The 9:40 Slow.

That stranger in the train,

A pretty face and a handsome stature.
Always seeming casual, yet cautious.
While watching me and being watched-
An impish game of glancing, pretending and hiding.
The 9:40, our playground,

And in what harmony we were always there-
You never early, me never late.
A fortnight it played out.

But now the empty platforms,
Or so they seem ?
I have been coming early and leaving late
But no sign of you like the winters, last.
Have you changed times ?
Or have you moved away
from the city and me ?
I hope its neither,
But I'm sure its one.
And yet everyday I reach early, 

and leave late.
I let the train of our dreams pass,
And five more too - plus one,
And another one in a hope.
Now as I wait

To catch a glimpse of  thee,

The descending stairs- expecting you,
I catch smiling strangers looking.
Not you, not like you
New muses.
I think I will fall in love again.

My friend, Pain.

Pain my friend
Is a wretched fellow.
I share my room with him.
My clothes,
My soul too.
Yet we never talk.

Pain, he was there
While I was making love.
Sitting transparent,
Turning opaque silently and slowly.
As if in a warning.

Pain, your tricks of making
Yourself feel important.
You go out of your ways
To make me fall in love.
And then, when these paid jugglers
Of yours reecede,
Im thinking about you.

Pain, I loathe you.
You cause me misery
You also bring out my best verses.
I did long for you when I was happy.
O it was so monotonous.

I wonder at times
If more than my men, me,
It is you who I crave for.
Im in love with pain.
And I know you love me too.
My grumpy roommate.
Who never talks to me.

Cravings.

The mood of the mind
Was altered gently
And worsened.
What I book it was, on love and defeat.
One dwindles the hope perpetually,
To gain the drama.
To let hair down and mourn.
Rain outside and by the window sill,
I sit.
I wish my pain was extreme.
I wish there was a book on it,
And men read it and sob.
Even the most stone hearted ones.
But my language all faultered,
And my story, fragile.
Wish it were the victorian times,
Of supression and greater liberations.
I have to do with the mediocre.
The trains they provide me
With short fictions, not worth elaboration.
The love stories of real consequence,
End up in sustainable arrangements.
And now I have too many friends.
Im in pain,but its not the epitome
I shall wait for the one.
The one to enter the dingiest alcoves
Of my heart,
The one to make it blossom and then rupture it,
Destroy it with such force, fatal.
Gift me the pain I long for,
Pain which I shall write a book on,
Which men will read and sob.
Even the most stone hearted ones.

It Rained Dry.

Second class notorious compartment,
O what a disappointment you are today.
Its the first shower and I'm loveless, lover less.
While drops liberate sweet romance
In the smell of wet mud,
And leaves sparkle
Everytime love is felt somewhere,
I stand here alone at the door,half wet.
Even in the most horrid sticky sun days,
You are always there,
Violating and vigilant.
Always busy in testing feedback of touches,
Like a pervert doctor from a fantasy.
Where are you today
While I scribble your name
On the fogged doors ?
Come before the clouds run out
Of the precious water pristine.
Come before the reasons
To be happy dry up.
Come, we shall dance and love
And moan and cry,
And no one will come to know about it.
I'll swing with you to the movement and jerks of the slow train and the undulating tracks.
We shall hold hands in a pair,
The other pair out in air
Feeling the drops pinch us.
We shall make a memory till either of us has to get down.
A memory to last the entire season.
Just fill the first page of the my monsoon diary,
And let me rest in peace.

One Night Stands.

I visit the unknown land,
Of a familiar terrain.
A new address,
And its explored resident to be rewarded tonight,
With gifts of wet and the wild.
Growing wilderness - tamed
One vague serpent - tamed.
A course of exotic tastes and experienced consistencies,
Whelming bonds, some slippery slides,
In sessions of adult amusements and private passions.
In a never before musical,
Dancing in patterns to unknown moves.
An attention span of a night-time.
You are my lord tonight, my all
But tomorrow I'll ignore you.
Think of you non-worthy and virtueless.
Coming thursday I'll forget you.
Till friday I'll forgive my self and
Saturday I'll find someone new.