Now that I can't wander, only lust is left.

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By the time this corona massacre ends, I'd be virgin again.

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Being with you is like
walking in a warzone,
each step carefully taken
lest I might knock off
a landmine, blowing my peace
into pieces. It is difficult
to be with a difficult someone,
and while I have all my sympathies
with you for being raised
in a fractured home plastered with
violence — of words, whys and walls,
I don't think I can love someone
when they are healing,
when they are yet to learn
how to love themselves.

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I will be happy to know that you do not have a younger sibling.

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I'd write it to the kid I never had. I'll tell them that I didn't wish for a kid partly out of choice, partly out of fear. I don't want them to come to life in today's world, where I do not feel safe, how could they be, where I do not trust my elders whom I grew up with because all of sudden they have become epitome of hatred, where I do not trust our leaders because instead of uniting everyone despite the differences they are finding differences where there has been unity, where positive words such as intellectual, secular and bhakts have become swear words, where growing up is full of risks. I now understand why they say unsafe sex is risky. It's not the fear of having a child, but the fear of bringing them to this sick world.

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In Search of Lost Time
A Late Night Love Story

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Cigarettes are ceremonious. It’s the stay before a goodbye, a hug after a hi. It dilates time, gives you an excuse in place of a reason to linger. It fills in the silence & continues the conversations. Have it with chai or serve it with custard. It is the bridge over the river of small talk towards the sea of words. It’s a beastly bane and a beautiful boon. It is a plea to not leave me too soon. It is the extended hand of friendship, it’s the afterplay of sex. A cigarette is a gift that gives more time to you than it takes.

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Cigarettes are harmful only if I end up dying of a disease caused by cigarettes, say cancer or heart attack. If I end up dying of anything else, I’d be looking back at my life and relishing every cigarette I had and the peace it brought.

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I put my hands
under your shirt
and try to hold
you by the spine.

Before I know,
you throw me
on the bed, pull
and sniff my line.

Is it dinner?
I ask, my fingers
buried in you.
You say: fine dine.

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