poetry

Behind that door

Mama dreamed of having a house of her own
And after a while so did I

Adi wanted to own a palace
I just wanted a warm, cozy place

We argued at an end for months about what place I’d get
Finally, unbeknownst to him I bought a run down

My obsession for dilapidated building got to me
I painted it red and planked the window shut

Called it the house of broken yet beautiful things
The landmark was a cycle, from the yard sale

The house was me, reminded me of myself
Closed on the outside, shut and sealed

But if I ever opened the door, you’d smell
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee
You’d see
My daughter’s portrait under the one that got away.
my obsession for flowers
all kinds of green
colorful things, furniture, and a million knives
My cat sprawled on the aquatic green sofa
While I crash on the floor beside
Wired.
A fishbowl,
My retriever fighting his reflection in the mirror
placed bang opposite to the door.
Su says it helps with the evil
For no-one is evil to their reflection.

I don’t see frequent visitors
Unless they have secrets to share
bottled in Mason Jars placed on the teak wooden shelves
next to the books.
Some crash behind, some fall asleep,
a few leave even before I wake up.

Certain nights I open them for the ghosts of my past,
they come back, but I send them on their way fast.
I hang them on the sorry tree in my backyard,
let the wind carry them away.

Behind the door is a world love.
That’s where I live,
It is my home, and
Among a few, you are always welcome.

poetry

Barter.

I want to open a furniture outlet
By the beach
In Goa, he says

Me too, I fool around

What are you selling, he asks
What do you suggest, I counter question
Magic, he says
Charms, potions, spells; I blush

We both crash on the beach
Beer for him
Coffee for me but laced
with whiskey

He is earth; I am air
Carrying tales of distant lands
While he provides me with the fire
for the alchemy.

We barter as the night ends,
the carpenter sells me a wooden heart
and I trade him the Amortentia.

poetry

We give love a bad name.

We give love a bad name
As you linger around the corner of my brain,
your face hovers over mine
Connecting neurons like dots on my black dress
Making me twitch, tingle and tremble
Cutting my T’s – like you powder your nose
inhaling, burning and releasing
I am already inside the premises 
while you are dotting my closed eyes
Your fingers race through my hair
like the keypad
finding the right password to get inside my head
You are a hacker,
Airplanes fly above us, their tail-lights as if chasing the stars
The west wind blows over the sea
As my fingers fish for your heart
you believe your lies to the center
mine to the left, walls, security checks, fingerprints and retina scans
for the access to your radioactive heart
But I am a spy.
I clench your heart, while you hold my mind

You rush through, I
take my time — I scramble signals
You tighten your walls
Intruder alert!!
Your army of cells clash with my military
knowing one of us will remain to clean the mess
Fighting in the dark, just lasers, no sound
Airplanes swoosh in the sky
as I breathe words in your ears
You go down as I glide
taking a longer route to my mind,
James Bond your way up.
I am the bride love,
shot in the head before
Ask Bill.

You are getting close
So freaking near, one leap of faith
I open my eyes, now mimicking yours
I need to get through
before you.
I drag you higher, as my eyes pass the test
the blade slides in the keyway of the lock
You distinguish
You know I have sneaked my way in
You call for a truce, but it’s too late now
the guns blaze
Your heart reacts, and my mind explodes
And we are stardust now
We see phosphenes fly

We give a love a bad name
In a bid to finish last
Mere mortals,
Fighting a war
You are just Israel, and I am Russia
You are all Yahweh
And I am 60 percent vodka
You shouldn’t have been allowed in
You wish to leave, but how
My mind is a prisoner of war, maybe
But your heart is mine now.

poetry

I am done.

On this day in 1945, at 8:16 a.m. Japanese time, an American B-29 bomber, the Enola Gay, drops the world’s first atom bomb, over the city of Hiroshima. Approximately 80,000 people are killed as a direct result of the blast, and another 35,000 are injured

I crank up the stereo volume till my ears bleed
Shutting out this world
Where I am supposed to belong, but I don’t
The very place I stand
was destroyed, rebuilt and is about to be destroyed again
Who decided to kill for peace
who chose to die for love
Where did we go wrong love, where did we fall
What have we built
the fires rage after years
we pay for our faults
our children, naive darlings
some can’t walk, some can’t talk
What were we fighting for
Who were we fighting against
The bombs, the tanks, the guns
Someone holds the gun
But a different one pulls the trigger
We are a mess
Of blood, shards of human parts
blown away
for a man’s ego.

I crank up the volume and close my eyes
I squeeze them shut
It is eating us alive. this anger, this fear
Running away from our ends
Mowing down everything
Collateral damages
When are we going to stop, love
How many more bodies are we going to step on
How do we win wars
When we collectively lose

I crank up the volume further up
Until I can’t hear myself anymore
At the edge of the skyscraper
dropping down several feet below
free falling;
like the little boy and the fat man
At least I destroy myself while
this world destroys itself.

I am done.

poetry

I am Difficult

I am difficult

Tangled like the curls on my head

Uneven, in myriad shades of bleach

Somedays I am a star

Other days I am the meteor

Waiting to strike the earth

I leave craters wherever I touch

I am your first shot of whiskey on a empty stomach

I am pungent, burning your throat

Driving you to the edge

And when I touch your stomach

You will feel me prick you

You swear off me, making a vow to not touch me again

You drink water, you bite something really spicy that makes your eyes water

And then eventually you start feeling the warmth

Engulfing every cell in your system

Hitting every nerve that makes you either scream or squeal

Because when you are alive, I live

I am your worst nightmare

Like a lightning,

striking the one thing you fear

And it’s too late

But then I roar like a thunder

Screaming for help behind the fury

I will hurt you like a nagging pain

In your knees

So that you know when you are going down

I am difficult love

By all means impossible

I am a cannon ball

Don’t hold me too close

I will make your skin crawl

But on nights you are quiet, I will let you bury your head

In my chest and lay there

As you sleep

Because I am also your solace

And I will watch over you

Like stars do

Night after night.

poetry

What starts at three

Loneliness stabs me in the centre of my chest — makes a nice clean cut

There’s no blood like the last time

What is it about the depth of the night

— it makes you feel intensely

Haunting restlessness sets in

The leaves rustle wildly against the window

No rain tonight, just wind

The cars are parked neatly in boxes

And temple is pristine white

—television’s pitch black

Everything is still but me

Moving from one furniture to another

Pacing back and forth

That’s what horror is — the quiet

Like something will jump out any moment

But nothing does

The chest goes on a radio static

As if making contact with outer space

Is anyone there, I wonder

I move back to the bed, where he once lay

Drawn to the ceiling – it has painted white

hibiscus against cherry pink

Like flowers floating in sangria

It baffles me, how did I miss it night after night

We had it for a long time now

Yet I missed it like everything else

The truth, it was before me as a child

— as an adolescent, tonight

I wasn’t ready to see

I looked at it against the incandescent – it lights it through the left corner

I speak plainly tonight

Saving you time – spending lifetime deciphering my metaphors

I can’t let go of this feeling as you sleep without consequence

Where I am compelled to choose this slumber

We are still eight minutes to four

A man takes off on his bike at a distance

Solace in a stranger

We are alone but in a crowd

If I only thought positive – I’d sleep better

The radio static numbs down gets somber

As if the contact is established

That night — loneliness set in

The same way as now we blamed it on the ghosts that roamed the place

We didn’t look the ones that made me their abode

What is it about people, so difficult to convince, the unseen

They name everything, it makes it easier than the incomprehensible

If you see it, you are a maniac, if a lot of you see it, it’s collective hysteria

But if they see it then it exist

What is real – I question

Is it me or is all of this nibbling at my soul

If thoughts had power he’d be here

And that all made sense, we’d go bonkers

The time moves ahead

And we remain alone

What starts at three sometimes ends at four.

poetry

Tell Me

Tell me
Tell me what happened when you held my hands,
Did it burn?
Did you freeze?
Did you walk through the history of time,
Through the deserts,
where we once ran for refuge?
You tell me you feel;
I say to you that I observe.
What did you think when you kissed,
why did you then submit?
Why did your teeth sink in the sand
that is me?
Did I lure you,
why did we make a mess of the bed?
What were you looking for
In my eyes;
Were you searching for my soul
or just your reflection staring back at you?
And when you made your way inside
you broke the boundaries,
the laws of the ceasefire.
What is it that you were trying to conquer
me or your fears of the intensity?
Were you scared it would suck you in the whirlwind that was me?
And when I convexed, and you concaved
Did we trap the light between us?
You say you feel
Did you feel the teardrops roll down from my eyes
in your hands?
You shuddered, and I trembled.
Talked about your lovers and I merely smiled.
So how did it go?
Did we exist through it or did we live?