your face,
the trick wrinkle on your chin when you smile.
The sound of the floor dancing in excitement to your feet as you walk
I want to remember nothing about your smell,
green neon lights in the shower
raining fresh shampoo as you clean
Cleanse me oh Lord from this burden
this is a prayer of the weak
a mind left behind wanders
it shuffles between sanity and magic
between poison and goodbyes.
I want to forget my body can starve in the absence of hunger !!

-

I’m not a citizen
but aren’t we all freedom fighters
trapped under the same war stars.
I’ve read the news
a new virus, a new death song
the India i was taught was branded in zee world
bollywood movies and God hymns
we are neighbors
struck by the same bitter taste of togetherness
maybe I’m writing to be selfless
to say India deserves this piece of heaven too
maybe I’m writing this to be brave
to say India needs freedom.

-

forever becomes a war venue
and we ride like vikings
sweet sailing through permanence
love unveils itself a sea
and i ,the titanic
what are we if not broken ships
sending signals to remain
on these waters where we created love stories
where you were jack
i, rose
you the king of the world
I , your world.

-

A vow
A prophecy
the spirit holds me
and i prophesy
of love living in our broken hearts,
I speak of grace to know you
to love you.
i talk of raising thunders
when you hurt.
to command the sun
into handkerchief when you cry.
i speak of us
of love
of healing,
aren't we angels
do we not deserve heaven ?
so i speak of paradise
and sunlight
now until forever.

-

silent falsetto,
the sound of everything lives
i let myself sink into the music
a light maybe,
a thing to believe in
a way to find God.
late night drives, crappy motels
cold pizza, heaven
a name we call ourselves,
the taste of sin leaks from your lips to mine and
i ask for forgiveness.
your love is not mine to absorb
It isn't mine to collect in a jar of my excavated heart.
but i fill in you in my void,
somedays love me
somedays don't !!
my soul has been taught to be half-loved.

-

To the ones who found sadness in my poems,
crucify her !!
they yell,
with sharp spears I'm led to my executioner.
she has tasted our broken hearts
and
the mixture of bones have been plastered on her papers.
crucify her !!
You scream
she's both witch and curse
she has dropped spells of tears on our eyes and
we've cried ourselves to sleep.
burn her !!
they say,
here's to you who finds blues in poetry,
enjoy the darkness i paint.
crucify me,
but I'll rise in your daughters
their little fingers would tremble at the sight of ink.
You see me in their eyes
and you'll know,
you can burn the poet
but her words
they'll always find vessels in sad little girls !!

-

I'm building a boy,
with summer for eyes
and light for hands.
I'm making a boy whose innocence is charged up by pretty things,
a boy with a hunger for art.
he'd swim rivers of poem
bathe waters made of songs.
I'm creating a boy in my book
he'll love me and you'll be jealous,
and
he'll never have reasons to say
"I'm sorry ".

-

I'd be the one on your collar,
dangling by a thread holding onto the fabric of your love.
living for your messy days
I'd enjoy the view from your high clouds , clinging unto you for my dear life.
buttons are replaceable so i wouldn't claim you are mine to keep,
but when i fall off in a busy crowd
i hope I'm memorable enough to be placed into your pocket,
safe and still alive
ready to be sewn on again
to dangle again
until your favorite shirt is turned into a memory of how much you loved your messy days.

-

know me,
and my moods.
on the days
when i play NF on repeat
my sun has buried
herself in my heart,
burning without reasons to rise.
on the nights
when i dance
to James Arthur with the lights off,
birds have gifted me wings
and I'm soaring
on the melodies of love.
music is the best way
to have a deeper understanding
of who i am,
but you are too tone deaf
to find Harmony in my identity.

-

you are first enchanted by the redness of their skin,
their beauty radiates as bait.
you forget all about the thorns they possess and you are tempted to touch them.
before roses betray
they strategize
to keep you thinking beautiful things are holy things,
your desperate eyes does not see how sin blooms on angel wings
because you have told yourself that pure things are too much of white to be impure.
and then when you get pricked by their sharpness,
you still blame yourself for holding them too hard,
claiming you shouldn't have tampered with their fragility.
beautiful things are narcissistic,
they'd make you feel terrible for how bad your blood
after drinking the wine buried in your veins.
and you are just too gullible to find the lies that sits on their tempting lips .

-