a child's face. a word, given. a dewy sunny morning. a water laden fresh pail. a soothing rhythm. a pink bow. a blooming glow. a white dress. a pot of flowers. a stack of books. a bowl of soup. a coveted movie. a ring of promise. a watered garden. the vast sky. the vapour pressed kurti. the daal my mother cooks. the cup of coveted morning tea. the diary of all my dreams. the evening walk by the sea. the ocassional deep sleep. the hours spent uninterruptedly reading. the smell of an essential oil. the warmth on a winter night. a picture of memories.

your name on my lips.

-

There lies a picture portrait of me in the dusty corner of my old home, which can be mistaken to be a ghost house, now. It has cobwebs running to and fro. In the picture, a lady with disheveled but long hair beaded in locks, much like my present disposition if left unwashed for a week. She wears bright red lipstick and has sharp long nails painted red too. She wears a V-neck black gown and a single stone on her ring finger.

Her eyes, they are dewy. In longing more than in reminiscence.

She is the witch that turned the fire away.

She is the witch that got away.

-

All of life is an act of
expressing love in
subtle ways and
not overstepping
any lines in the
process.

-

A lone wolf,
I sailed through the ocean, under a sky full of stars. So close and yet apart. When a wave hit my boat, I prayed with all my might it crumbles, just like my heart.

The morning when I reached the shore, the skies burst open, balm to parched skin. My boat flew away, as if to look for its heart.

I knew then that nature was a friend. They found it equally exhilarating to meet. They found it equally distressing, to fall apart.

-

The pills didn't work just enough.
Counselling felt like a waste
of time for it was too quiet;
before, after and meanwhile.
Clearing didn't make much
sense because
where do I keep the clutter?
Cleaning is a monolithic concept
without any layers to it.

Nothing,
Nothing is satiating enough.

I am not sure
if I am recovering
from the storm
or
if I miss it.

-

The trick
Is to make you crave enough
So you spur your wit and will.

The trick
Is to never give you enough
So you suppress your love and lust.

-

That which burns me in the present
Will scar you in your future too.

So,
Tread lightly,
Those are dreams you are stomping on.

-

Gait

-

baby branches stemming out from creamy white roots into the dark abyss of the soil. absorbing copious amounts of nutrients, minerals, oxygen and care. growing and transporting into a world outside where there is enough air to breathe but equally vicious to curtail and grip. roots that gradually become crisp, firm and hardened jutting out into the world outside. like a century old mansion established at the base, growing slender and meaner on top. and as does history repeat itself, so does it. branches like the graceful arches of a dancer's pose and gait. bending gradually forward in a splendid display of submission, gratitude and most importantly affection.

the world of flora too recognises a genius when it sees one.

-

Rendezvous

-