excesses

the one without a country in crowded restaurants
he who wanted to go far away, always farther away
didnt know what to do there, whether he wanted
or didnt want to leave or remain on the island,
the hesitant one, the hybrid, entangled in himself,
had no place here..
- Neruda

theres too much of everything here. lately, to me, each place feels the same and i dont want to be there. i am too close to the same edges and ive been here too many times; the familiarity sickens me. the people around me are creeping into my person and that this can happen is scary. the smoke is in my skin now; the faces around me are the matte, numb colour of wanting to stay and more than anything else i have to get out of here and feel new again. i want to leave.

there is no pain, you are receding

a friend leans across the table and whispers in my ear that he can "hear the wheels in my head turning and screeching" and i laugh exactly like a person does when she doesnt want to. the music quickens and some part of me moves out of habit to its beat. i want to leave.

i want to leave.

rush

shes looking for a new vein to slit. its what you do when youve run out cheap thrills and people to hold you down.

from up here, at this balcony, all you can see are the lights and cold streets running like straps all across a city that stopped resisting a while ago. out there, people are fast sleep on the pavements, finding warmth and inertia beneath the lamp posts. in so many rooms everywhere, women will make love on cue to their partners and have obligatory orgasms. they will then turn to the other side and think about making breakfast. dutifully, children are made, fed and put to sleep at 8 pm and for so many people life flows along gently. its disgusting.

the music reaches deep into her stomach and its harder to breathe now. she closes her eyes and wonders how far she would have to lean over the balcony before the wind would push her onto the other side. across her back, he runs his hand and the only thing she knows about him is the pattern of the lines on his palm and fingers. she breathes in deep, turns away and towards him. "take me away" .
your place or mine?

claustrophobia

breathe
breathe
breathe

brown-paper-bag-world
just big
enough
for you
and the primal waves
of you
breathing
again

there's no one else

distant laughter
is that too much?
perfect
silence,
then
endless
light
effortless
dark
chocolate
warm
water
deep enough to hide in

a blindfold

no,
there's no one else
not even time
running a finger
across your shoulder
too close
to your ears?

farther away then
slip away, just
stop swimming
dont stay
for daybreak

around the horizon

effortless
dark

pointless

it is. believe me. it is like a merry-go-round ride..

sweet sixteen forever. you would have blushed again, and then owned your age with the quiet rush of your fingertips against my hair. the simple blessing you said i would always have, i want that once again. please.

i stayed long after you were gone, trying so hard to make sure i never forget. long silver hair. the self conscious smile that followed each time you told me i should stay a little longer because you didn't know when i'd visit you next. the lines of your palm, hands i couldn't find the courage to touch once more because this time they would be cold.

its fading away. one of these days i will walk into the spaces we shared and not look for you. i didn't stay long enough.

Arid

torn?
they're no longer red-
the rims of eyes
you wait patiently by

remember?
where
homeless journeys
Ended
along the course
of wasted veins
scarlet-split tile.

did it ever
cut deep
enough, sweetheart?

nevermind, you
can't drip back
into pain again

some April, soon
you will cease
with the khamsin

anonymous dust
falling
off someone's lashes
someone
with tears,
still

so, nevermind.

its easy to disappear people.

first, a human being becomes something to be disposed off as soon as possible, a reason for comfort food, something that occupied space, time and thought till just a while ago.

a life then becomes a lifetime - a collection of things, memories, spaces. a creature of the past.

so, youve left behind these crumbs of you, like links to a broken anklet. handprints made in red ink and intentionally on bedroom walls; in ketchup and unintentionally in that corner of the kitchen. the scent of your breath on someone's skin. the way you sat on the edge of the couch and smiled last time we met. the conversations. may be even the bitterness and disgust someone felt for you.

and then the signs go away. fresh paint, new books, more albums, different homes, new words and more people replace everything. the bitterness may linger a while, but it too will be gone soon enough. what then?

twilight

spun cotton light
cinnamon
dreams
melt into
illusions now.
its hard to tell.

songs turn
on their sides, asleep
a word quietly
unbinds her breasts
at times,
living seems
easy
between sighs

on its toes,
a mist runs
parting time

and i don't know
what to do
anymore.

tear

whisper.

lie silent

quiet lie

Hush

no one
wants

to listen

to more noise

because of you.


Hush
let
Serenity
get to you.

you are
not to
Tear.

splinter thought

shatter scream

strip disturbance

scratch glass

pull at polythene curtains

bare.

or at least
try.

nothing gives
unless
you
tear.

do not tear.

are you?
as scared
as I am
of little paper cuts?

Be.

die blog die!!!!

die!!!

ps: ha ha ha bless your soul
you really think that youre in control

the journey of a thousand nights

drown footsteps
into grey dusks
it becomes easier
eventually,
to leave them behind.
there are no parting cries.
closure
is not all that matters.

sometimes, todays choke
wrapping fingers
around the sighs
of the one walking away.
and a thousand miles
is too far away
from the past.

choose burdens

anonymity.

faceless time and nameless people.

a thousand nights
of being too afraid
to sleep naked and alone.
spent walking
in the solitude
of keeping company
with reflections.

walking the path
to find
that the end of the road
is a mirage.

stay unknown.

and this here is why women are an annoyed lot. why the world or approximately half of it atleast wishes things were different. not just pms, or men, or women. or ekta kapoor. although all of these contribute. Marie Antoinette would probably have come up with something better than "let them have cake" if she wasn't precariously perched and trying to find her balance between her heels and wig.

DILLUSIONS.

Hold an illusion
up, to the light,
between fingers.

like steam rising
from the rim
of a coffee cup
from long ago.

The wings of a dragonfly
waiting to be let go.
it won't
be free
would'nt fly much far
anyway
broken, meant
to be broken someday.
fragile. like
the illusion you held on to.

Did you laugh just now?
When the ashes became dust
like that cigarette
you left to burn out.
so carelessly, unfelt.

Did you laugh just now?
or am I faking a memory?
tracing a new illusion
in spilt wine
to hold on to.
Did I laugh
just now?

DEAL

thirteen step backwards
into that square room
no walls, one window
Last time i looked out,
Framed in flaming
orange curtains, The sky
was the exact shade
of midnight blue.

remember?

When i tore up my wings
to make soft pillows;
sewed satin pillow cases
pricked my fingers sewing,
stained blood red, remember?


I'd like to keep the stains
but please return that moment
Unmake the pillows.
I was never meant to walk
make me fly again.
In the bargain, you can keep
the footprints.

the streets and the dust
stay mine though.

And while we're trading,
I'd like to exchange a reticence
for one naked laughter please.