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The music in your voice
Reverberates in the room.
I add words in it until
They find a place to belong.
What once was a voice,
now has become a song.

Hues splash across my face
I try to open my eyes
And find your face
White like snow.
What once was a colour,
now has become a rainbow.

The books you love are one
Page away from becoming mine.
You shift closer to me
And read me a poem.
What once was a strangeness
now has become a home.

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Make believe


I want you, but you need her

It's written on your face as you say

"These flowers are for you."

With the tag that says some other name

"Maybe the shopkeeper made a mistake."

You tell me smiling a half smile

Inventing stories that are never mine.

You make up things.

I believe them.

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— % & — % & — % & — % & — % &

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Haminasto

the snow is no longer white.
its vessels have ruptured.
blood gushes through it
silencing the noise of Jhelum.

the sky is no longer clear,
it is stitched with sutures of terror.
two brothers battle each other
who are in fact, children of the same mother.

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नष्टनीड (the broken nest)


Yesterday, a female bulbul
Met a tragic end in my room
She was building a nest and
Accidentally, I left the fan on.
Whatever had to happen, happened.

The next morning, I noticed
Her partner, the male bulbul
Flying around with another female
Like a happy couple, they were building the nest again.

That made me stop and wonder
That someday if I am not there
If at all, I meet a sudden end
Would you replace me too?

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Lopamudra

(lo-paa-mu-draa)

Origin: sanskrit

Meaning: imperceptible form

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Listen

Listen to what patient tells,
my consultant says
And I listen
To her pulsating voice,
A heaving breath
Drooping mouth
Trembling fingers
Bruised hands
Emaciated body
And helpless eyes
And I end up seeing more
Than what I listen.

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●Language dissociation●

Everytime a man leaves this country
He knows atleast three languages
But he returns with only one.

He remembers his childhood in this country,
and how he used to play kabaddi
But he can no longer say, बाळ,
So he retreats and calls himself a child.

While uttering अलंकार and आंबा
He cannot appreciate the diversity of anuswar
So he shrugs and thinks, "Blimey,
Maybe it's something like colonel!"

Because his roots! Oh, his roots! These days
They are not pulled out by sahibs
But they are destroyed by himself.

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