Let us ruin our lives together.

Let us go for a walk to the beach one evening.
With bare feet and folded jeans,
we would walk hand in hand on slippery sand.
We would lock our eyes every now and then
and forget that a world exists behind our back.

For many days and many nights,
I've tried very hard to forget you.
If this is what it takes for peace,
I'd rather say that we play in hands of destiny
and let it ruin our lives till eternity.

My fountain pen.

One fine morning I woke up to find your empty case,
I feared I must have lost you in haste,
But then you reappeared from the drier
Like Sita who stood the test of fire.

My companion for the worst times and the best,
I swear that I would keep you close to my chest,
You immortalize my words on paper white,
And judge me not on what I write.


PS: I by mistake put my pen in a drier.

Window of hope from a jammed window.

Surreptitiously the mystical hope comes in the middle of the night,
She glides on the wings of mild summer breeze and knocks at my window,
Frustrated by the jammed window, She flies away to another home.

Disturbed by the dream - next morning, I push open the window,
Two giant buildings and a noisy highway lie in front,
No wonder the mystical hope didnt wait here overnight.

With my head resting on my palm, I look outside in thought,
And thats when I saw a beautiful home in red coloured bricks
and on the blue sky an aeroplane passes by and winks at me.

PS: 4 months before travelling back from Amsterdam.

Raindrops keep falling.

I watch it drizzle from the comfort of my home.
As if it were a kid playing his own little game,
Pitter-patter it falls in a foreign language,
I say - "I know your cousin who pours in India".

Much more playful and much more child-like,
It wakes up from eight months of gestation,
rides on dark black clouds, screams with a lightening.
and arrives with a storm

I say - "you are a sober kid but your cousin is very naughty"
It jumps on my balcony and peeps through crevices of window
It even hides behind my girlfriends hair
and stays there for as long as it can.

On my 27th Birthday.

Counting the apples on the trees,
I rest with my head on your knees.

Blessed is this garden that is so full of flowers
And soft are the hands that run across my forehead

But then an apple falls on my head,
and wakes me up to the reality

The garden and apple are all dreams,
Single bed and alarm clock is the reality.

The balloon.

Held by a nail on the wall,
A gas balloon stands upright
And cries, "Let me go, let me go".

Out of ignorance or pure cruelty,
the rusted nail stares back emotionlessly
And asks, "Where do you want to go".

Lost in thought, the confused balloon,
soaks the mild winter sun
And breaksdown, "But I want to go, I want to go."

The Party

The half eaten plate of Biryani,
The empty glass of Whisky,
The lost fork on the table
And the vacant chair in front of me.

They cannot speak to me,
But they can see me and hear me too.

Should I lie to myself?

Right - Wrong
Fair - Unfair
Good - Bad

An answer to problem or a problem to answer.

Our Fingers Entangled.

Eight fingers bunched together,
Lost on the dining table,
Free from the shackles of propriety,
and drunk into the pleasures of the unexplored.

The two thumbs, with some semblance of sanity,
felt the fingers and thats when they realize -
They are two different individuals and yet,
intertwined into one.

No talk on Gtalk.

Wearing your grey coloured cloak of invisibility,
I am sure,
You must have seen me bearing a green torch.

But you,
Coldheartedly immersed yourself into your books of accountancy
and left me in the company of two dimensional people of tele-serials.

Face on the mirror.

The only bicycle in the bicycle stand,
The empty bench in the metro station,
The solitary stone on the railway track,

And the only face on the mirror of my lift.

The last morsel of Pongal.

It balances itself on the fork,
and waits like a bubble about to pop.

Never before have the ingredients
mixed themselves in such harmony.

And as I lift the fork,
I realise that I stare at threshold of two worlds,
One that had the pongal and one that did not.

Poetry in a Discotheque.

Her hair hangs loosely on her strapped dress,
And her drink hangs loosely on her fingers.
Unknowingly, she entices with an unmatched ease.

In between all this,
She pulls my heart out of the rib cage,
and eats it like a delicacy.

I, speechless and heartless,
Literally and not figuratively,
Sway with complete irreverence with music.

Homecoming.

Amidst the rustling of leaves
And the chirping of sparrows,
I hear footsteps approaching my door.

The door opens
And I hear my mothers voice,
"It is 08:00 beta".

I wake up from my sleep,
And I realize that today,
Even the air embraces me and welcomes me.

I am back home,
Yes, I am.

Too quick to be painful.

The alarm clock sits ominously in front of me.
In five minutes time, it will explode.

Closing my eyes, I try to catch a few more winks.
Behind the closed eyes, I realise,
Nothing changes today but the date.

And I see my life passing; too quick to be painful.

Foolish Glass.

There is this pane of glass
fitted next to the door of a tram.

On one of these days,
it stood in front of a pretty lady,
who had her cheek rested on her palm,
and had a faint smile on her face.

Unmoved by the image,
that pane of glass painted a blurred picture
of the cycle that stood behind it
and superimposed it over the pretty lady.

Witness to this savage insult of of beauty,
I wonder how foolish the glass could have been.

Crazy son of a bitch !!

I should have said it,
But it's best left unsaid.

You should have understood,
But its okay if you didnt.

Expectation - this crazy son of a bitch,
spins a web around me and then it slowly feasts on me.

A character in my short story.

Brown coloured chocolate sauce
slides down the mountain of vanilla ice cream.
Next to it, in silence, sits the piece of cake.
It watched you as you leaned towards me
and amidst the clamour of the coffee place,
whispered those magical three words into my ears.

It was a fairytale, or so I thought.
But today, I feel like I am one of the
characters in my short stories.
I speak words only that make sense
in the flow of the story.
A story that I myself am not aware of.

Reality on Drugs?

Sipping my cup of tea in the morning
and staring out of the window,
I wonder what makes the day so beautiful.

I see beauty in the spiders web
as much as I see in the snow flakes outside the window.

It is hard to explain the overflowing serenity in this mileau;
the reality, it seems, is high on drugs.

....Or the music dances to my tune.

I surrender to the temptation of music, smoke and spirit.
And Today, is it that I dance to the tune of music
or the music dances to my tune.

The problem though is that tomorrow,
I have to wake up in a world that does not play music all the time.

Stamping on Crumpled leaves.

Stamping on the crumpled leaves
On a pleasant February afternoon,
Little did I know that there exists a Soul
who amongst other likings,
Enjoys this one too.

Days weeks and now months have passed.
And today, sitting miles away from you,
While unfurling the scattered pages at my desk,
I take a minute to stare out of the window.

I think about you and it brings a smile to my face.
Savoring the past And dreaming of future.
A few evenings well spent
Provides fodder for hope for the rest.

Muffler.

A woolen muffler lies neatly tucked
under a heap of clothes.
Its endearing qualities pull me towards it
in the middle of the night.

Soft fluffy and neatly embroidered,
I hold it close to my chin,
Thinking about the wool and the
Lady who will wrap it around.

Words of comfort.

Words have lost the magic of comfort,
that they once possessed.
Today, they are just disjointed words put together
to form a sentence.

I do realize the futility of all emotions
But still fall prey to it everytime.

A ray of light

A ray of light refracts itself
On my half filled glass of water.
And draws a design on my
Wooden dinner table.

I rotate it at an angle
To see it form and reform
With a geometric precision
That no law of science can challenge
And a beauty
That no painter can ignore.

The answer to this enigma, some say,
Is emboldened in the bulky books of science.
And others say it is
Surreptitiously hiding in the Mysteries that make nature.

Frolicking in the Bubbles of Illusion

Unaware of the charms that she holds,
I see her strolling with sandals in her hand.

She stops and inscribes her name on the sand.
Stooping at it, she marveled at the sight.
But then, the waves gathered momentum,
They intruded on her name and slowly washed it away.

In disbelief she stared at it
Till her mother distracted her with another game.
Nevertheless, she can blow up another illusion
And learn to live in it till it bursts again.

Har mulaakat ka anjaam judaai kyon hain.

I stare at the trail of footsteps that you leave behind on the sand,
And wonder about the fleeting nature of time.

It was just a few moments back that I rushed in to catch the sun in front of my eyes
And now he has taken every vestige of light with it and sunk into oblivion.

Nonetheless, the waves still lash on my feet
And the cool wind blows across my face.

With a smile on my face, I hope to meet you again
And wish that I never run short of such days.

Sparrow on a concrete floor.

Time is like that sparrow on a concrete floor,
It jumps,
It flutters,
You wish that it won't fly away,
But eventually it does.

Fool's Paradise

With every drop that parts from my glass,
a fragment of my mind frees itself from the clutches of reason
and rises on top of my head.

And as the lights grow dimmer and the sounds turn feebler,
I patiently wait for the time when my head becomes light enough to float.

Fool’s paradise you might say, but who has seen the real one?

Unanswered question ?

Listening to the music, I asked myself,
If I would have raised her hand and would have given it a tweak,
Would she twirl around and rest on my shoulder?

Hmmm, some questions are best left unanswered.
For, the answers would rob the mystically dreamy quality of the moment,
And paint it with a drab color of truth.

Boy at Juhu Beach.

He jumps with the advent of every wave
and claps when it retreats.
He smiles blissfully
and utters words that he too doesn’t understand.

From the corner of my eye,
I observe this mirror that transports me to a world bygone.

I wish to jump with joy
But at best, I can only smile.
I wonder what restrains me.
Is it that I have learnt too much?
Or have I forgotten something.

Uncomfortable truth

Don’t think about a lie so much that it begins to distort the truth.
Over the years, I have seen a facial expression change in my head.
And it is today that I gather the courage to acknowledge it.

If you don’t see a redemption coming, don’t expect it.
Gradually the deluge will leave your heart and run into your veins.

And slowly but surely it will also make you considerate enough to accept others follies.

Run...

I have started believing that loneliness has assumed a face of a human.
He enters the closed doors of my home
And stares at me.

Should I sit in his company and see the time go by or should I run.

I will run..

Triangular nose

Triangular nose and neatly sketched eyes,
In my definition you are the unconventional beauty.

Not the one that is outright beautiful for everyone to see,
But a mystery face that will not divulge all the secrets at once.

I am sure your face will intrigue me for days, if not months.

I am in love with the air that I breathe.

I am in love with the questions that life poses everyday.
I sift through the options that I am rich enough to get.
And wait for time to unwrap the suspense that shrouds my answer.

In my perspective, some answers turn out to be good, some bad.
But all are worth the experience.
However, I would wish away the aura of indulgence that surrounds it every time.

Key to happiness

Somewhere in the corner of my heart, hides a craving for a key.
A key that opens the door of a car, big enough to make me worry about parking.

It is like a parasite that feeds on my thoughts. With every passing day, it grows stronger.

It worries me.

But, I hope that time flies like the pages of my calendar and I realize the dream with a degree of gratification that justifies the craving.