Gift me sunsets,
wrapped up in sheets of mist,
sewn with a few winds-here and there.
Gift me your kisses,
forbidden lust wrapped up in sheets,
sewn with a broken heart and a broken needle.

-

You are
the beginning of my sorrow
to the end of my misery
with everything in between.

-

Three Words.

Words that were repeated like a prayer
Of a small child
Wishing for a new toy.
Words that were written as a sonnet
Of a poet
Explaining lives.
Words that reminded me everyday
Of a life
I left a life before.
Three words that were spoken
On my deathbed,
In my ears,
Three words, and
I stopped breathing.

-

I've been waiting for you
over the tapestry of dead roses,
woven over quilts of my blood.
So promise me, when you return
you'll bury me under the garden of smiles
And my epitaph would read 'liliac'.

-

'What are those noises ? Is father working so late at night, mother ?'
'No, my son. Those are fireworks. Now sleep', replied his father.

-

And so,
Art was made.
To describe in
muses, strokes and chords
that, which can't be described in words.

-

She sat on the bench
in a dimly lit alley,
smoking stardust,
getting drunk on storms.

-

शरद ऋतु में सावन मनाया है,
शक्ति की आराधना में शिव को पाया है।
काशी के पुष्प में पानी सजाया है,
शक्ति की आराधना में शिव को पाया है।

रक्षा सूत में अपराजिता पिरो कर,
मीठी ठंड में धूप डुबो कर,
मीरा बन वैराग्य मनाया है,
शिव में शक्ति पाया है,
शरद में सावन मनाया है।

बेल पत्र ले ध्यान लगा कर,
बनारस किनारे कैलाश बसाया है।
सब रंगों को श्वेत बना कर,
पारिजात से अव्यक्त रिझाया है,
शक्ति में शिव पाया है,
शरद में सावन मनाया है।

-

I sit down and try to write about you.
Over leftover pizzas and stale cokes,
I try to satiate my mind with your thoughts.
I scribble and tear the paper down. Once. Twice. Thrice.
I imagine you singing a broken tune from a lost meddley
Or picture you spilling coffee over your lover's bedsheet.
I picture you stumbling over the old photographs of us and turning them down.
I try to write about you and fail.

Days later, I realize, no amount of words are enough to write about you,
And I start writing again.

-

The tulip unfurls itself,
Dew dripping off it like sweat.
Your come home clad in red,
Sweat dripping off you
like early morning dew.

-