Mine

Your,
occasional aloofness,
eyes full of sadness,
for an unknown reason
kills me, sweetheart.

But then,
That disarming smile,
that excited laugh,
shreds my doubt apart.

And,
the blush that,
reddens your cheeks,
moistens your lips,
pumps my stupid heart.

Technicolor

I drive around in my lemon car,
putting on different sunglasses,
of different shades,
for different perspectives,
on life.

But all I see is,
People,
Death,
Sickness,
Jammed car gears and hanging bumpers,
Gutters,
Highways,
All in technicolor.

Of sands, seas, rivers, and islands.

We were like sea
and the sea shore.
Like sands absorb seas.
And the seas reach out,
to meet the sand.
Again
And again.
And I found earth,
to hold me,
before
I vanish into infinity.

But you couldn't see,
The deeper side of me.
We drank each other's
Blood.
Tearing flesh off the bones.
But couldn't find,
Our hearts, our souls.
Sea was dying,
Of thirst,
Of its own salt,
Of its own poison.

The moon was fading,
Into darkness.
So was the pull.
High tides weren't high enough.
Low tides vanished.

Moon had now faded.
Only darkness remained.
I couldn't come to meet.
Neither did you.
For sea is transitory.
Free, thirsty.
Thirst, only a river can satisfy,
For it mixes completely.

My kind of love

I am a bird,
with wings,
with an urge to fly.
But I can also cage myself
with you
If that's what you desire.

But if you stop loving me slowly,
So shall I, slowly.
If you try to forget me
Don't bother,
as I shall have already forgotten.
Frozen.
Forgiven
Finished.

But, oh my love
If, for you
the sun sets and rises
with me.
If you decide
to give yourself to me
I shall too.
Remember.
Reside.
Reciprocate.
For your love
feeds my love,
as your hate
feeds mine.

Comfortably dead!

Wanted to cry
Lighten up my heart
Asked for your shoulder
to lay me head.
You offered me support
and I laid myself
Snuggled deeper inside
and cried a little.
Saw a knife, dripping blood
and bled a little.
Fainting breaths, fluttering eyelids
Now I was crying blood
but enjoyed a little.

Still Incomplete

Your breath
strangles up my mind.
and those legs
stairway to heaven,
spiritual, immoral
at the same time.
sensations like
a lightening strike
walking on air
on cloud nine..
 

You

I read your poems in a book,
poems about beautiful islands,
sunsets, dreams, trees, shades.
You were known, no doubt,
spent time with the other knowns
of the city,
far less talented though.
Talented to write songs
enough to make teenagers cry.
You hung around
fell in love many times
heartbroken as many times
But in the meantime,
we wrote.
Though I'd never seen you.
Not that I was alone.
I had my pleasures, my poison.

Your talent, your poems
were getting darker.
We still wrote, you read.
We never met, never touched, just craved
In the meantime,
you were getting your heart broken in the city,
of soul suckers.
One rainy sunday,
I got a letter from your friend
that you had died, jumped into the river
and with you all your beautiful poems sank,
the islands sank
the sun sank
trees, dreams sank.

Contempt

I was in bed
lying on my back.
A phone and a diary beside me.
On bed, powerless, motionless, emotionless.
Saw a mouse on the floor
near my bed.
Was looking at me
challenging me
mocking my slothfulness.
I grabbed the diary
Threw at it
Missed the target completely.
The mice won
and all I was left with
was my phone.

The Valley

The flower turned to ashes,
Leaves fallen down the trees.
I stroll down a dusty street,
Kicking pebbles with my feet.
Her house burned to ground,.
as it lies beneath.

Cant imagine,
Cant recall,
How it's been.
It only stinks of war,
and of dead bodies.
Cant hold my breath,
I feel like going down.

Where sages shared words cryptic,
That temple's nowhere to be seen.
I stroll down the street,
kicking pebbles with my feet.
while its remains,
lie underneath.

Valley's gone without a trace,
Only bodies, no face.
As I stroll down the street,
Holding my breath closing my eyes.
Kicking pebbles with my feet,
The last of the human race...

Dear friend

You love being sad,
Tortured by women.
You like the torture, dont you?
You hate the good ones.
All bad, selfish bitches,
whom you love,
and they wont love you in return,
for long, for more than a year.

You love dreaming,
be rich, be famous.
But every morning,
you get up all weary,
and do the manual work.
You like to dig the past
when the future lies above.
You like torture, dont you?
Kicked, humiliated, mocked.
You enjoy that, dont you?

Oh my friend,
I had to write such.
But now,
when I read it over again,
I suddenly realize.
Is it you
or is it me I am talking about?