I have an ashtray full of your memories,
and much like a cigarette
when the remembrance 
comes alight,
I feed my insides
with the endless
burning fumes
of a touch so missed
on my fingers.

'For all things are going to kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it's much better to be killed by a lover.' - Charles Bukowski #YQBaba #soafl #napowrimo

11 APR AT 21:49

Tomorrow I might 
remember you less,
for the yesterday 
when you had me
undone in earnest.
But today,
today let me vanquish,
let this slow simmering soul
in your memories tarnish.

Songs of a fictitious love 'You die each day, A little more than tomorrow, A little less than yesterday.' - Shikha From her lovely poem. #mymuse Initiated by Maha Devan. Open to anyone reading this. Find your muse amongst all the wonders on the app and let flow. #YQBaba #soafl #poem

11 APR AT 12:09

Somewhere, out there
In a world alternate, yet dear
The moon splits into your eyes
And there’s no longer an eclipse
That separates you and I. 

It’s all about saving things that walked away from your reality and but left deep footprints on my heart, and unlike the ones that I leave on the wet sand along the shore to evade with the waves, these only delve into a deeper melancholy in the hymns of the sea. These memories are adamant and silent on my surface like the ships that I look at waiting to enter the port but on the insides they roar in chaos like a cloud laden with turmoil waiting to burst open. There is inordinate beauty that roams the shore and as soon as it hits my skin it turns into a striking longing for things past.  These get my eyes moist and burning, so I put on my shades and I look at all your fiery embraces diminishing into orange ribbons streaked across an evening sky. Underneath that sky those metallic wanderers of the sea wait and I exist there too. There’s a machine to be opened up, we do it easily. There isn’t much when it comes to tearing apart a thing; it’s putting back the pieces that is tricky. One wrongly placed component, no matter how small, and it won’t work. One must consult the instruction manual.  The sky darkens, the sun gets meager, the waves reach closer towards me and I exist in my cabin. The mast lights are turned on and the engine room is unmanned. Pink Floyd plays the punctiliously crafted tunes and I fail to become comfortably numb. I remember things I would do better to forget about, I remember songs that should have vanished from my playlist as our dreams from your eyes, but I remember. I can’t help but remember you and in these moments I exist somewhere else too; somewhere aberrant from reality. The fabric of realism slowly rips apart and a mesmerizing night finds us together. You lie next to me, I hold you from behind, you take my hand and place it over your heart. You pat it twice and I kiss your hair. An angry wave makes the hull vibrate and I’m broken from my reverie. I do not exist in my cabin, I do not exist on the shore, I do not exist as a single entity but all I am is a scattered firework of remembrances and there is no instruction manual for me.  So I collect my pieces in another song of a fictitious love. Somewhere, out there In a world alternate Yet dear, you and I still are Where there is a sky of love And every breath of yours Perfumes my heart. Where you agree, When I ask you to stay And I bring you a tulip For everyday. Where my edges fit perfectly In your curves And I hold you, somewhere besides this Sweet nostalgic curse. Where the air is fragrant With your moist sighs And you tell me  when to stop drinking And on you I get high. Somewhere, out there In a world alternate, yet dear The moon splits into your eyes And there’s no longer an eclipse That separates you and I.  #YQBaba #soafl

21 FEB AT 18:06