Ruins

the shy colors of a dried plant by my window
withering away with the changing seasons
swaying in a blow of breeze nevertheless
while being perfectly dead, an art in itself
the iron rust around corners of the sill and
a high-pitched stutter of machine from outside
the cawing of crows in my neighborhood and
a broken mailbox standing alone but almost alive
still didn’t make for a situation more hideous
than mine on a friday afternoon singing along
to a tune of typical ache familiar to downing a shot
coincidentally enough, a shot or 5 were included too
with a top up of exactly five beers for breakfast
rather than my steaming hot cup of brew
appareling stopped making sense a week back
dwelling in the same comforting coal black
it was either the beauty sleep or solitary indulgence
and nothing quite in between
the existence of my ruins was speaking volume
in languages i hadn’t learned
screaming to be discarded by peeling layers off my skin
puking the old feelings out to consume healthy again
gagging on the tastelessness of past tales like a sin
what had become of me?
when did i go so down the hill?
to only ever feel remnants of yesteryears
nagging on me, biting on my brains and
in no way feeding my present
but boy does it feel like home
when the old habits die hard
either out of love or sheer resentment

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?


Whiskey Sour

devouring the last drink
of this deviously empty night
while gazing from the city skyline
squinting my eyes at the view so bright
and slurring at poetry but promising
to rework it the next day light

an unconscious deal with Jameson & Johnnie
intoxication to turn into sobriety again
for the cocktail didn’t have answers anymore
only so long for my troubled heart in vain
the starry night witnessed this saying
fuck your sad drink, let’s open a champagne!

and with yet another last drink in my hand
believing it to be distilled to attain richness
like it was the last grieving men’s only choice
and gulping it neat like nobody’s business

gradually giving up on my temporary fix
for the momentary normalcy it brings
is hard to skip in a heartbeat
from a decade old music playing on loop
in my stereo of indie void as
play > stop > repeat