The Shut Doors

dipped in the pools of honey & spice
your inviting lips of rose were such a host
died a little death not once but twice
as you placed them on mine to raise a toast

now my sweet tooth grew to ache for you
but only to have the house burnt to ashes
and to turn my lips pale blue

of the salty air meshed with musk & wood
defining true smell of your earthy being
unfolding a saga only i understood
oh how you had me on my knees grieving

the distinctive notes began to engulf me whole
but only to chase & dodge within a crowd
losing its self from the very soul

crafted rather skilfully with a meticulous eye
your enchanting body put any art to shame
and any artist into an introspecting cry
out of our mere touch as the sparks aflame

your canvas was set to be my heavenly abode
but only to have you shut the door on me
and walk past the paved road

of pronounced charisma for personality
and aura resonating with the sound of beach
like our sand granules gave in to the clarity
of cosmic connection that’s never out of reach

with sand in my feet and sand in my hair
put my guard down for you, only to have you
laugh at my funny little despair

Selfish Lover

incessant strokes of yellow
drawn over my grimly deluded pages
that’s how you walked into my life with
gleaming afternoon rain for an appearance
remarkably spilling love out of your cages
a Chateau Margaux only getting
better by decades & ages

watching you watch me
through your red tinted glasses
presumably in a home-grown
rosy illusion of your own
oblivious to my tale of raging dark storm
terribly terrified of my icy heart and
a selfishly crooked image not shown

with the dreamy lustre in your eyes
and ever so charming smiles
would you have looked through
my constantly battling truth & lies?
the lethality of you ever knowing
ever stabbing into my freezing soul
made it look like an elegantly done vice

how did you sink so deep, my love?
it was only sometime ago that
you cushioned the aching with some gin
recovering from a sweet withdrawal of her skin
and now you’re drowning
gasping for light more than the air
granting you a little death as i walk by
almost letting you sniff my aphrodisiac hair

Be-naam Jazbaat

एक हलचल महसूस होती है तनहा ख़यालों में
बेचैन खामोशी का शोर सुनाई देता है उन्ही राहों में

तसल्ली की गुंजाइश भी कहाँ है इस दिल से
जो हर रात तारों के तले महरूम रहता है तुम्हारे साये से

कुछ यूँ सुला दी तुमने बातें अनकही और बातें अनसुनी
के वो इंतिकाल से भी लौट आए ये गवारा अब नहीं

सैलाब जैसे बह चुका था, सुर्ख़ आँखें नम कर चुका था
हर साँस का बोझ उठाना होगा, ये भी किसने सोचा था

ख़ुमार उनका ऐसा के ख़ुदगर्ज़ी नक़ाब ना पहचान सके
ख़ुदा से पहले इबादत जो कि उनकी
सज़ा-ए-इश्क़ में हम मारे गए

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?


Ittifaaq

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?