the sea is a graveyard

somebody once said,

that missing you

is just another way

of saying

i love you. 

i've never heard anything more false.

love leaves you wanting more. 

but missing you is like drowning in a sea

that has been set on fire. 

missing you is 

lying awake at night,

in the darkness,

trying not to think of your arms around me,

trying not to sleep

so that i don't have to dream of you.

missing you is like waking up 

and looking around an empty house

that is full of clues to where i can find you.

missing you means knowing

that you will never miss me back. 

happy lovers day

i'm a simple person,

without too many demands.

today

i only ask

for a photo of roses 

that are meant for someone else. 

if you've got time

he has all the time in the world
to ignore you.

smile and oblige.
someday,
he will realise
that you don't smile anymore.

if you've got wings

There was once this bird
Thin and fast
With wide wings that could block out the sun.
It was a smart bird, hated small talk and frivolous flying
In fact it pretty much hated flying
And preferred resting its wings
And going only where it needed
When it felt the need.

You couldn't call it a loner
But it did prefer sitting alone on a wire
Moving away when disturbed
To avoid the small talk.
Most of the time, it refused invitations to drinks nearby.

It liked the sunset more than the sunrise
And liked to watch children go to school at dawn.

You couldn't call it suicidal
But one day it decided to stop flying forever.
And after crossing an empty field on foot,
It stepped across a pond, getting its feathers wet,
And walked into a fence.
Not knowing it was electrified,
Although a sign did mention it,
In clear red-and-white font.
But birds can't read.

So it lay on the floor,
A mangled heap of black shiny feathers peppered with red reminders,
Breathing in and out slowly
For what seemed like a long time.

The sun had set
The children's bags were ready fort next day school
And a lonely wire swung slowly in the night breeze.

Nobody really missed the lonely bird.
A few heard the story
And shook their heads sadly and vowed to always fly higher
Than the fences of the men down below.

plan b

second born, awaited with reduced fervour,
knowing eyes confident about what to expect this time around.
second guessing, drifting as far away as the oceans take me,
realising that sadly, the planet is only going around in circles.
second in line, wearing a faded ring on my finger,
trying to erase the mark the first one made,
knowing fully well that it will haunt me forever.
second chances, given with conditions attached,
stressing the fact that we will never be together.

two flights of stairs, and an ocean of shame
is all that separates us.
add to that the countless glances ignored,
the hugs never given, the kisses postponed,
the hands never held in public,
the mocking reminders of who I'm supposed to be.

it is second nature to me, not being the chosen one,
what is strange is seeing you try to deny it.

rights and wrongs

when it's time for that last flash of the sword

the decisive cut of the blade against skin, flesh and bones,

that moment when the light goes out of your eyes,

that's when you realise you have nothing to lose. 

when your furious brown eyes flash in anger

at my incomprehension, i realise

i will never win with you, 

and you will never be mine.

i will never stop loving you,

and you will never see me as special. 

but even if the sun fades for a day,

to let the dark wind chill your senses,

it burns with increased fury the next

as a reminder of its anger. 

not tonight, honey

messages hidden under dinner plates,

secret phrases sent through unknown numbers,

a rude statement, said aloud without thinking,

a curse shouted from the rooftops. 

a forgotten memory, written in the margins,

a teasing thought sent with the pigoens,

taunting poems recited innocently,

sarcastic comments as replies to caring questions. 

don't worry. 

i know 

what you are desperately trying not to say. 

pink freud

all those days and hours and minutes
spent wondering if
you remember who i am.

and all it took
was four little words
to bring the universe to a halt.

trying to forget our love
is like trying to lose your shadow.

now, why would you try and lose your best friend?

Chance

thank you for the ride.
it's now time
for both of us
to fall out of love again. 

happy birthday to the Lich King

"you only know you love her,
when you let her go."

please,
hold my hand, stay close by.
there is a storm coming,
in five days and counting,
and i'm afraid
it will burn right through my tears.

every day that goes by,
i gather my love for you
and offer it as sacrifice
to the lord of the sun,
so he may always keep you warm.

daughters like me

we don't get no respect,
daughters like me.
we have boys go to sleep beside us,
and wake up as men in the morning,
demanding breakfast and pinning us down,
against the dressing table
demanding that escaped kiss.

we don't get no respect
daughters like me,
who chose to leave everything behind
and follow where love leads,
just like you taught us when we were little girls,
only to have you reprimand us
when we return home broken-hearted
that we should have used our heads instead.

we don't get no respect,
daughters like me.

missed calls

as i climb the sixteen stairs
to your home tucked away in the darkness,
i am overcome with a tingling weariness,
known only to a traveller
who is actually tired of the journey,
and looks forward to his destination.

each step is like a complaining mother-in-law,
unable to choose between her son's happiness,
and her jealous love for him.
each step complains and insults me,
scolds me for giving up and becoming a whore
to the unreasonable demands of my heart.
each step becomes a dark forest
that one gets lost in irrevocably,
while still believing that there is light on the other side.

when i reach your threshold,
and the door opens with a mighty swing,
my halo comes crashing down,
breaks into a million pieces
gets wiped off on your cotton doormat,
and is left outside while i step across
naked and without expectation,
only a remote desperate longing
that the darkness will hide my shame,
and swallow my smile
as i melt away in your arms.

to hell with love
when we know that all we really need
is a warm bed to fight away the darkness.

when morning comes, as i dress away from your prying eyes,
i put my halo back on, as easily as i slip my feet into flat chappals,
and go down the stairs to conquer my demons.

the stairs are always quiet when i go down,
they laugh discreetly at my rumpled hair.
they can't see the halo on my head,
they only know the guilt of my quick steps,
desperately running away from you,
and unreasonably wishing you will hold me back.

tomorrow, if tomorrow comes.

"tumhein dillagi bhool jani padegi,

mohabbat ke rahon mein aa kar toh dekho.

tadapne pe mere na phir tum hasoge,

kabhi dil kisi se laga toh dekho"

with every day that goes by,

i learn something new

about distance and love. 

i know how far away i must stand

so that your fist doesn't crunch against my jaw

when flung with full force.

i know how far away i must park

from your office 

so your colleagues think a driver picks you up.

i know how far away from you i must sleep,

so i don't accidently caress your feet with mine,

and awake you from your recurrent dreams. 

it must be a nice feeling

knowing 

that someone who loves you

is always close by. 

close enough to be summoned with a hint of a smile,

but far enough to have no expectations of you. 

diwali bonus

two ponytails, tied together with black rubberbands, 

wrapped in little black ribbons,

looped together and knotted tightly

so they do not unravel before the last bell rings. 

small feet in shining black shoes, 

neat pinafores ironed with heavy presses,

and tight collars held together

with the school-captain tie and badge. 

small hands given willingly to protective palms

with miniature school bags hooked on sunburnt shoulders,

to cross the road on the black-and-white stripes

and get across to the other side

where the world lies. 

cold steel railings at the airport

that separate those who left from the ones who stayed,

smiling eyes welcoming extra baggage, grown-up shoulder-length hair, 

never tied together, showing off modern brown-coloured hues,

and fringes that fall with style to the left or the right.

old palms that grab baggage trolleys instead of fair nailpainted hands. 

fathers welcome their daughters back in to their homes,

with sad i-told-you-so smiles,

and hurried whispers to responsible brothers

about what is going to happen now.

kiss me

on my hand,
kiss my arm and my shoulder,
kiss the curve of my neck,
the hollow of my back,
and the wave of my hip.

kiss me quickly,
before we remind ourselves
that we are only friends.