You shouldn't exist.
Why do you?
Too good to be true.
Why are you?
Met me in a way only you could.
Why did you?
Craving your presence.
Why am I?
Write me in your diary.
Ever, did you?
Reply to my letters
Ever, will you?
Teach me to stop.
Why am i still writing on you?
Have aged in your indifference.
Care, do you?
A cursed rant this.
Will it reach you?
You do exist.
Afterall, do you?— % &— % &

-

each time I felt I am closing in
was reminded of the distance between.
stonewalled for a third time
should have let it all out
while I still had the time.
i wonder if i'm not built for you

there's a tune I relate us to
now its crescendo falling from peak
to die in slow notes of melancholy
And I am left without an escape
no moment larger than life awaits
there's no ever after to chase
how long should I stand at the door
weren't you supposed to be
the melody that'd take me home?— % &After all this time i now know
love's not a game played fair
you took all the good moons with you
i am left stiching splintered nights
And sunsets which grin
At the songs i listen to

what points do i get
for braving the sting of your silence
frozen in a day dream
please no pollen on my grave this time— % &

-

should I pull out a flower -
an orchid, white as you like them -
from a hat I am not wearing?
or talk about morning dew
and chatter of evening birds?
maybe write about us acting in a play
with grass hills under starry night our stage?
Or should I attempt to sing
and ruin the rhythm of your dearest song?
tell me the vanity which might
dare bring a smile on your face
or atleast butterflys your stomach,
if liberation, even momentary,
is too much to hope for.

-

i see us on a date
relishing in starlight
sprawling on a hilltop
me stealing glances at your eyes

Look at you
covered all in stunning bliss
look at me looking at you
falling in abyss

how do I show this
dimmer presence of mine
don't have much other than
turning myself to meter and rhyme

I fear being lazy
while churning out words that I long
I hope they'll beat the best lines
of your favourite song

But I am afraid I lack the metaphors
To tell how much I want you
And it's a problem coz it's been a while
Since I wrote a poem that isn't about you

-

All the metaphors my mind could think of
fail miserably to convey what the heart feels.
it might be a lifetime of trying before
I could find the right words for you— % &

-

I had a vision of a home
All covered in a sunlit morn
A diary ruffling on a desk
Pages lit white window flare.

You came from behind a vase
As if walking on a cue
Footsteps matching the background chord
Flowers matching the scent of you

I glance and wonder where am I
Somewhere on that diary page?
hurrying from a grocery store?
or lingering in your memory cage?

Snap shut woke up in the dark
Struck me I was never there.

-

“Will join late today, going for the vaccine” - I typed in the team group as I closed a terminal window that was taking unusually long to clone a code repository. Was thinking how to convince my mother to let me go for the jab alone, when a tune hit me. “Is this flute? Who’s playing flute?” I thought, and got up to the balcony window. A tall, dark, young lad was carrying a cylindrical vase full of flutes on his shoulders, that looked like a flower pot from above. Head pointed down, he was focused on the melody. Which seemed to work because I wasn't the only one whose attention he had got. Two kids from a house across the street came out, excited as they were. “Kitne ka hai bhaiya? (How much for a piece?)”
- the elder of the brothers inquired.
//Continued in caption

-

the sun is screening behind
clouds that have left summer shine
i am out with the breeze
sky prepping up for a squeeze

i can see a peacock quiver
gotta string some words to savour the mood
but am still far away oh dear
from the road that leads to your hood

so should I let the poem brew?
walk and think and wait a while
for the wind that carries you
right to that cross-road mile

ever should our roads converge
i’ve got the right set of words
will shout them out, loud in the rain
as i go dancing down our road, holding your hand

and should you choose to depart
i’ve some lies to tell my barren self
it will all pour on me anyway
i’ll let some whispers die in the rain

‘cross-road’
30th of July, 2021

-

the void
(poem in caption)

-

wish there was a text I could read,
might tell me when to give up hope

wish there was a song to tune,
and escape voices within, of love and hate.

wish there was a poem I could mould -
I'd shape my longing for you

wish there was a drink to sip,
that makes me resist the thought of you.

can there be a diary page,
where I could pen you out of me, forever.

i wonder if there be a text book for it all,
might just get me out of this unending fall.

but trust me on this, try my best I did,
nothing could erase your lurking silhouette.

I guess even if there was a book to help me get over you,
I'd rip it apart and still be in love with you.

-