-

For a few days of my life,
I shall wear the wildflowers on my soul,
and travel in the Himalayas like a nomad.

For a few days of my life,
I shall have the Rhodendrons as my sole companion,
and tell them stories about nights
when skies couldn't fall asleep.

For a few days of my life,
I shall watch misty windows
with intermittent sunshine.

For a few days of my life,
I shall wander through bridges alongside hotstreams;
witnessing my paradoxes.

For a few days of my life,
I shall live ..

as the poetess I believed I could be.

-

On nights,
when the sky isn't sleepy enough
and it feels like my mind races
leaps and bounds ahead
of my body -

I take two steps back.

[Not realising that my footprints stay afloat
the waters of a sabotaged story.]

Subsumed into a dearth of emotional quotient;
Letting the monsoon loose,
through my veins.

I trust my body;
for a change.

'To not be', is the best I could do on
some of these nights,

when the sky isn't sleepy enough;

[and all that can be penned
is stains encrypted
with burnt bridges. ]

-

Have you ever wondered
what happens to the love
we cannot accept?
Does it fade away with the winds over time
or, the layers of indifference just blanket it?

What if someday it comes back full circle;
untimely
unaffected

to tell you
it was always there -
you just aren't ready for it?
You never were.

Do you crumble it to feed to the stardust -
where it can stay, eternally disguised;
or wait in the illusion that someday
it'll witness the cost it bears;
and stop being the years of guilt lump
stuck in your throat ..

-

-

I shut the world beyond the clouds
that I see through this window
I drown my chaos today, in red liquid —
hoping it calms my racing thoughts.

My company, fluttering birds
passing by the entrance intermittently.

One of my favorite songs
playing in your voice on my phone, in loop;
my white noise these days.

For a while, it becomes numb
before it erupts like a salty tidal wave.
..
If only, it was this easy to heal from
what I don't write here.

-

Black out

-

Infinitesimal part of a throbbing life
stuck in a free falling elevator —
a sudden gush of red, filling the aura
through n dimensions.

Ink, or blood — quite difficult to decipher.

On nights,
when the sky isn't sleepy enough,
I live this story in loops,
with Lana playing in the back of my head.

At times, I wish, I could release the lid,
and be free of the free fall,
other times, I wish I could just let go,
and drown with the calm that overhears me.

Then, someone whispers to me:
hope has different names, and
can come through unexpected corridors.
Maybe, I just need to watch closely;

on nights
when the sky isn't sleepy enough.

-

The beat of time's heart
skips a part in my memory.

I hear the roar of fading blues
amidst the calmness of my being; now.

It's all a paradox,
my life
your life

and everything that surrounds this story.

In an understatement of 'us',
a forever tale lost somewhere
thrives in alternate universes

where endings exist.

-

On nights when
the sky isn't sleepy enough,

I leave the trails of my existence
for you to find me
at a place
only we know exists.

Stardust carries away the melancholia,
and a layer of reminiscences
waves its way
time travelling to the day
when

the canvas wasn't blood stained.

-