poetry

Once upon a time in Mumbai …

Every morning
He walked past her,
Watering Tulsi outside on the balcony
A young man,
Curly haired, long face, wore shoes
With a denim jacket and white pants
With his bullet
Rose colored lens
He lived in the 70s while we walked into 90s
She was a woman in 30s she looked like
she just stepped into the 20s
Her modest sarees clad body
Don’t let that fool you
Until you see her, Kohl lined eyes
Or till you see her through his sight

He’d park his bike, at a perfect angle
To get a second glance
Of her face
She looked at him whenever he didn’t
But somewhere both waited for
The morning
For that one moment of scandal
In their otherwise sober life

She turns left,
He changes his side to the right
Every night
The restlessness, the weird pull
The tension of the summer rain
Looming over humid skies
The temptation was so irresistible
Through their eyes
Her husband paid her attention
Now in money, and
Somedays when he wanted a child
He was a single soul
Vagabond, shy, women found him attractive
But he was just a grown child

Every sunrise
Bought them together
As he passed by, her body came alive
Some electric forces pulled them together
As she climbed her stairs
And he was running down
And they almost crashed into each other
She smiled
He was sly
Her husband walked past them
As if he was never alive
With her

Straightens her saree
As he flicks his curls
He descends over her
As she steps down
Probably, along down from
What defines her

He pins her to the wall,
At the corner of the spiral staircase
It was a rainy morning
Surprise thunderstorms rocked the earth
While he placed his hand beside her head
And with the other
He roved o’er his neck
She traced her fingers on his lips
Her soft, firm movements
She made music on them

The young boy could take no more
He wasn’t ever touched this way
No one ever felt him away
He proceeded closer with his eyes
Rolled to the sky
He covered his mouth
As he looked at her for a while
He flicked his hand through the end
Of her face
Way down, swirling over her neck
And she closed her eyes
Her Kohl kept him awake
He’d never sleep again

He kissed her hand
She kissed her hand
Lips fought them to reach each other
But her beautiful hand
Was now damp
From the leaky roof, droplets from the rain
Hit her forehead and slipped down
He traced them on her nose
When they reached her lips
Her hand came off
And they kissed
While his nails etched her waist

Her saree slipped through the shoulder
He placed his hand in between
The rain poured like
An unexpected stranger
Droplets trickled down her face
Quenching then
All those thirsts filled nights
Sleepless touching themselves
Her touch felt his fire
His feel was ice
As they were about to burn in desire

Her toddler,
Called her out,
She freed herself from his hold
And returned home
While he walked into the rain
And rode his bike

Monsoons were beginning.

The photo was used from Pinterest.com.

poetry

We sleep…

Inspired by Palestine Refugee camp

We sleep in tents
Inside the camps across the line
That separates nations
His teeth dig into my skin
As if barbed wire pierce through the trespassers,
My screams are muffled
He holds my mouth with his wet palms
To hush up
Not to draw too much attention

Sand flies across the land
Border lights glow as if stars in the night
Dewdrops trickle down our faces
My lover runs his nails up
From my toe
through my spine
Tugging my strands
Not so soft anymore
My hair has weathered storms

Gunshots are heard at a distance
More blood tonight
My land, their land,
A little child has no land

He pulls my clothes away from my body
And his pants
Every gunshot makes my body shiver
He holds me close
I can hear
Chaos, a mother weeps
As he tastes my quivering lips,
My broken lips now bleed
From the military strikes

A silhouette of the crowd are protesting the refuge
The refuge is a prison now
Oh, the irony
The protectors are the real destroyers
The world watches as we burn
In the fire that consumes us

My shivering palms run through his chest
I grab his skin and dig my nails into his rib
Blood forms a teardrop
As he moans
Wriggles in pain
He holds me so close
His hand firm holds mine down

More people leave us tonight
They become stars
But we no longer weep
For our hearts are frozen numb

He holds my neck
As he intrudes my sanctity
He enters the inner sanctum
The temple doors are open
The wind makes flame flicker
As people bicker
On both sides of the fence

Our Gods are the same,
But do they even care
Intruding, invading our spaces
The cruel wind slaps my breasts

I sigh
More gunshots
More cries
They are getting closer

Flying machines unleash the fury
Lighting up the night sky
As if it’s a festival of spirits
Leaving our world

He chokes me
And looks into my eyes
His eyes pointed towards the sky
Tears rush down
Pierce our cheeks like ice
When the world around is destroyed
Tonight we create life.

And then they come for us.

poetry

Aftertaste

The aftertaste of your love

On my tongue

The excess of sweetness

Not that of candies and chocolates

But the twisted overdose

Of whiskey with crystallised sugar

That soaked in your skin as if

I was romancing a bottle

Of my doom

In the dark corners of your room

Lit in fluorescent

And tinted sunlight,

The creaking of the bed

To the sounds of your skin

Running against mine

The friction, the pain

It was a desert storm

Not the soothing rain

To the silence of our empty house

Screeching in each other’s ears

The look of rage

Into the eyes of lust

On a sultry afternoon

Like entangles kites that burn in the heat

of the scorching sun

While we are set ablaze in flames

Of your fiery desires

Healing my throbbing nerves

And curing your sleeplessness

Leaving an aftertaste of your sweet love

On my bitter tongue

poetry

Cigarettes after sex

Who decides how you fight

Someone you love to hate

Maybe you tie him up

Let the animal inside your cage

Come alive

As you bind him with his own knots

And starve him

You push him down

Tug his trousers

Hold him

At a distance

He can feel your warmth

Not let him touch

Or feel

While you feast his neck

Tug his hair

Till you hear him scream

And that’s how you fight

Someone you love to hate

And when the clock strikes eight

Minutes after two

You hold his neck

And breathe down his track

To his stomach and below

And look him in the eye

You challenge

You tease

Seduce and ask him to call a truce

Offer him an olive branch

But after you feel what makes him

The man he is

And you let him

Inside you

On your terms

And a million conditions

Until he offers peace

And then you wake up

Untie him

Wear your pride on your chest

Smile at him one last time

Before you return home

Savor your victory

Hold that cigarette high in air

Let the smoke guide you to base

And you shall tell the world that

You decide how you fight your battles

Especially with the one you love to hate

poetry

Hope & Fear

Hope a lovely lass
Fear, a skeptic lad
Met each other on a fateful evening
Hope, so pretty
Her smiled bloomed like
A hibiscus
Fear, tormented face yet
Amazing like the sky
On a new moon night
It was love at first sight
For hope, it just felt right
As if she knew him since forever
Fear wanted her
For he wanted a taste of
Her smile
Even if for a while
Hope sneaked a peak
Fear stared her in the eye
The karmic attraction they couldn’t deny

Hope was naive
Fear was cruel
Yet this was something he
Couldn’t resist
As he kissed her smile that night
Moved his fingers on her lips
Hope, had never before felt
The intensity of heat
It felt like fire and ice both
Made Home on her lips
She smile moved to his
He felt roses and everything mellow
Agitated, he went in with all he had
Hope matched him in contradiction

Fear ran his nails
Through her spine
Tracing it one by one
Leaving an impression
Hope ran her hands through
His heart
It leaped, and she laughed
She cupped his face
She felt his anguish
Hope was bound to soothe him
But he was fear,
Hope was in love
And fear was just being himself

Rains lashed and raindrops
Slashed against the window
As if to caution,
But hope and fear
Were lit on fire
The skies wept and
The evil rejoiced
As fear made his way
Into hope
Her first love was enthralling
She let out a gasp
Every inch he conquered
Less of her she felt
Arched her back
She let him in
But that’s what they say
Don’t they,
What you love,
Is the one thing that
Takes your soul away

Fear had never seen
Something more divine
Than hope
He wanted more of her
His eyes turned red
It was love and lust
She had a power
He wanted a taste
She was his reflection
All that he was supposed to be
But wasn’t
He ventured deep,
All the way in
Held her by the curls
“Give in to me”, he screamed
She faintly smiled
He threw her away
Pulled her back in
Fear found love in her face
But that’s what they do,
Don’t they
Destroy the one they love

With every minute of the night,
Fear grew stronger
And Hope diminished
After this ghastly encounter
They created the outcome
And no one knows what happened
To either of them
Some legends say, hope survived
And outcome was named Yang
Others disagree,
Say hope didn’t make it through
The horrific night
Fear named outcome Yin
And raised her up himself
Wise men say, both hope and fear
Lived a full life,
Gave twins to this world
Yin and Yang
Yin was more like Hope
But, took after her Father
While Yang resembled Fear
He was raised right by his mother

Once in a while
Fear and hope haunt people’s mind
And outcome makes an appearance
Sometimes Yin,
Other time Yang
And both exist in silence
Balancing each other
Depending on what legend you
Believe in

 

 

 

poetry

Prose Poetry 

I refused to get in the shower for days. I was afraid I’d lose your smell that was etched on my skin. I wanted to carry you around with me for as long and as far as I could. So when the time came, I undressed in parts with patience. Took my time like you did that night. This time I wanted to do it right, I took my sweet time, searching for every mark every bite of that night. If there was an audience, it’d be a sight, to behold. Your grip on me, your hold, when the night was bold, we were to each other sold. Our noses fought to be a part, love, passion all lost in the art. You were drama, a musical in bed and poetry in motion. Leaving feelings unsaid to the imagination. Kissed me with your eyes closed, my hands your blindfold. I warm, you cold, tugging stitches of the threads that bound us, until our bare skins found us. Your hands moved on the bosom and mine flew down. We whispered and screamed in ears, bite the lobes and kissed the napes until the sunrise when you drifted, I shifted to a dreamland of our own in each other’s arms. And when the morning came, life was never the same. We parted ways, you moved left and I right, catching the last glimpse, what a sight. When two lovers separate, just to run into each other again at another date. And until then, I was going to savor you for as long and as hard as I could. Refusing to get into the shower.

poetry

About that night…

“Fuck this shit”, I said as I stormed out of his focus. I was tired of fighting a battle when he was the least bit rattled. I yearned for intimacy, he didn’t. Ah! The despair, when two humans are dancing on a different rhythm. I reached home, threw stuff around, screamed and yelled, hurled abuses, argued, all things that remained unsaid. Until, until the mirror called out. I looked at self, a few gains, a few lines of pain. The clouds that night were as agitated as I was. It roared and it struck at the earth, and it poured. I couldn’t see my reflection anymore. So, I walked out and joined the clouds, looking down several floors below. The raindrops hit the edges of my skin. The first touch in a long time and so ethereal, surreal. I undid the knots one by one until the rain touched every wild part of my raw self.

Fingers slid down from my lips as a guide to the droplets, to explore a barren land. Barren yet so fertile. Where no man’s been in a while. Leaning against the wet walls of my home. Staring at a million lights that lit up as if a vertical blanket of stars. Maybe I had an audience, maybe I didn’t. I dreamed of that evening, multiple times, nightmares I called it. Maybe they weren’t. Fingers touched the tip of my bosom, “angelic” a boy had once exclaimed. I touched them, as if it was my first, as if I dreamed of this since forever.

While one hand cupped my own feminine self, other side slid through the stomach. Through the imaginary abs and pressures of the social and fit of the fabric way-way low, down below, to my perceived character, my identity and something that charted the course of history. Soft and supple and raw. Painters got us right, but rarely the photographers. The shame and the pride. The pause and the ride. The adrenaline rushed as a high tide – as I made my way inside.

Oh, how I lied, when I told him “I like you inside, of me”, I didn’t, not a bit. It was all a fake cry. All I liked is me, all I loved was me and in that moment, all I had the lust for was me. I was dominant and I was the passive. I was the Empress and I the servant. I was on top and the bottom. Fingers slid in one after another until I could take no more. In and out, in subtle pauses with the intensity of rain that lashed a drought seen land.

Sweat trickled down my face along with raindrops, salt, and self. As my fingers, rushed in and out in waves, I went weak in my knees. Fell on the floor, hit my head on the door, laughed a bit, let out a scream. Out of my own self, the color of my strands flowed down with the water. I screamed and gasped until after longest time I learned how to love myself.

No “are you done”, no “not yet?”. It was only me and I. Oh how beautiful, no pressure, no performance. Just a real, raw emotion. Finally, when tears joined the waters that already were, I was over and done. Lying on the floor, shivering and trembling, bent knees, I closed my eyes. For one long peaceful night.