Talking to you is like
carrying a conversation
which is being conserved,
while it hangs
on verge of extinction.

I keep talking, to you and
to myself.
I've been tame enough
to break my own shackle.

-

A girl with so many dreams
K-nowing I've a long way to go.
A dream whispers every night,
N-octurnal moon lingers in my poems.
K-ites cover the golden sky,
S-ilhouettes rise talking me,
H-ome calls for a silence,
A-nd there, there is me watching often.

And today ends with me
half-dead, half-alive,
and today ends with shadows talking,
calling me from different corners.

-

Between going on forever
and a forever
that doesn't stand near
e of ever,
I realise there's the difference
I thought never existed.

It exists in between pauses.
Stretched space.
And, pauses in between them.
Pauses spaced.

-

Yesterday I and my mother cried
like two ladies who met
after an eternity,
talking, in front of a shining mirror.
We cried until our cheeks turned
exactly of the color those rose petals carry.
We extracted that, color, from
flower pots, who unaware of our story
agreed silently bowing down.
Alas, they didn't know about the secrets
we brewed with someone inside!
We knitted the stories
I saw opened eyes and she,
she with her chocolatey brown globes.
We talked about payphones and coins
we talked about huts and gullies
finally stopping from where we started.
Realising the time, the eternity,
after two ladies met. With pots in their hands.
With mud dribbling down.
With skycrapers flying above heads.

-

I watch crestfallen stars and hear
the lament running in the background,
a slow piercing sound.
It comes like singing of a lady
with throaty voice,
trying to show pain by hiding it.

I often question if pain is more visible
and if happiness slithers away
finding nape of a neck as a slide,
or fingers as twist and twirl recognitions.
It doesn't answer. It never does.

I watch how a nobody from a nobody's hill
come and join me,
watching plethora of pain dance zumba.
They twist and twirl and we see
how sky is everybody's
and not mere bodies meant to be stars.
Happiness. Hole. Shapes. Sadness.
They line way. From someone's nape to fingers.

-

Night's arrival is like
a lady who returns
to find her things gone.
A frame hanging,
a vase broken, a kitchen dirty.
She starts again,
to rest, and to leave everything
unattended.

-

I end my day,
packing in my bag
ten questions to solve,
a day to look at,
a medicine I despise taking,
a memory I can't erase,
a story I'll never forget
and some air.
Leaving everything hurriedly,
I move myself to the table
where another cross sits,
with a pen without any cap.

-

And everything runs in a timeline,
Me and my life
as if one hand is waiting
to turn the hourglass upside-down
claiming how time's up is its favourite
to speak and repeat twisting tongue.
I watch symphony leave earth
to melt in colours of chatters
going upwards.
I watch how a child broke his leg
and in pain is his whole family
like a dying mother
who is ready to mortgage her everything
only to save a cocoon from dying.
A voice rings in my ears
shouting how I'm running short of time
only to return everywhere
while going nowhere
~ like words leaving my fingers
to wrap themselves in oblivion. Period.

-

I read about Art,
and my eyes flash Mona Lisa,
La Sagrada Familia, Guernica.
I see how artists died -
in their own paintings.
I read how art is different and
the catharsis was always different.
I read about art and remember Gaudí
and biomorphic introduction.
I remember how I was introduced
with patience (I was taught).
I read how an artist sweats
with fist clenched.
And now I think
if writers write only to die
in their own graveyard,
always dangling their pens
and creating verbal tombstones.

-

One day you'll speak louder.
Your voice will be heard after years.
Many will write their grief,
many will march and sit
on concrete floors with their -
empty bellies.
Politics will come in show then.
Bodies will be burnt,
permission granted will leave
you naked again.
Some activists will stand throughout
some will turn the paper
zipping their children mouths
for word itself is a crime.

Upto when will this season go?
I'm tired of this show.

-