One some nights,

My rivers don’t flow,

They scream…


On some nights,

My stars don’t glow,

They howl as wolves.


As darkness fills a cave,

So does your memory to me.

You fill everything,

Every scar,

Every crevice,

Every broken shadow and its shrieks,

My torn silence and its glinting splinters,

You fill everything.


You fill everything,

Every single thing,

The forgotten villages and its rivers,

The empty streets and its sewers,

My slow death and clenching fevers,

Like poison ivy,

You fill everything.

A Yearning

She was waiting in his way,

Across the tresses of winter,

Humming to the sound of his footsteps.


The sighs he breaths,

Tunneling for their tryst,

Through winters, Across springs,

Into tulips of her mist,

they bloom.


The endless separation,

In hazy moonlight,

As he keeps walking without a shadow.

The lightnings smile.

Across the gossip of a meadow, 


Her night that would tore open,

A puddle that he would skip,

A breeze but cold,

With a shiver,

would force a smile to drip.


His scent, would sparrows bring,

As a dewdrop,

On her window they would leave,

Glistening, shimmering,

Tempting her winter to cleave.


The impalpable separation,

In hazy moonlight, 

As she waits in his way,

He keeps walking without a shadow. 

A bird’s flight from hell

She stands in the balcony,

cigarette smoke rising from the floor imbuing the air with scathing nostalgia.

A rope hanging from the fan.

The shadow of the rope slithering on the wall like hands of death,

turning, swirling striving to clinch her, while she stands naked, undaunted.

The scars shine in the moon light.

The blood red dripping from the unconquered wrist.

She stares vacuously into the night; tranquil inside.

Her blood flows gracefully into his.

Her vehement, angry, free blood in to his rotten, dead blood.

A proof of her subjugation of the malignant chaos.

The shadow swirls and swirls into the depth of the night.

Are the gods seeing her now?

Have she caught their attention.

He lies spread-eagled on the floor. Does the death of men move HIM? Does it?

It was no vengeance. It was no self-defense.

It was the only way to break the barbs the world of men ensnared her in.

She takes the plunge.

She floats in the air. Looks at the heavens.

“Now gorge at this view” she shouts.

“Look how I fly” She screams, “Let this thaw your souls.”

The scars become her wings.

The moon light gleaming of her naked body makes her look and feel invincible.

She is free. She has tamed Death.


A open heart

The opened heart aches to close again.

The unevenness protrudes its barbs into the chasm.

The chasm where ghosts of the past reside. 

The ghosts act in tandem, try to heave me inside.

But the smile, so effortlessly prevents me from falling in.

The war is biased. 

Standing on the edge, gazing into the depths of the chasm,

I ask myself “Should you love again?”

For the smile may fade, the war may be lost. 

I look at the scars, they scream in agony.

Sullenly, I argue, “but would you have any hope of healing,

if I damn you with these ghosts and their whips”

“Only love can heal these wounds, these scars.

Only love can fill this void of a chasm.

Only love can help tame these ghosts within.” I smile. 

Yes, I smile and end the polemic

“Can a butterfly ever survive with a closed heart.”

The silence follows. They all agree,

Even the ghosts do.

My first love

Ahhh! My First love!

The unnatural cadence of the heart. The inner tumult in her presence.

The unspoken words. The unwritten love-letters.

The ambrosial pleasure from her smile.

The euphoria brought about by her ebullient tress.

The everlasting yearning to catch a glimpse.

The heart wrenching pain at her absence in school.

The wild agony for the unanswered looks.

The transcendence of emotions, when she laughed.

The daunting proposal. The exultation over victory.

The electrifying feel of her first touch.

The evenings in heavens, The nights in hell.

The joy of springing while walking.

The endless blushing behind a book. The evanescence of walking together alone.

The vacuousness of endless staring at the walls. The impatience understood and teased.

The buoyancy of those nudges. The mystic rapture of decrypting those eyes. 

The turning of tides. 

The broken promises. The sleepless nights.

The futile arguments.The persuasive strokes on the cheek.

The anxiety about the future.

The unfortunate crossroads.

The flared nose. The curled lips.

The life-shattering tears.The unending hug. 

The last breath of hers I inhaled.

The striving to preserve her inside me; forever. 

The love that morphed into a memory.


The leaves of emotions

Motionless I stand in the whirlpool of insanity,

in veneration of the chaos, its absurdity, its improbability,

its sheer unpredictability.

The leaves keep on falling,

I just stand and watch.


The sun burns them to dust,

The wind swirls them off my breasts,

The merciless rain then sweeps away their cadavers,

I just stand and watch.


But, ceaselessly, the leaves fall,

The planets revolve,

The stars die,

The universe expands into nothing.

As it was before. Time passes.

I just stand and watch.


But in the stillness of night,

Desperate and hopeless.

You can find me on my knees; crying.

The tears they turn into dew.

For no one to know,

The leaves keep on falling.

I just……

You, my love

You, my love.

A virgin brook breathing in a fecund woods,

My roots ploughing its way into you,

Sipping, quaffing in your sapid waters. 

You my love,

A shadow flowing into a vivacious desert,

My grains of thirst, my sands of angst,

Obliterated by your effervescent touch.

You, my love,

A red rose embraced by the carnal night,

My subduing vacuum, my enslaving darkness,

Suffusing, melting into your flesh.

You, my love,

A perilous chaos burning the skies,

My stars of insanity, my moons of melancholy,

Incinerated by an invincible desire.