Thy name, my refuge

As you walk with Guru, you walk in the light of existence, away from the darkness of ignorance, you leave behind all the problems of your l...

Saturday, December 31, 2016


In retrospect,
I figure that hitherto,
buses and bus stops have been
featuring consistently in my life.
Rickety public buses and
busy bus stops
keep flitting, in and out,
in chapters of my life,
like a recurrent background theme.
My journeys,
the exciting ones homebound
and the silent, somber ones
taking me away to
whatever being my passing engagement.
Transient travelling.
Waiting. Boarding. Getting off.
Jammed roads. Twisted streets.
Jerky rhythms. Swirling bodies.
Shoving and pushing.
Squeezing in tight spaces.
Close stinking confines.
Unfamiliar companions.
The entire cycle.
Monotonous. Lackluster. Drab.
Glimpses of life, blurred,
as I shuttle around.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Friday, December 30, 2016

With fondness

when I am buried
in files and work,
trying to grasp
the legalities and complexities
of service-rules,
I hear you,
calling out to me,
On occasions,
some of our conversations
replay and rewind,
fleshed out with
right expressions
exact timber of your voice.
So sincerely, tangibly, believably
here and now,
that the conception deceives me as well.
I smile, even dissolve in laughter.
All on my own.
Ridiculously. Recklessly.
Earlier colleagues used to trifle with me.
Or may be I would apologize.
Now they negate the episode.
Nowadays, even I am not sorry
for my little getaway.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Sorry 

Friday, December 23, 2016

Wanting reverie

Intoxicated desires
of the moonlight,
look different the morning after,
a little faded,
a little bleached,
aweary and careworn.
So I hold dear,
the warm dreams
of wintery nights,
where you consume me
and I devour you,
the sweet alternative reality
that leads me astray.
A loved one tells me,
every now and then,
that dreams too often become reality.
So, deep down,
adrift in wanting reverie,
I pray
that time could stand still,
becalmed and frozen
and I could behold
the beauty of your being
forever in my eyes.
Basically I bide time,
for unfinished thoughts
and exalting fantasies.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Reality

Wednesday, December 21, 2016

The first touch

We discuss something frivolous and it sets me laughing. You stand there, looking at me with a desire I have never seen before in your eyes. It makes me incoherent so i stop abruptly and turn away to attend to some routine ... perhaps laundry ... but you hold my wrist and stop me. We look at one another, silence heavy and loud, and then I wriggle out of your grasp and start laughing again ... a fake hollow laugh ... to ease the atmosphere but your touch is stinging .. like I have touched a live naked electric wire. I turn away and you hold me by my wrist again, your grip is firm this time. And my resolve, weak. Then, with the slightest pull, you draw me close. I am a little scared, my heart is beating insanely and laughter is all but forgotten. I don't look up and you don't look away. The way you take me in with your eyes, I feel warm. This is new and different. I am not sure why but I step back. You don't move .. you are still holding me by my wrist. Your gaze moves. From my face to my wrist. And you loosen your grip ... like the other day you measured it ... with the circuit of your fingers ... "very thin" you had said. I could have withdrawn my hand and moved away in that instant but I stay. But then you trace my wrist with your fingers and kiss it lightly. My heart stops. Literally stops. And then you interweave your fingers with mine. I step back again, my heart thumping loud. You again pull me close. This time with force so that I am drawn close to your chest. I am a little breathless. You are cool, calm , composed, like you know what you're doing. And then you do nothing for a while. Nothing at all. You sit by the edge of table, I stand some centimeters apart from you and there is this teasing smile on your face.

Saturday, November 26, 2016

Closed door

Closed, bolted
and locked,
the lonely door,
rattling in winds
makes me curious
as to what lies behind it?
Mysteries unopened!
Wild and wonderful
whispers of heart!
Tales and travails
of blessed ordinary!
Remnants and oddments
of smiles and tears!
But to reach that storyland,
where words weave magic,
bringing excited narratives
to reality in your honeyed voice,
I'll have to get
thoroughly tangled in you
and forget the world outside.
As of now,
I hang around yours,
slightly opened, slightly closed,
seeking to sneak
to your soul
and I love this wait,
this trying and testing
outside my destination.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Thursday, November 24, 2016

Walk after dinner

The other day,
I asked you,
totally playfully,
to choose between
a candlelight dinner
a long slow
midnight walk with me.
Just like that.
And in the split-second
that you took to reply,
I scanned the
list of expected answers:
that tongue-tied emoji;
the rolling eyes emoticon
(that's perhaps our favorite);
a point-blank no,
crisp and concise.
Nothing drippy.
But that affable
"walk after dinner"
reply of yours
had me wonder-struck.
Least expected,
very heartening.
Your words
enveloped me
in a cozy embrace.
And thus charmed,
I found one more reason
to fall for you,
all over again.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Dinner

Saturday, November 12, 2016

Good old 500s and 1000s

By habit, I was looking for familiar 500s and 1000s in my wallet. And then realized their awkward adieu.
Hasty, sudden, explosive and emergent.
A novel currency has taken their place. Pinkish-purplish notes.
2000! Seriously?
Someday, this novelty will fade off, leaving behind familiar addictions.
It will take time, though. For the idea to make its own space in our hearts.
Till then this new crisp currency feels alien in my hand. Rather makes me feel powerless. As if I have no real purchasing power with me. Like this is a piece of paper siphoned off from my nephew's game.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Novel

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Friday, October 21, 2016


Every sundown,
he anxiously watches the dusty lane.
As her rickshaw halts,
he calls out to her, sonorously.
The intervening four flight of stairs,
she answers him back,
her exhilaration matching his excitement.
As she ascends,
he gives joyous halloos.
Thoroughly tempted,
he descends the last unlit stairway,
and engulfs her in tight crushing embrace.
The grouchiness of day dissolves
in the warmth of that
tender, lovesome rendezvous.
He literally drags her,
venting himself
until the mother and child
are lost to the privacy of their nest.
Today, I left the staircase well-lit,
lest the nipper trips in dark.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 Words: Grouch

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Shape of love

Not just pretty heart,
but of breath and syllables,
and it also takes,
shape of alphabets,
cursive ringlets of your name,
and course, the desires!

Linking with Haiku Horizons: Shape

Sunday, October 2, 2016

The scent of yesterdays

Hey mason!
When you renovate my house,
make sure you leave intact
the imprints of tiny little feet
running in these corridors
Hey painter!
When you paint these walls,
make sure you don't rub out
the doodling stains
scrawled by tiny hands.
Hey carpenter!
When you mold the wood
and carve me doors and windows,
make sure you seal inside
the ringing unripened laughters.
For when I walk pass these,
these corridors,
these doors and windows,
these caricatures,
I can inhale the scents of
of my children
(now working in the valleys yonder),
and their childhood,
fresh and incorrupted.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Saturday, October 1, 2016


In the time that
I spend with you,
I collect priceless nuggets,
of love, life and laughter.
Infinite valuable pearls,
that don't come with
price tags,
fill my pockets,
leaving me immensely richer
and incalculably content.
I put in my jar,
pieces of your soul,
pulled from deepest corners
and hoard
fragments of your heart
treasured like
the most precious gems.
I collect my share of harvest,
those ripened sighs of ecstasy
and saturated blissful smiles.
And in the process of collecting
these intimate prized possessions,
polaroids and postcards,
of dreams, desires and yearnings,
somewhere, somehow
I find myself, complete!!

Linking with Five Minute Friday: Collect

Thursday, September 29, 2016


The night closes in.
People retreat,
to love and laughter.
Out there somewhere,
you are still on vigil.
Even though I yearn
to be tucked in tight with you,
sleep eludes me.
Fear saunters by,
gripping at the fringes
of my mind,
and the what-ifs
weigh me down.
So, I sit and gaze,
at the screen of my phone,
brave-half praying
for the damned thing to ring
so I can sleep
to the lulling comfort of your voice,
and the timid-half
hoping it wouldn't buzz.
Why, oh why,
is it so hard to sleep
without you by my side?

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Sleep

Friday, September 23, 2016

Covetous? Perhaps!

There's a part of you,
perhaps one-quarter,
that I refuse to share.
With anyone!
Even though I know
I don't own you,
I am still immoderately desirous
of this one-quarter:
that leaves
memories in my mind
footprints on my soul,
and smile lines on my face;
solely and strictly for me.
I unashamedly relish
every single fibre
of this one portion
of your being.
So much so that
I could place
an "exclusively reserved"
tag on that countenance of yours.
This one-quarter,
I refuse to share
for I love the creases
it leaves on the bedspread
of my heart.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Share

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Aftertaste of your name

I like the aftertaste of your name
lingering on my tongue,
unsoured and unfermented.
The way the syllables sound,
poetic, almost melodic
and long after the vibrations
have stopped resounding,
it still resonates,
its redolent notes invigorating
and conjuring the afterimages
of your delicate and frail being
beneath those carelessly worn gossamer garments,
in muted shades,
nothing too loud,
save for your buoyant spirits,
and that bold ruby pendant
worn so nonchalantly.
The aftertaste of your name,
those four letters
each caressed reverently,
and spoken like a prayer
every single time,
lingers on my tongue.
And it is my favourite flavor.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Your name here

Sunday, September 11, 2016

Your voice heals

Ma! Papa!
Ablaze with fever,
like I am being cooked all over.
Yeah! I took the medicine
and made myself,
a light nutritious meal
but it doesn't taste half as good
as the palate you serve,
even with those mysterious
sour home remedies,
tonics and potions,
though bitter but far more effective.
More than that, your voice,
that heals me inside out,
an assurance,
that renews my soul and spirit.
And the comfort of
laying my head in your lap
listening to melodious chanting,
prayers to ward off all evils.
And of course,
falling asleep in your arms,
knowing that all will be
miraculously mended,
cured and made whole.
But there are miles that separate us
and for the time being,
I have to make do with your phone call
and knowledge that
I am in your prayers.
Ah! If only I were home
in your lap,
your hands stroking my forehead,
your soothing voice lulling me to sleep.
If only, I were not burning with fever ...

Thursday, September 8, 2016

Reclusively yours

I dilly-dallied with your invite
until I could no longer postpone it.
And then too,
the reclusive me
accepted it most reluctantly.
I was so close
to not meeting you,
yet another stranger,
in that almost-date.
But as they say,
the universe conspired.
All my plans came to naught.
So yes! I met you,
despite misgivings.
But, the first time ever
I saw your face,
and held your gaze,
I walked home, snug and cozy.
Sunshine gnawed away
at my winterly heart.
the spring tides engulf me.
And occasionally, an urge
to blend my name with yours.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 words: Recluse

Tuesday, September 6, 2016


The piquant river
meandering and bending.
Like capillaries,
convulse, splash, erode.
Suchlike rivulets of love
course through our being.

Linking with Haiku Horizons: Bend

Monday, September 5, 2016


Caught trespassing
on the path,
where the crossways convurged
in a dead end,
we coincided,
and then
rescued by fiery touch of desire,
took a detour,
carousing on serpentine,
tranquil trail,
with none but you.

Linking with Five Minute Friday: Path

Sunday, September 4, 2016

September night

In the quiet stillness
of September night,
I sit by my chosen spot,
soothed by the moist gentle breeze.
A tired neighbour makes his way,
slow and cautious,
as the street light has failed
for the umpteenth time.
A man pedals a bicycle,
secures it in the verandah
and locks the wicket gate,
turns around one last time
before switching off
the light in porch and
retreating to the safe insides.
The sentry on vigil,
visits periodically,
the staccato of his walking stick,
loud against the hushed darkness.
In such quiet and still
September night,
our laughter rings in air.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 words: Quiet

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Monsoon mayhem

"It will keep drizzling as long as you keep snuggling".
"Let's wreck havoc then!", she said as she cozied against him.
Outside, the drizzle turned to torrents.

Cobblestones, rooted

Cobblestones, rooted,
amidst nonchalant whispers,
that the river breathes.
Cobblestones, rooted,
seduced by the river song,

Linking with RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #112 River&Stone

Monday, August 29, 2016

Court of love

In the court of love,
There can be no status quo,
only blithe spirits.
And still, all heads bow.
The hearts of kings and cowherds,
yield before divine.

Linking with Haiku Horizons: Court

Saturday, August 27, 2016

Till then

In a particular corner
of the narrow balcony,
gracefully fenced
with elaborate wrought-iron grill,
I sit every eventide,
sharing a talk or two with you,
telling you my secrets
and listening to yours,
thankfully connected
by modern gadgetry.
The cool evening breeze
tosses your words around me,
wrapping me blissfully
in the envelope
of your proximity.
At times, it is so real,
your presence,
at times,
merely a deceptive mirage,
vaporous like gossamer.
in that particular corner,
I will sit right next to you,
and feel the fragrance
of your breath
in the evening zephyr.
Till then, my love.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 words: Secret

Wednesday, August 24, 2016


Sequestering hug,
like entwined vines on trellis,
weave through our being.
The trail of your touch,
stirs varied kaleidoscopes.
Alas! The day climbs.

Linking with Haiku Horizons: Climb

Monday, August 22, 2016


Smitten by her loquacious eyes, I committed my life to her, and for a good 30 years she helped me traverse this circuitous journey showering unfathomable joys but how swiftly joy and sorrow alternate and before the blinking of eyes, she receded to a painting hung on wall but sinking into oblivion would have been denigrating to our "we" time so I chose not to wallow in her sorrows and took to exploring the Himalayas and while the demons of her memory stalk me continually, I am glad she still joins me in circuitous travels, she with those loquacious eyes.

Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Sunday, August 7, 2016


Faint color of pink
O read in smeared kohl of eyes,
Signs of night bygone

Linking with Haiku Horizons : Sign


She dashed out for group studies.
He meticulously finished her homework
while she talked her heart out with him.

She rushed out for her
college group dance preparations,
matching her dance moves
only with his heart beats.

He told them he was working late again,
while relishing tubs of vanilla with her,
their daily trysts in office-canteen.

She went shopping with friends.
Though all she shopped was memories,
of their discreet meetings before nuptials.

The phone buzzed consistently.
Client, told them,
while replying to her message.

Young hearts beating in tandem,
with young lifestyles.
Love unchanged,
from letters to whatsapp.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: letter

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Friday, July 29, 2016


Your ringing laughter
seeps down to my core.
And like a therapeutic elixir,
it brings me back from fading.
Like a hundred windchimes
vibrating in bliss,
and weaving a pious symphony,
it resonates in my heart
and I am healed of all toils.
And when I hear you speak
of the day bygone,
your stories tumbling and toppling,
some making sense, some not so much,
my heart is mended.
Your trembling voice
is a beautiful reassurance
like a psalm,
I could listen to forever,
and never be wearied.
You echo around me,
like the soothing, salvaging monsoon winds
and I stretch out my arms to feel you,
draw you in a crushing embrace.
But no, I dare not say
that I love you,
words that sit precariously on my tongue,
ready to slide off any minute.
I let them pulsate violently,
struggling to break free.
Deliberately, I hold them off,
silently, hoping you will hear them.
And deep down I know you too feel
these whispers of love.

Visit by ma

I was at page 214
when I succumbed to slumbers.
For the umpteenth time.
Unknowingly. Automatically.
The edges of my spectacles
digging painfully under my eyes.
Wincing, I woke up.
Bright white light overhead,
an open book beneath.
Ma used to visit my bedroom silently,
closing my books,
removing my glasses,
turning off the lights
and running her hands through my hair.
Then, I left home.
To make something of my life.
While 14 years later,
I am not sure if I succeeded,
I definitely miss those silent visits.
Grudgingly, I let sleep over power me.
Emotions, however, can wait.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: emotion

Tuesday, July 26, 2016


Whispers of my words,
And love-locked in their embrace
tendrils dance to sun.

Linking with Haiku Horizons: Lock


Deliberately she wipes the clothesline,
with a dusting cloth,
to remove the specks of dust that might have gathered
on the thin iron wires
drawn taut and tight between three angeled iron holders.
But sitting in my balcony and leafing through case file,
I sense her anxiety.
Her daughter has been standing at the corner of road,
for over 15 minutes now
and that rickety yellow school bus has not picked her up yet.
The girl's school bag is sagging with the weight of curriculum
and shoulders, perhaps with the weight of expectations.
She sneaks another look at her daughter,
her hands pausing for a moment
and then she returns inside,
probably to attend to her laundry,
only to come back in less than a minute
and peep again.
Her visit this time is synchronized
with a screeching halt of Tata Winger.
Her daughter boards the bus,
just as she hangs the first cloth to dry,
grey skirt from her daughter's school uniform.

Saturday, July 23, 2016


The walls came crumbling
at mere sight of you.
And I stumbled
into that freefall
I had always been scared of.
And now that I have conquered
this fear of falling,
another fear seizes me.
What if we wake up someday,
and you find me undeserving,
unworthy of your love.
What if you don't find
a reason to stay with me, forever.
What if you don't find
a home in my heart.
But then I hear you laugh
at my stories,
an infectious laughter,
irresistible, disarming and totally contagious,
and in that moment,
howsoever fleeting,
all my fears are allayed.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Fear

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

A waking dream

Just before the sky breaks,
in to the riotous shades of blue,
clear and unclouded,
I breathe myself against your chest,
and I can feel that subtle rise and fall of your diaphragm,
too soft to hear, too close to experience.
In those godly hours,
I breathe you like oxygen,
vital and indispensable.
I memorize you like sermons,
every single contour.
And I drink you like ocean,
quenched, yet unsatiated.
And then with daylight,
when I think of you,
I hear you or I feel your presence,
I scribble you frantically, my love.
But I don't dream of you,
for you are a constant companion,
a thought that never goes away.
And I hope you don't trust me when I say,
I don't dream at night,
for my endless dreaming begins with dawning,
when I imagine you stirring lazily on disarrrayed bedclothes.
No, I don't dream of you at all.

What am I to you

A rhythmic silence?
Lullaby singing to sleep?
Wildflower bursting?

Linking with #Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge: Sing & Flower

Friday, July 15, 2016

Caprine jam

Gaddis are on move,
for food and fodder and life.
Large flocks of sheep
and some goats,
the wherewithal of this nomadic cult,
block the highway oftentimes,
that treacherous mountain road
with its serpentine circuits,
steep falloffs and dizzying heights.
The slow but sure-footed bleating caprines
making their way through hairpin turns and narrow hilly lanes.
A sight to behold in itself.
There is a beautiful melancholy in their move,
a harmony, a congruence of elements,
a comfort in this roadblock.
A couple of blind lefts and rights,
and I will be home.
Home, that I carry in my heart.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Thursday, July 14, 2016

A crazy fall

A crazy craving,
without any rhyme or reason,
so I read and re-read your texts,
to hear your voice in my head.
Psychologists say this happens
when you get really close to someone.
So perhaps this is it.
My forever fall.
But I am really not sure
if this can be classified as love.
For the time being,
this ephemeral joy of skidding
in luring pools of your baritone
enthralls me.
Besotted, I trip,
each time I hear you speak.
I don't want to rise.
May be this slow sinking is
the spirit of life, the craze of living.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: craze

Saturday, July 2, 2016

The room

My eyes scanned the room,
searching for you.
So many people,
some complete strangers,
some I knew.
All eyes were on me as I walked the aisle,
scrutinizing, appraising, assessing me,
through and through.
I searched the crowd, for your genial smile,
for your penetrating gaze,
that can see me through.
I waited to hear your baritone,
a salve for my frayed nerves,
resonating through the milieu.
In a room full of people,
I missed you much.
Until, you walked in
and our eyes latched
and my fears melted.
In that instant,
from across that room,
I fell in love.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 words: Room

Wednesday, June 29, 2016


The morning star heralds
a new day, a new beginning.
The night surrenders
to dim symphony of dawn.
The orange cracks paint
the serenity at its best.
The bright yet subtle, fiery mix of colors,
splash across the canvas gradually,
making a beautiful sunrise.
The birdsongs fill the air,
the mesmerizing tune of morning.
I wake up to a gentle kiss of early sun.
The divine rays,
of radiating golden globe,
lavish an intrinsic warmth,
seeping through the crevices,
unseen heretofore.
The happiness filters through me,
sneaking up silently,
and I yield to the transients.
I know this is love.

Tuesday, June 21, 2016


Lend me your tomorrows
and may be we will last forever.
Let me in and may be we can share
every moment of everyday,
perhaps even relish,
a peaceful ride through the alleys of time,
forever cozied against each other.
Hold my hand and may we can
walk beyond the promised horizons,
and explore what lies beneath the veiled mist.
Keep me in your heart,
and may be I can find my home
amidst the pumping atriums and ventricles,
lulled to comfort by thumping beats.
Let us collect the transients,
the ephemeral joys of being together
and walk towards forever.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook :100 words: Forever

Sunday, June 5, 2016

The framework

Some bare and stripped bones,
striking similarities,
till the hollow core
is draped in thin skin stretched taut
and replications are dressed.

Linking with Light and Shade Challenge

Saturday, June 4, 2016


I shall always live,
Through my words that I whispered,

Will you remember?

On silent streets

A stuffy airless June night,
nothing resonates outside,
no leaf ruffles, no crickets chirp.
Some dreams are being woven
comfortably on sidewalks,
in soiled vests,
mosquitoes buzzing around
sweat-stained faces,
hands and feet calloused
and hearts cauterized
with labors of the day;
while we perspire,
beneath the shade and comfort.
And when the weather will shift,
cold winds will shuffle the leaves,
freezing the veins,
and nibbling the fingers and toes,
these dreams will weather that too,
while our coats will numb us to our souls.
On silent streets,
some dreams find happy homes in hearts,
while we wander.

Friday, May 27, 2016

The rickshaw-wallah

The scorching sun was bidding goodbye. Laden with files, a handbag and a lunch bag, and swallowing the pain of shoebite, I made it through the subway. And then I lavishly boarded a rickshaw. The rickshaw-puller, a summer-tanned boy of 18-20 years, eagerly accepted the tour for a measely 20 bucks. His dirty sweat sodden vest and sinewy arms talked of day well-labored. He often wiped the burden of responsibilities with his red cotton stole. When I reached, I thanked him but he pretended not to hear. Silently, he turned his cab towards main road in anticipation of new customers.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Pretend

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

The conquest

The eventide dissolves
in the receding moonlight.
The dawn seeps into the world,
twirling delicately into the arms of night,
the touch sends deep resounding ripples.
Quickened pulse, the staccato
and silence.
The moment blends into infinity,
and while they hold their gaze,
their hearts falter.
The illicit thrill, feverish and hesitant,
consumes the night
and the dawn burns bright
in perfect rapture.
A thousand dreams
glitter in diffused light.
Soon, it will be twilight,
and the yearnings will blend
in timeless symphony,
unrestrained and passionate.
Such is the hypnosis of seduction,
the day will dwindle in rustic hues,
as the night comes gliding,
through sultry evening roads.

Saturday, May 21, 2016

Not a flower girl

Here I am,
in the waiting lounge
and instead of sipping on iced tea,
this time
I hold a little flower box in my hand.
Fresh flowers, a loud red,
look delicate but feel heavy.

A little chaos rages within me,
a steam unfurling in depths of heart,
a reflection of clamour outside.
I want to wave it off
as nausea of impending journey
But I know its not that
or maybe it is.

But flowers just don't do it for me.

If only the bus would start,
perhaps the rhythm of wheels
will overcome this sinking feeling.

Flowers! Seriously!

Linking with Friday Fictioneers
Linking with 100 Word Challenge: Thin Spiral Notebook

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Beneath the lampshade

Silhouettes dance across
dusty and dull lampshade,
the expensive vintage ornament
flickering on and off,
and under its waning cast,
the shadows come alive,
those convincing remnants of light
playing through its gossamer veil,
hiding the bruised nakedness
in diaphanous dusky chambers.
Wandering thoughts sway gently
in stuttering light, like moths,
and burn with passion.
The rising smoke inks the drapes
with poetry.

Saturday, May 7, 2016

I made you stay

You left,
without looking at the spring
bursting from the seams of my being.
You left
but the seeds that you planted with your ardent kiss,
took earth and grew roots in the soil of my heart,
flourishing into vines and twines.
The entangled mesh of capillaries
rewound itself to make space for
subtle harmonies, sprouting slowly.
You left
but you thrive in my garden,
holding my hands,
our fingers entwined, breath staccato and eyes closed.
And all the blossoms,
are seeped in your characteristic Hugo Boss Scent.
You left
but I made you stay
in all my blank verses.

Monday, May 2, 2016

At that time of the night

Oh and it is that time of the night,
when sleep forsakes me in nightly rite,
for you walk in my oneiric world,
unbidden and thus all hath been whirled,
in rising smoke of passionate light.
You walk in like some angel bedight.
Beholding, 'tis such a lovely sight.
Flitting moonlight, star-spangled and pearled,
at that time of the night,
clandestine rendezvous by starlight.
Shadows alive in the folds of night,
melting in the heaven where they're hurled.
With the rhythm of night, now spent and swirled,
the dream will drift away by the light.
At that time of the night.

Saturday, April 30, 2016

Wavering equation

I spent my day,
wrestling with formulas,
picking values from this sheet,
fitting them in that one,
desperately trying to even out
that whopping 30 million difference,
until my eyes began to water,
figures blurred
and I forgot counting basics.
Some job, you will think.
But this was just today,
one amongst many of those days
that appear on the horizon quarterly,
and eclipse my confidence.
But when the clouds of audit will pass,
I will be racking my brain with legal paraphernalia.
Unlike the 8:00 AM of salary-day love,
I relish this wavering equation
I share with my work.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Job

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Us together

Forever beside,
like spring in spirit and heart,
at our worst and best.

The ringing phone

It is one of those few times
when I get to listen to my ringtone.
I tend to forget the tone,
so, the incoming ring resounds
for some time, quite some time.
Lengthily, I recognize the tune,
then rush to respond,
before the phoner disconnects,
only to receive shrill sound
of someone trying to sell property
to unknown somebody.
Politely, I inform
of not being the person
they were trying to connect to,
like countless previous times
in thirty-eight months.
Discussion ends.
Screen unlits, stripped of light,
but my eyes rest there, fixed.
Couldn't you phone me erroneously?
Even once?

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: A minus

Saturday, March 26, 2016


My mother is packing my bag,
because I am too lazy to do it myself,
and because I stack things in a horrifying manner,
and also because deep down she knows,
I am being dramatic;
That my postponing this exercise
will not change the fact
that I have to leave tonight.
My father is hovering around
hiding a green apple or two,
or maybe mandarins this time,
between the folds of my clothes,
our protests notwithstanding,
And I am staring at the
fluttering list of holidays.
All my bags packed,
I leave an important part of me behind – my heart.