms, once again, like the beautiful old days, wanting her to hug him back and answer to the question which he repeatedly asked, kab?

She welled immediately on his sight. She breathed heavily as she took small steps backward trying to contain herself, trying to believe her eyes. She was a little reluctant and a little willing to say something...anything. The sudden confrontation overwhelmed not just them but me also. I watched the union of two lovers separated, for months, due to pressure from the parents. I heard their silent screams which were muted for a long time. I felt their pounding hearts which craved for a each other to beat in unison, to beat as one, once again. There were no answers on her side but only questions on his. I felt bad for my friend, for his broken relationship, for his pining, for his unanswered questions. I felt really bad. But, at the same time I was happy for him that he bumped into her on the road right after saying, shayad wo abhi Canada jayegi.... I was happy that they met after such a long time. I was dearly happy for both of them, for I too know the pain of separation.
But my story is different.

The situation that was created there at that moment is hard to describe. There they were, two of them, overwhelmed by their own surprise, unaware of people around, fighting with their own self to find answers to questions being shot at them and stopping their own self from bursting into tears. And there I was, watching it all happening before my eyes, playing a side role in a real-life movie where the hero is my good friend and his love is a beautiful girl I never met. I felt I should just turn around and take right from the dead-end. So I started walking. I do not remember what I was thinking. I only remember being happy in my friend's happiness. But I do not know if he was really happy to see her. I asked him later how he felt. He said he knew she had to come back but did not know she was in city. He rode back with a great speed and dropped me at my home. He generally rides bike on an average speed, but after meeting her he was riding too fast. I only knew one thing that I wanted to tell him, bike slowly chala... After dropping me he went back to meet her.
And as I climbed the stairs of my house, I prayed, let it not rain for at least an hour... I was thinking about them. He was riding back to her. She was waiting for him. And it started raining. Heavily.

Here I, volunteer for the dirt staring at me.
Stumble over the mean mock-rock.
Give away my urbane for bear hug.
Let the craving carve the gray out of me.
Push brain down to leering limbo.
Refrain from taste but touch filthy flavour.
Address my conscious with oblivion.
Play mild, low, mellow to my hatred.
Hurl down Lego cubes, watch it fall.
Listen to time laughing, laughing, laughing.
Watch crow's-feet grow with used bed-sheet patterns.
Roam aimlessly carelessly homeless-ly.
Tussle my brown hair to Pink-Floyd drug.
Kick your brute lust in face, once, twice, thrice, and again.
Watch myself through the window, mirror, door.
Blade over to smell the red rivulet dripping.....