The ripples in wind,
The ruffles in sheet,
The smell of cinnamon wafts in your hiss.
Do you know your irises glow;
The slants in your eyes crinkle a bit;
When you salivate to take that first sip?
I quiver in anticipation to see you raise your favourite cup of cinnamon tea.
I breathe in staccatos and swirls of heat, emanating from your favourite cup of tea.
Your fingers curl, my senses unfurl
I salivate too,
To taste your breath;
To touch the remnants of cinnamon off your tongue and lips.

Spicy, fresh, warm and calm,
I battle to keep hold of bits of cinnamon forever in me.
I lose it when we come up for air
You smell of cinnamon, spicy and sweet.
While I lose the battle to smell like only of your favourite tea.

-

7 years . . .

And that old red sweater still fits,
Its 3rd button has come lose, though.

A little jostle, a careless caress,
a belly-aching laughter may
rip it off from the button hole.

I fear of losing the button.

So, I don't wear that sweater anymore.

-

Left. Right. Right. Left.
Chop and snip.
Clang and tick.
Beep and blink.

I am amazed to see how the right and left hands work in sync . . .
And not miss a beat . . .
Or never seek permission from the mind every time with "whens", "shoulds" and "ifs". . .
Yet save the other through every snip and tick.

-

September Angst

She looked restful and at ease.
Her eyes were closed in a dream-like sleep.
Her skin was soft and though felt like her own . . . it lacked her clamminess, yet it was cold.

History and Math didn't make sense.
Genetics was never in agreement.

Septembers are harsh and wild, yet there was hope that she will awake and let insomnia win.
Insomnia lost in deadly defeat, not giving history any chance to repeat.
This time there was no birth, only death.

Another Semptember that did not make any sense.

She died finally peacefully and well-unrested, surrounded by September's sickly arms and senses.

-

Investment in human beings is subjected to market risk.

-

No glue can mend broken people.
Broken people should be left to their broken pieces.

-

There is freedom in forgetting
and shackles in remembering.

-

Jab gham ki aadat ho,
tab khushiyon ki dastaq bhi
kaan mein chhubhti hein

-

Sometimes you do not need
everyone on your side.
You only need a few.
And sometimes, you
need no one on your side.

-

Sometimes your home is not
where you were born.
It's where you live and will want to live.
Forever.

-