Sonnet At Sea

tinge of gold in the luminous sea waves
with a mix of white in his glistening heart
no wonder the common thread
kept engulfing us whole from the start

harmonising with a musical night at shore
our bodies stayed afloat singing the quiet lull
strings of cosmic dust held onto us
drifting to a slumber of paradisal cult

the frames of our stop-motioned notion
reflecting beneath the scintillating moon
demanding souls underneath our wet skins
to be kissed & touched & make love over dune

speaking quixotic hush & sweet nothings
to the cries of seas & waves that sings

inspired by the song – then i close my eyes by david gilmour //

Ode To Petrichor

To my romanticism for rain and traces that it leaves on my heart,

an azured morning shifting its palette
to a mourning gloom of melodramatic greys
and the light graze of southern moist wind
that would wind up to peck my bare shoulder
only to bear within a longing to kiss for
centuries and coming days

wearing a clouded scent of melancholia
sent from a meadow of dewy wilderness
made of vehemently black & thunderous night
like a knight in armour with stance as shield
but stands no chance against the Zeus and
would rather fucking yield

the musical drama of immensely heavy pour
cascading its way inside through a tiny pore
that weigh me down by soaked sulk & sorrow
but awakening of petrichor mellows me down
and with a low hush sound of crippling need
i revive myself from sound sleep
to breathe again and breathe deep

Table For Two

A Cosmopolitan for the lady, and I would fancy a Hot Toddy on a Tuesday” he said smirking at my completely judgmental face. It was our fourth day in a row and him experimenting seventh cocktail at this bar, pretty obvious how our math went wrong there (hint: he MIGHT be an alcoholic) – I stayed loyal to my Cosmo nevertheless because who likes change right?

At times, we would lose the count of drinks and more often than not forget to eat dinner altogether all between our perpetually engrossing conversations about anything and everything ranging from what an amazing show Breaking Bad was to talking about my typically boring train ride.

As the night turned darker, lights suggestively dimmer and the music shifted to a more of an R&B Jazz – I sipped onto my drink, a relatively larger gulp sensing a bit of an awkward tension between us. He seemed to be grooving and tapping his shoe to the rhythm, maybe it was just me? But that’s when I felt the bottom of his foot feeling up mine under the table, going about his way up my leg, until I was too shy to look him in the eye.

Moving his fingers slyly by my wrist, he asks “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?” With one and half a Cosmo down and his face full of anticipation, I’m sure he expected me to return with some hopeless romance dripping from my mouth but without giving it a second thought I blurted “Ladies room, I think I need to use the ladies room.” To which he laughed his charming laugh and gestured me to show the way to one.

Upon my return from what seemed like a good ride to the bygone days – coincidentally it was still a Tuesday with an even darker night, dim lights and Frank Sinatra playing on the jukebox. Except you’re not here. You’re in another city with another woman dancing to another tunes drinking another cocktail. I bet she knows just the right words to say at just the right time.

Nudging me into reality, the bartender asked me for the second time “Should I make you the usual Cosmopolitan?” I turned to him with a smile and shook my head saying “Make me a drink strong enough to unlearn the two years of my life …and make that on the rocks, please.

How long was I going to stay loyal to my Cosmopolitan now?


यूँही तमाम किए जा रहे थे ज़िंदगी
दो पल जो इत्मिनान से बिताते
तो शायद इतनी ना होती तिश्नगी

कुछ बातें तुम कर लेते और कुछ हम भी
मुकम्मल हो जाता ये रिश्ता
जो तुम्हारी समझ में था मुनासिब नहीं

ज़ालिम वो शायद कमबख़्त रात ही थी
दिन के शोर और उजाले में
ऐसे ज़ख़्म कोई देता है क्या कभी

माना तुम्हारी नज़र में ये इश्क़ गवारा नहीं
इत्तीफ़ाकन हमें ऐसी मोहब्बत सिखा गए
इस दीवानगी का भी कोई जवाब नहीं

Caffeinated & How

tone of the crackling biscuit breaking into my
realm rightly ruled by murk and melancholy
before another graceful dip in my glorified
yet sentimental cup of dark coffee

whilst spilling the thoughtful ink on canvas
painting him the blues of an articulated sonnet
that has silhouette for simile and an honest
attempt to understand ivory for irony

after one too many homemade cookies and
a sip after sip with the toffee smothered on lip
my mind traversed to picturesque places
of scenic colours and other planting a kiss
on the rose tattooed neck of my lover

savouring the last of sugar by raising a toast
to what remains as his last voicemail memory
and my lips knew again the taste of his voice
like it was the freshest wisp of reverie

Opposite Of Kiss

‘twas fall of ‘96 and perishing away with the leaves were my guards that i had let down only for another to let into my scripture

coining every phrase and word with intricacy, he had quite vividly taken me by surprise by imprisoning my mind like it was something he learned in his sacred art culture

luring into a place so privy with only a gleam of little or no space, he nevertheless budged an inch closer only to hear my notes speak

there were loud screaming words and an even high pitched fictional tales between the silent spaces of all that squeak

my pages were now seemingly emptier and they longed for him to spill the ink with his poetic pauses charming enough by its look

and gently resurrect my dead brown papers into a fresh fragrance of a newly bought book

the lasting sniff of his signature cologne lingers on my pages as if imprints of an unwritten law of forbidden love, my heart would unknowingly take a leap to its very bottom

an eventful dusk wherein two souls had learned their way to kiss through the cosmic dust in the little space, felt more of a season than the autumn

Tinted Cigarettes

it was with every wisp of smoke and the withering hope that i kept turning my aspiration to ashes

the sort of wreckage, i could put a stop on but would not

my lipstick tainted cigarette was now turning plural each day and more so

eloquently narrated stories in a language i would not speak

the apparent verbosity had now started to lack empathy

as i flickered the optimism like dust in the thin air

it daydreamed me into going back to an era and pave way for a havoc

that hadn’t finished business, said it was the right cynic thing to do

or was it really just a sweet formal invitation

to the shattering reality to visit and grant me a beautiful death yet again?

who is to say though, whether i was embracing or gambling the end of me

wasn’t it just a metaphor after all?


कुछ साँसें आज भी सम्भाल रखी हैं
जो तुम्हारे क़रीब आते ही
यूँ तेज़ी से खर्च होने लगती थी

कुछ धड़कनों को आज भी समझा रखा है
जो तुम्हारी तस्वीर को निहारे ही
यूँ बेवजह शोर करने लगती थी

मगर इस दिल की हिफ़ाज़त कोई कैसे करे
जहाँ तुम्हारे नाम का एक आशियाना बस्ता था
झरोके के बाहर एक नन्हा सा पौधा खिलता था
और कुछ ही दूर नदी का झरना आहिस्ते बहता था

इस बार जब लौट आओ
तो सिर्फ़ लौट जाने के लिए आओ
आशियाने की नींव कमज़ोर हो रही है
पौधे आख़री साँस ले रहे है
और झरना तेज़ी से सूख रहा है

लेकिन इस बार जब लौट आओ
तो सिर्फ़ लौट जाने के लिए आओ
इस दिल को बे-सबब सहारा देके
ऐसे भी तो मत लुत्फ़ उठाओ

featured image by divaniindia

Archaic Home

I’ve been circling about the same old centrepiece stationed in this ancient household for some time now. I can’t seem to change the track of where and how I’m going, like it’s involuntarily deciding my pace. There are some woeful noises coming from across the bedroom. I can’t lie, it sure petrifies me.

I keep tapping fingers on my thigh as I complete another round, my heart only pulsating harder with every increasing tone of sound. And to add to my annoyance, there’s this flickering street light that won’t keep shut like it’s onto something mysterious. Probably unravelling a story of its own.

I think I like this house better in the daylight, when the hopeful dawn falls upon my book shelves first and kisses me morning after. But the night sky has my tranquility lost in these dim lit streets, like it was never meant to be to start with. I give in to the horrifying screams and let them consume me only to have the dawn kiss me next day. It didn’t quite feel right, the process I kept following for the sake of my sanity. But who is to decide?

I finally lie down on the creaking bed and stare at the ceiling like it’s suppose to have answers to my questions. I keep looking, just in case. My bedside clock says 02:44 AM and with every amplifying sound of its ticking, my anxiety keeps taking a toll on me by its reminiscence of distant nostalgia. The walls start to seem like they are closing on me with a montage of memories playing on them. The room next to mine was still in a chaotic cacophony alarming every sense of my being. The cries got louder in time. “Does it ever go hush?” I ask myself almost sobbing.

Turning to my window with curtains slyly moving for me to sneak the sight of crescent, like we had a lot to catch up on. It spoke to me of stars and ocean and I returned the conversation with my terrifying notion. The grumbling kept triggering me and no matter how hard I tried, my door wouldn’t shut on them. The situation seemed to have gotten out of hand, but when has it not? Learning it the hard way every night, my home doesn’t quite fit the idea of happy place that they refer to. This house has never seemed right to begin with, I should’ve never bought this place.

But what could I possibly do with all the thoughts in my head if not build a home for them?

A Piece For Peace

To the man playing flute at every sunset hour,

you stay around, in my own vicinity
far from my knowledge of your name & face
but probably in the closest proximity

for i often am bewitched by your
flute playing shenanigans at every day break
and long for the meditative sounds while the
cooing of cuckoo is a tad too much to take

it’s the saddest symphony that you play
either graving the gray old grief only so
you can put it to rest again, or you too are
a person easily enticed by the sad stairway

a head full of curly hair i hope and the
indistinct facial features says my imagination
working a full time job with the cheapest band
of flock of birds with their stupid citation

regardless of when the mystical tunes
hit my eardrums making peace with its tricks
gingerly caressing all my sorrows and heart
like nothing was ever broken to begin to fix

and for that instance, that very instance
i know no pain in the world
i know no wars dismantling the system
i know no materialism bringing down the poor
i know no hatred between the men of colour

but i know of love,
love that rises above all and heals like no other