I know that work can weave magic.
But what if the law of probabilities take over.
That stale rotten belated personality of mine,
Will keep rotting.
I will keep weeping,
For the birds that flew out of my hands,
For being one of those
Afraid to make the first move,
Like a creeper,
So passive, huh.
I can’t even separate and blurt
A ‘no’ out from a half hearted yes.
So pathetic.
Every night soon as comfort creeps into me,
I forget that man was not meant to be monogamous.
No, he needs to have his mistress
To get some high
Out of a dull paper bag full of life.
Ah, so pretentious.
Why can’t I just rub my face somewhere
And burst this paper bag?
Because I am not strong enough?
There’s no strength that betrayed me,
Only when the fear of probabilities made its move
I became an empty drum
Rolling down the roads
Collecting no moss.




I have been always a dual person,
What I want to be and what people would perceive of me,
These two keep their distance.
Sometimes I would want them to think of me in a certain way,
I would clap and dance when they wanted me to,
At other times I was more of stubborn than sensible,
Not giving it to them.
Which would amount to my own harm often,
As time would later tell.
But I am a person,
And to give up every time without scratching,
Is against what defines human from animal.
It’s like raking an abandoned highway
For a penny probably made of something precious,
Whose story your mother would tell you over and over again
Every night because you were otherwise too restless
To believe sleep is a better treasure.
Time will bring the dirt that comes with the wind on that highway,
But the penny, it might or might not.
When I think of the necessity of being dual,
It dawns upon me,
We are told we need to show we are better.
Better than what they know us to be,
The show must go on.
But when they go back to sleep,
Every one know they are wretched,
Nothing more than a sheep of the flock.
Just like that old hag who they laugh at on daytime,
For not being bright enough.
Just like that freedom loving spinster who they secretly admire and generously loathe at same time.
They know they had drunk, fornicated and what not,
They have made their rules for others to follow.
And God is just a father figure useful for scaring others into returning their debts.
And blaming for situations they made a blunder of,
And to ask for forgiveness just before they breathe their last.
To wash their hands, on and off.
I am a victim of that framework,
Of what my forefathers kept on passing.
That duality hits brick by brick
On the wall that is withering way because I cannot keep a mind of my own,
It’s too expensive,
In times like this.
I am not a fool to resist.
It might cost a lifetime of futility,
To merge into one,
And survive.


She said –
Rise, rise, rise.
If you want to catch me.
“I am the beautiful mistake
You choose to indulge in.”
She plucked the petals
Out of me.
Stuck in some feathers,
In my ears there is a clanking always,
Cacophony of chaos.

She said-
Go deeper within.
If you want your roots inside me.
“You are the balance I prefer
To fall upon when I’m shrivelled.”
I chose her blindfolded,
Before she could show
All her colors to me.
I let her overpower.
On her lips there is a taste always,
Of the life I wish to love.


I am afraid I’ll dream of afterlife tonight.
Vivid, turbulent, a state of confusion,
I shall witness.
I might not fall asleep,
For that fear.
Then I’ll see my walls dance,
In a frenzy preoccupied
With things I’ve committed,
Above that roof I will imagine
Swirling a thousand sins,
Yet to happen.
And if I drink for that fear,
I am afraid I’ll cry.
I am afraid the chains will break lose.
This world is not what it seems,
Not what I had wanted it to be.
Is there a darkness that’s milder?
An afterlife that’s better?



I am yet to be written.
Yet to be stuck on a wall.
Yet to be posted.
I was born blank,
A gust of wind blew me far.
Aghast, I screamed
Underneath the footsteps,
Of a whole sea
In an air filled with neon lights
And dirty nights.
Stripped clean of desires,
I yearn for a touch,
Of caring nimble fingers,
To write down
A body on me.
I had bigger dreams
That tend to get rotten now,
My dog eared corners.
I burn with a significant amount
Of toil,
Uncertainty and self loath.
Hoping from the ashes,
My bits get strewn together.
I am a leaflet,
I float.
Dusted and torn,
My purpose yet to be served,
And I,
To be reborn.


Pain takes the place.
Where my is heart is,
When it’s heavy.
And it rains,
From behind the misted window panes,
I catch fireflies,
In my dreams
That burn in the back .
It’s not easy
To love the empty.
But I have loved the road,
With the subtlety
Of a mad man,
Even when it’s turns,
Tries and takes
My breath away.

One and a half love poem

One and a half love poem.

Lipstick stains,
From last night.
Or the skies drizzling.
Or blame it on
The roses if you like.
I lost one half of my heart,
While the whole of me
Kept spinning.
Blame it on the wine,
If you please,
But I felt it.
A tingling beneath my feet,
And you by my side.
Beautiful dreams,
Highway and city lights,
Or blame it on the breeze
That kissed your curls.
I don’t lie when I say
I melt every time
You hold me tight,
When I’ve always been
A vagabond,
Free in the spirit.

An afternoon under the Frangipani.

That afternoon,
I caught a glimpse of winter,
Splashed in yellow.
She tried to resist it,
But bashfully.
Mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
She knows it’s her lover,
Cooing from a distance.
like a sweet pea
She twirls.
Her lean hands eager to
Close upon her heaving bosom
Brimming with silly connotations
Borrowed from the summer.
Her feet are fickle,
Drunk upon the honey of love.
A bit loft, pressing softly.
Shaking just enough
Till her petals fall.
And Then,
I caught her letting him
Pick up the pieces,
Braid it up and adorn a handful
Into her endless tresses.

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