it's not me. it's the clock that's counting.

i'm just curious...

is it raining where you are?

because i don't miss you at all,
in case you were curious...

joint custody

when it cannot be saved, we salvage what is left. try and pick up whatever pieces we can. like a broken thing that somehow becomes more precious than the whole. it's so difficult, even the universe cries for you.

so now, after the tears have dried, we make a deal. first we both go find someone to marry when we're 40 and still alive. 

then we calm our hearts and put our cards on the table. we decide, like mature adults fooling ourselves, to share. she gets birthdays, family holidays and promises. and me, weekdays, supervised visits and poetry. 

and sometimes, on quiet mornings, we pretend we had a choice. 

family

and when it gets really bad,

too hard to handle,

too much to bear,

I play your song,

and hope that would get you here. 

asking for too much

I saw a beautiful woman today, she was like a poem that just walked by. 

Her eyes sparkled with dark kohl, her hair was brushed like silk, her tempting lips were smiling infectiously. Her gorgeously inviting body seemed to wave at everyone as she walked by. You couldn't take your eyes off her, even if you tried. Everything about her, from her shoulders to her nails, her hips to her toes seemed to radiate beauty of the unbelievable kind. 

Goodness, you should've seen her! She was a goddess, a mirage, a painting...

Oh, the beauty of a woman who has just had her heart broken...

This is why the good girls like the bad boys

Early this morning, I got an abusive email. A little later someone called me and breathed heavily and hung up. Once I got to work, someone sent me a few mean texts. I felt eyes on me all through lunch. When I packed up, I heard someone get up at the same time. I drove all the way home with someone following me. And I could swear I saw someone staring at me as I closed the door. 

All these people stalked me all day. 

And not one of them was you. 

never alone. always alone.

"chot kahin lagti hain jaakar, 
zakham kahin par hoti hain"

one bullet for your lover,
so he may never forget you.

the second for your mother,
so she can finally let you go.

the next one for your best friend
so she may carve your name in the sands of time.

the one bullet for me,
and the next one for you.

and the sixth bullet for the gun,
so it may also never be alone.

a test

it's a simple 

question of choice. 

one query, 

with many options,

but only one answer. 

no need to think, 

i can reply immediately. 

i don't have to call a friend,

or ask for a second opinion. 

i don't need hints or clues, 

or a description. 

i don't need it to be translated 

or explained. 

i don't need time to think about it.

no guesses, no maybe.

i don't have to repeat the question

to buy time. 

it's so easy,

as if i have always known the answer. 

i am sure, yes. 

what would i give up to have you? 

everything. 

the rear new mirror

Never and always.
Shared forgetting, infectious thoughts and planting doubts..." 

memory is a fragile friend. vivid and unforgiving at times, but also fleetingly fake. you remember what you'd like to not forget. some stories jump up at you, unassuming and seemingly simple, yet gut-wrenching and physically painful. a colour, a phrase, a song, an email, a question. the stories have leaked into your blood and have altered your very being. you are no longer the same person. and you struggle to understand yourself, and soon, you are someone else, reliving the old memories as an outsider. and while you were fighting the old demons, new ones made themselves at home. not all monsters, though. some very angelic beings, like comforting panda bears, making you smile in spite of yourself. you even begin to ask yourself if the happiness you now feel is the same that you remember. or is it the happiness that you try and forget?

when i think of you, i feel a soul-stirring, tingle-in-the-spine, confusing little spark of wonder. it's not a familiar feeling, in fact it's strange and mystical and unknown. like questions without answers, a night without morning, like thunder without rain, an illness without a cure, or a kiss that seems like the beginning and the end. when i think of you, i start thinking of all the stories that we've written together, in invisible ink. i tell myself that like memory, even the marks on my body fade away. and i stand in front of the mirror and search every inch of me, for you. i twist and turn and even turn the lights off, so i could maybe find you in the darkness. 

i've done everything to remember you. i've done more than everything to forget you. i have no memories of you. i have made you a part of my soul. i did not dream of you before. i will never sleep in peace again. i want nothing but you. and i will have everything, but you. 

words leading nowhere

i felt a slight tingle in my soul today,
like he laughed loudly for no reason,
and i felt the tremor after a long while.
yes, my soul is a man.
isn't yours?
he is the one who keeps me from writing on the walls,
or makes me send out messages into the universe,
knowing fully well that the stars won't reply.
he is also the one who taught me
how to smile, say goodbye and wait
till you leave to start crying.
he is the one who shows me the truth of the world,
like truth and love and beauty,
and rain and early mornings and weed,
and photos of big, fake smiles.
yes, my soul is a man,
who loves me
even though i don't love him back.

Mother Mary

"It's only a coincidence if it happens once". 

Everyday I read some poetry. A few lines, a well-balanced phrase, a quote or sometimes, a whole three-scrolls worth of exquisite words making love. Some poems make me smile, some I forget quickly, and some I take into my soul, where it gives birth to many more. And they ask me, why I don't want to have children. 

On the contrary. My heart has given birth to a world of words, each of whom I cherish dearly. My poems are my children. They have been given to me by my lovers, my one-night stands, my husbands and my ex-lovers. Some have even been given to me by strangers. I know it sounds crass, but when someone is pouring their self into your eyes, you don't stop to ask silly questions. Some poems I look upon with disdain, like a tired mother would look at a neighbour's child in the playground. They seem fine, and yet they don't please you. Some poems make me burn with jealousy and envy. How can that kid be so perfect? 

And with all that joy and happiness in me, and around me, I never thought a day would come when I would wish for more.  I didn't even believe that something more existed. Until I met you. I thought I had exhausted all my words, swirling around in the ink pot, like children often do in pools, refusing to clamber out and dry themselves. I believed I was done, and was determined to be careful about the next one. Until I met you. 

You make me want to write. You make me want to open my heart, close my eyes and let the words flow through me, without consequence. You make me want to gleefully practise the art of making children, after all those years of having to be careful. And oh, the pleasure of abandon is immeasurable. Because of you, I've written on walls, in notebooks, on mobile phones, on installation art pieces, in songs, in the sands of the ocean, in the rain, in the darkest nights and the most joyous mornings. I've even written when I'm driving, knowing fully well the dangers that lurk around the next turn of page, and yet enjoying the thrill of you in me. I've written in meetings, in text messages, at marriage halls and malls. I've even done it on flights, in cars, in crowded pubs, in quiet temples, in misty New York City, in drunken states of misbehaviour. Because of you, I don't ever want to stop writing. I want to have countless children roam the world, all born from the gift of your love. They will be our legacy, our children, the greatest love story never told. 

Because of you, the world will remember me. 

 

Bambi

I'm overwhelmed by memories of you tonight. They say that thoughts of you comes in waves and tonight I'm drowning. Truth is I'm not even putting up a fight. I'm letting myself drown in thoughts of you and me and us. And all because I bought cushion covers today. I was trying to decide on the colours when a soul-crushing memory presented itself to me. As if it were also on offer. I'm thinking of our house and what would have been our home. Had I not been consumed with doubt and despair. I knew that something was wrong with me when I was upset that you wouldn't walk slower even though I couldn't keep up wearing heels. I wish I was then the person I am now. I would have forgiven you forgetting me outside the cinema hall. I would not have cared that you walked right past me without even looking at me. It wouldn't matter that I went to bed alone every night because the Lich King demands your attention. I wish I knew then what I know now. That all the million times you kissed my forehead and ran your fingers through my hair mattered more than you punching through the new table, or telling me that you will never let me set foot in that house again. I wish I had known how to explain what you meant to me without equating it to cooking and cleaning and endless trips to the supermarket. 

I'm making a lot of wishes tonight, hoping that someone will listen. It doesn't really matter if they come true. I'm not asking for you back, I just want to talk to you once more. Because tonight I really need a friend. And you were a good friend to me. I'm lost and I know you won't show me the way but you would have listened to me. Tonight, I just want to see you once more, and have you kiss my forehead without realising it and absently run your fingers in my hair, and say "I know" when I say I love you. Through all these years and with everything I wish for, the only thing that hasn't changed is that I loved you then. As I love you now. And that will never change, no matter how much you wish for it. 

the most honest poem I ever wrote

12:35

past midnight, my knees were weak

from your fervent, forbidden kiss. 

I drove fast, through childhood lanes.

the same lanes I took,

to go to 7am French classes, 

the result of which,

is a heart that refuses to break.

I drove furiously, 

spurned on by an evening of a meeting of souls, 

with chosen music and yearning looks,

I know,

you have an early morning,

and I have an endless night.

I swear I almost crashed the car, 

yes, on purpose,

hoping that it would wake me up 

from this horrible, unfair, impossible dream. 

a dream where I laugh with you,

where I kiss you without wondering when the next kiss is going to come. 

I can still taste you, 

through the tears that refused to flow,

even though i really tried,

as if the tears would comfort me.

I drove at 60 kilometres an hour, 

trying to run away from you, 

afraid that you would actually grant me 

that one minute more. 

my hand is still warm. 

my soul is still smiling. 

my lips are still happy. 

I swear, when you kiss me, 

you leave me wanting,

for 

nothing. 

Are we going to pretend to be friends now?

i'm tired of being clobbered.
i'm building my wall with diamonds this time, 

so it may never break again.

you saw me smile when you said goodbye. 

when i closed that door, 

i washed off my make-up 

and my tears as well. 

When the sun rises tomorrow, 

You will have no reason to love me,
because I will not be the same.

i know

i will get over the pain of not having you.
but i will never get over you. 

Romance for the atheists

You've watched me burn, now see me rise

All of this anger and hate, frustration in disguise.

This is not who we really are,

But I'm over you before you even get in your car. 

Stare into the sunset, sweetie, when you ride, 

I won't be by your side. 

You'll have your music and your wine, 

And underwear on the backseat that ain't mine. 

It's not surprising to see how this went down, 

We were too good to last,
it's true what they say about wearing an invisible crown; 

Keep your head high so it doesn't fall 

Baby, how did you manage to make me feel so small?

I was never a princess, I was the queen.

And now I feel like an empty chessboard, no moves left,
I've peeked through the smokescreen. 

I can't promise we'll be friends, 

I don't mean it and you don't make amends 

I will tell you that it was a beautiful thing, 

It was like 365 days of pure Spring. 

And now all we have left is broken doors
and a leftover wedding ring. 

Erase, go back in time, restart 

What a sad end to what could've been a work of art. 

Anyway, it's time for you to leave,

Turn around, forgive, forget and you better believe 

there will come a time when we will miss each other.

But you can leave now, because I need to call my mother.