The fear of drawing close to the answer
often sets my questioning mind on the run.
How bad does a good reason have to be
for someone to harbour hate for someone?

-

Subtle Sovereignty

-

Walking in the daylight,
I soak the sun so bare;
Waking through the midnight,
I elude the moon's glare.

Jostling through the thronging
subway, I shun my life otherwise;
Weeping in the office restrooms,
I contemplate my choices, scrutinize.

I engage with people around
just so I could lose track of time;
Just so I wouldn't fathom how
I subsisted another day's grime.

Listening to some Indie Taylor Swift,
I often cry myself to sleep;
Robbing myself off my sanity,
In my heart, agony is all I reap.

Somewhere amidst everything,
I witness deprivation outpacing me;
While I should be grateful for the chances,
I fritter them away, cursing destiny.

-

My heart went looking where
my mind told me not to;
Every time I found it but lose
right when I was about to.
I kept on questioning, 'cause
for my peace, I had to:
"Aren't the ones loved by all
the ones loathed by a lot too?"

-

I miss those little diamonds prints
on your knee-high Cashmere socks;
I miss those raunchy jokes over
some Irish whiskey on the rocks.

I miss that fruity face moisturizer
I always nagged you to apply;
I miss those terribly burnt omelettes
every time—my bad—I let you try.

I miss those after-work rear embraces
while I'd be brewing some black tea;
I miss how we role-played the sniper
characters written by Liam O' Flaherty.

I miss the way you smelt, and the way
you looked in that heather grey sweatshirt;
I miss how you nuzzled my neck and
ear-lobes every time you knew I was hurt.

I miss those weekend morning rides
across paddy fields alongside the Ib river;
I miss those late night horror movie binges
sending down our spines such goose skin shiver.

I miss how we—despite the busyness—
could never get enough of each other.
I miss those typical teenage love stuff:
fight, snub, kiss and make up forever.

I miss how we turned our every sensual
symphony erotically rough and hard;
Alas! I can't help but just miss the whole of it
now while holding on to nothing but a shard.
— The Archangel's Diary

-

I was never destined to be here,
Oh, but I guess, I took the wrong train.
People, parties, scenes and scandals,
It was me venturing into a new lane.

Amidst polished scripts and plastic hearts,
Even the salient reality took me by surpise;
Traded my skin for my flesh and blood,
In short order, I was blending in, I surmise.

Changing partners to suit my purpose,
I switched roles to fit in and stand out;
Burning my buddies on the stake of stakes,
I called the tune while carrying the clout.

Lurking in the shadows of my morose guilt,
I surfed on the waves of my painted pride;
Playing my cards close to my chest,
I plotted their doom in my every stride.

Oh! I wouldn't say, I changed their destinies,
'cause everyone had their parts to play;
All I know is I wouldn't have made it this far,
Had I not taken the right train that day.

-

Like the sunrise in spring,
the butterflies and bees,
the daisies and roses,
the rivulets, the trees
make you prize the bliss
that nature does abound;
Do you ever envisage it
the other way around?

Like the sunrise is nothing
but the starting gun,
where the butterflies heave,
and the daisies burn;
It all makes you question
things that otherwise astound,
Wondering how it would be
the other way around!

Like the bees resume
their endless nectar hunt,
Like the roses wither before
their fragrance goes blunt;
Like the rivulets start to trickle
which the tired trees surround,
Not everything falls into place
the other way around.
—The Archangel's Diary

-

I’ve been digging deep,
Unfailingly soaring high;
Thriving in lifeless lands,
Under the ashen skies;
I’ve been standing still,
While they’ve been passing by;
Heartily I’ve always laughed,
Hushedly I usually cry;
I’m thirty-six now,
And I’m not goin’ to lie.

Through troubled waters deep,
Around unscalable mountains high;
Over scant, squandered lands,
Across endless, forfeited skies;
Up I’ve been holding still,
In the face of every passer-by;
Explicitly I’ve always laughed,
Furtively I often cry;
Well, I’m thirty-six now,
And I’m not goin’ to lie.

Rapacious bites etching deep,
Morphine pushing senses high;
Heisting hearts in forbidden lands,
Dropping my guard under acrid skies;
Painting my worn-out self in a life-still,
Reasons holding back, seasons gliding by;
Candidly I’ve always laughed,
Pointlessly I ne’er cry;
Oh, damn! I’m thirty-six now,
And, I’m not goin’ to lie.

—The Archangel's Diary

-

I Want to Talk

-

I want to talk...
Talk about directions—
Directions which I'm unsure if this
poem is even headed to one,
I want to talk about how
time kept crawling while I—
I am still on the run…

-