I have kept my heart everywhere;

From between the pages of my favourite book
To the windowsill overlooking the springs.
From between the palm of my dear ones
To the pocket of my precious desires.

The flipped negligence and the wall skirting,
The sweaty palms and the pocket holes
have all seen it break in means tremendous!

Then I saw you looking at it,
In a way the broken wish to be admired.
Neither do I know if an artist or a looter you are,
Nor am I aware if you crafted it secure
Or with it did you flee!

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My anger was born from the graveyard
They buried my hopes alive.

Look at it now, haunting random people.

-

Everyone speaks of hearts broken by strangers.
But have you heard of hearts broken by mothers?

I could tell you one!

-

One day, when the world run out of endurance
and shed the globe shells upon us
and bring me to you in a hurricane,
I hope you forget that I was killed
a million heartbreaks ago
and find me alive.

-

There is a highway
that run through my veins
with streetlights luminated in errors
And shadowed by ironies
That a world which calls
flaw by the name of darkness
Gets blindfolded at the junction of
overcrowded headlights.

-

There is an origami workshop
My heart attends lately.
In a world where
Even your blood rip you apart,
I'm teaching her to fold on and on
So that she can never be ripped anymore.

-

I drink from wines
that tastes of crushed hope
And smells of those dried raisins
Epoxied onto my countertop.

A tide of flavours, brimming reluctance,
A smell of richness, lingering in resonance.
A shade so deepened, resisting any removal,
Yet a luxury so crafted, pouring a sea of revelations!

-

And when I cry,
He looks into my eyes and regard it as
A pair of autumn in the snow
Drooping into a spring of monsoon!

-

If I were ever to be a song,

I could be the one

Of anklets to your feet

Or jhumkas to your shoulders;


A melody you wish would hold you by a space

You reserved for your heaviness to sink and settle.

-

I carry a homeless rage under my collarbones.

On weary days, it makes its way
through my nerves that shake hells around.
That is why when you held me to your heart,
It showed signs of yearning slumber.
For it has neither known the smell nor the feel
of skin that holds a home with pillows under it.

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