Dear memory,
You have been playing games with me lately.
And I have let you.
You have been eluding my mind.
You have been toying with my heart.
You have been hiding in my intestine.
You have been refusing to let my neurones alone.
And I have let you.
I have been more tolerant lately.
You have been digging with a spade,
Collecting in a wheelbarrow,
And carrying pieces of yourself around.
You have even sneaked in a mallet to smoothen some bumps.
Finally, last night when I caught you with the spanner;
I decided.
I have been more tolerant lately.
But now no more.
You have taken me for granted.
You have used my patience.
You have betrayed my trust.
You are precious to me.
I hold ever inch of you in reverence.
Both the good and the bad.
The real and the imaginary.
The happy and the sad.
The reflection of me and not so me.
But now no more.
Blinded by love, I won't.
I should not have encouraged alterations.
I should not have always let you.
You seem to be targeting a revolution.
You seem to be shifting your identity.
You seem to be looking for a piece,
Which just fits the missing link.
I should have warned you.
Blinded by love, I won't.
The time has arrived.
To shift everything in search is not the answer.
Even if found,
The object will then be futile.
There would be nothing the object knows.
There would be nothing you have grown to know.
The object will be lost
As will be you.
Let it lay in peace.
And one day,
It will by itself rise.
Sleep softly after all your toils.
To finally rest,
The time has arrived.

Stay Alive

Today is not about Yesterday
And Yesterday not about Today.
Every Today spent in the Tomorrow,
The preparation of a better Today.
The Today which is not upon me
The Yesterday I chose to forget;
The Tomorrow I promise to build
by covering-up my Today.
The Today I had promised to build
by denying my Yesterday.
The Today which I had seen,
When my Today was still Tomorrow.
The Today which I will see
When my Today is long Yesterday.
Everyday is my Today
My Today is a bit of Everyday
I live through Everyday
as I forget to live my Today.
If I have lived Everyday,
does it mean I have lived Today.
But if I have lived Today
I know I have lived Everyday.
To live is not just about Everyday
To live is yet to be simply about Today.

The Dance of Destruction

To be able to destroy is to acknowledge fear
To welcome anger
To inhibit sanity
To promote impulse.
To be able to destroy is to
be an artist
To be more powerful than the creator
To let go off your true self.
To allow others to fear you
To forgo the possibility of love
To transcend all material
For what is destroyed had no meaning
The true poetry lies in the act of destruction.
The destruction of an entity
Of an individual, a group, a community
Even an idea
Through the complex act of choreography
And the simple act of letting go
The construct of existence chaining the feet.
Breaking the shackles into the unseen
Leaving behind the crushed leaf
The soaked piece of paper
And also the mangled twig.
Promising every destruction the truth of life
Refusing to partake in death
Yet forgoing life after the dance has been staged.

"The animal in me" he said.
Before he could finish the sentence
"The animal" I wondered
How could I be one?
Haven't I spent enough
Time and energy on pretending
To be human?
For the life of me
I could not find the animal I was.
No I wasn't a horse, a rabbit, a cow or a mouse
My friend was an elephant, another a lion
And one even a whale.
I wasn't a hen, a crow or even an ant
I wasn't a hippo for sure.
I could be an eagle, a zebra, a platypus
Or even for that matter a pangolin.
I could be a hedgehog or maybe a goat.
But I think I was certainly not a bear.
Whatever I could be, I didn't know
Whatever I wanted to be was more difficult to tell
All that I could think for sure
I was something found not so readily;
And myself I sure wanted to be.

To leave the world where it is
To know that it was a choice
To let it not be for what it isn't
To feel no guilt for knowing right.

Fears

The fear of clearing things out in my head
The fear of understanding my fear
The fear of categorically writing where I stand
The fear of defining what it all has been
The fear of counting every similar situation
The fear of being unable to pick up for someone I care
The fear of not being the me I hoped to be
The fear of reading about something I don't want to see
The fear of hope and the feeling of nice
The fear of forgetting the feeling of nice
The fear of sometimes daring to feel
The fear of turning into an embryo again
The fear of hiding behind a tree
The fear of being hit on the back
The fear of breaking trust
The fear of the possible truths
The fear of probability
The fear of polarity
The fear of living inside
The fear of a popping vein
The fear of going insane
The fear of writing my mind
The fear of hiding inside
The fear of knowing
The fear of sharing
The fear of caring
And the fear of being.

Of Love and Lost Love

She loved, but constantly told herself 

how it was a bad idea.
But it wasn't an idea was it?
It was a feeling of being in pursuit

The pursuit of the only place where 

thought and life coexisted.

The pursuit of having to leave behind

A trail of love and lost love.

Both walking parallel as they followed her

They were not the best of friends

But with so much in common;

As they walked behind her

They couldn't help but strike a conversation.

A conversation about finding and losing

Of loan and of the debt never paid

Of living and yet not existing

Of trials and sufferings

Both had that in common; didn't they?

It was at dusk, when lit by the fading light

They saw she was now approaching an edge

The edge of the flat world she had walked,

Wanting to circumnavigate.

She was sure she would be back at the start.

But they watched her walk towards the edge

The edge of vast nothingness

Separated from all that had ever existed.

She seemed all but sad with this encounter.

The unexpected called out to her

As she gazed at the faded line between the two worlds,

She arched her back

And gracefully took a leap.

Almost in a swift diving motion 

She entered the beautiful vast acean.

A deep black ocean of nothingness.

The nothingness with the hope of something.

And the two followed her with loyality.

The day could be saved;
he was constantly looking up at her
she knew that the day could be saved
not simply by her, also by his presence.
She had loved him.
He knew that.
He still loved her.
But all he needed to know was
she could save the day.
She still had to let him go.
As he slowly slipped into the role
the comfort grew;
with it also grew discomfort.
She had to save the moment,
she had a choice.
The choice was not made for her.
She chose to let him go;
she chose to not let the roles drift.
For she loved him,
she knew love is not one kind
and her love was profound.

COLOUR

Is the colour of mourning Black or White?
And that of festivity White, Red or Green?

I do know the colour of happiness
And that of pain.
I think I know it is a Yellow, Blue and Pink
It is Orange, Violet, Mustard and Red.
I bled from my knee
The colour of pain was then Grey.
I broke my thigh
The colour back then was Green.
I sent a letter, a letter of pain,
This time the colour was Powder Blue.
And every time I am injected
It is the colour Rust I see.

I lost
A friend, I saw a Brown.
A grandparent, a Faded Steel.
A potential lover, a Dying Tree.
An ambition, a Lost Galaxy.
My spirit, an Ethereal Me.
And finally
When I lost myself,
I found a colour, the colour
I was never meant to see.





Is the colour of mourning Black or White?
And that of festivity White, Red or Green?

I do know the colour of happiness
And that of pain.
I think I know it is a Yellow, Blue and Pink
It is Orange, Violet, Mustard and Red.
I bled from my knee
The colour of pain was then Grey.
I broke my thigh
The colour back then was Green.
I sent a letter, a letter of pain,
This time the colour was Powder Blue.
And every time I am injected
It is the colour Rust I see.

I lost
A friend, I saw a Brown.
A grandparent, a Faded Steel.
A potential lover, a Dying Tree.
An ambition, a Lost Galaxy.
My spirit, an Ethereal Me.
And finally
When I lost myself,
I found a colour, the colour
I was never meant to see.

I met the Ant

The ant walked up the hill
The ant was told it was to walk up the hill
The ant refused to hear otherwise
As I said,  "It is ok to not walk up the hill"
The ant did not hear me and passed by.
The ant carried a stone on its back
The stone was engraved with years past
The stone was written in a language strange
Yet the ant walked, with it, up the hill.
I asked the ant "Stop by and try to read,
do read all that is engraved on it."
The ant looked up at me and
Started walking again, up that hill.
I took a few steps ahead
Awaited the ant to reach
And stood in its way as
The ant walked up the hill.
This time refusing to look up,
It tried walking around my feet.
I said again, "Listen to me please."
As I pleaded, the ant looked at me
Neither up at me nor down
I was grateful for this.
I spoke this time softly
The ant heard me out
As I slowly let the ant go its way
I saw the trail it left behind
I looked closer and closer still
Tiny particles I could not recognize.
But then I think my guess was right.

as the shadow sweetly slips in,
I look it into the eye and ask it
"are you truly a shadow
for you ain't black
to my eye you are not black
you are the colour of light
brighter than light"
the thin sheaf of silk slowly slips
it was not a guard which fell
it was a soft curtain of the self
the self which had been lit
by the shadow and its light.

Facelessness

I wanted to be without a face once.
I refused to put a veil on it
I disappeared
I was in love with being faceless
No one asked me to be faceless
I chose to be.
Now my face seems to be resurfacing
And yet I feel faceless
I think I want a new face
The tan on my face worked
For some-time it was new
Now it’s getting stale
I have been waiting to visit a parlour.
My larder is full of things
Things waiting to be used on my skin
I still want to visit a parlour
Because I will have to trust someone
Entrust them with a task even I can do
May be I can’t do it as well as them
And may be still, I don’t need it at all.
What I need is, to be able to trust again
Give the reins of what is mine to another
Not being overpowered
Just trusting, may be blindly.
What if there is a Sulphur reaction
May be I will warn them
But if they still decide to use some
I will be at stake;
May be that will give me a new face.
May be this face will make a difference.
I was never pretty; I believe.
I yet was me.
I still am me.
A-faceless me.
Looking- for-a-new-face me.

The Mirror Selfie

I looked into a mirror, the reflection was distorted
It was beyond recognition, my recognition atleast
I saw a person, she was sitting in my very chair
her hair were different, her eyes looked into mine.
I did not recognize the face i know, but the eyes
the eyes looked like they could have been mine
I looked deep within, I lost what I had seen
Something looked different, although the same
Dilated; the pupils looked into the distance,
I tried to follow their gaze, but i lost sight
The sight of the eyes atleast, the lost eyes.
They were neither happy nor were they sad.
They were searching but not yet mourning.
There had been losses for a long time now
And the mourn from the gaze had gone
The pity had long evaporated into nothing
Confidence long crushed underneath
Something I saw emerge,
I saw a picture of me taken 2 decades ago
I smiled for I did not know that girl
She was happy I could tell
Her smile was not reflected in mine.
I saw a picture of me taken 2 years ago
I smiled for i believed I looked pretty
The picture made me look pretty I believe
I was happy then too,
The smile was genuinely reflecting me.
But the reflection was extremely distorted
Distorted by memory and belief
The self I was looking at repeated
What I thought I was supposed to be.
As I whirled my chair round and round
Slowly disorienting from the reality
I caught a glimpse of a reflection in the mirror,
The reflection which was not supposed to be me
I saw a girl who was smiling broad,
As she looked upon her self,
The mirror still distorted though
Imaged me as myself.
It was not beyond recognition
Nor was she looking into the distance.
She slowly looked into my eyes,
This time truly they were mine.
She smiled that happy smile
The smile I recounted in pictures too.
And getting up from the chair,
She walked towards the mirror blue
As she came closer to the surface,
I could see through her more and more,
I saw her dissolve slowly before me.
As she became one with all the air.
All I could see now was a mirror
It had left me a canvas blank
For me to be any me, that I could dare.

A storm brew behind the closed doors,
the storm was never meant to go by
the storm was never meant to touch you
the storm was never meant to upturn.

It was a storm meant to take me instead
the storm which brew, was there to wash
the storm was there to cleanse and leave
the storm was never meant to kill any.

Neither of us were meant to die
Neither of us were meant to leave
Just sit under the roof outside the storm
And then see it slowly rise and fly by.

How did we come in touch with it
How did we even reach the door
How did we manage to pry it open
And let the storm not take its course.

The storm was maybe an accident
An accident I didn't ever foresee
An accident I wish to erase forever
and bolt the door to that heavy breeze.

We stand on either of the door shafts
Trying hard to close the door shut
Ever time it comes closer to reality
A single gust lets our efforts falter.

And then we are at it again, relentless.

The storm was never meant to upturn
The storm was there to cleanse and leave
The storm was never meant to touch you
And neither of us were meant to die.

If I were a pangolin

If I were a pangolin 

I would slowly curl up in my den.

My den would be with me

Wherever I decide to be.

Curling up would be much easy

And letting it in not compulsory.

My tail would swat those pests,

And I would be along a quest

With the Badger and the Bear

With whom I could truely share

The story of my many scales

And all those kicking around tales.

May I die?

May I die?
The heart wants to know
It is pining and pinning
and it is screaming.


Every scream falls
on my deaf years.
its lived a long life
and also a lie
it refuses to be
my confidant
It wants to walk
walk as it moves
away and away
to a place
far far way.


It reminds me
of all that it
has seen so long
for all that was
there and there not.
what it left behind.
and what
it had never had
of the love and pain
of the words
of all that worth.


for i have died
many ages ago
it says
it is you who
has to let me go.

Falling out of love

The fear of truth
Leaves behind a stance
A need for expression
Leaves its own mask
Speaking of one
Thinking of the other
Keeping aside the love
An expression of hate
Seeing the sparseness
And not the multitude
Seeking the hatred
And not the approval
The expression of
The self in the other.

Pinning him with you
Twisting her around
Showing that face
Which you have seen
The only one you see
Erasing all memory
Of the truth and nice
Hatred for the self
Blamed on the other
The need to hate:
The need to love
Borne without reason
Yet not of much
Writing in solitude
To those who see
The face i portray
The me behind the me.

When I am four,
I am stubborn and I want attention.
I am hidden and I need not mention.
I am looking for what is lost
I am craving for what was past.
I am missing the light of day,
and the time for all that play.
I am calling out to the then
Where I lived not in a den,
Hatched and allowed to grow
Bask in the sun and water flow.
I am looking for the love and care
For that sweet combing of the hair.
I am looking for the lasting smile,
Nights reading books by the pile.
I am remembering of when-
I was simple and I was sleek
I was not "Oh so meek..!"
I was younger and had a voice,
My decisions were by choice.
When I am four,
I forget all that I have lost,
I dont yearn for what was past.
I am standing in the light of day,
and I have all the time to play.
When I am four,
I look back and I know...
Things once lost are never found,
Destiny is not to which I am bound.
I am peeping out of the window such,
Wishing not to be, by myself as much.