Dear Lord of the World

Dear Lord of the world,

have you found another

— a more promising one,

where men are not made of matchsticks

and the air doesn’t taste of iron?



Where egos are less flammable,

and hearts untrained in killing.



Tell me— have you seen forests there,

green as mercy,

trees that refuse to bow to men or to machine?



Are there words for hunger there—

or mine, sorrow, war, famine, hope?



Lord of the world,

Lord of two worlds—

Tell me this :

have you found another world like mine,

and have thus forsaken us ?

Metamorphosis.

This monsoon, I realised.
It was pouring outside
And I shut my windows
Drew my curtains
Cutting any signs of the drizzle
Or the diffused light
Morning or night
I didn't care

The eternal romantic that I was

It changed.

Life - it is such.

Life isnt a bed of roses
Or a path of thorns
Its so much more
Its a lull
A void, devoid
Its puzzling 
The pain isnt the prick
Its the indifference with which it treats you
Like a non concerned lover
Like an unloved romantic
Life is love, ignored
A failed relation, in struggle
It isnt a bed of roses
Or a path of thorns

Moon.

I.

Coming spring I'll count on you,
and by the window I'll wait for you, 

O patient moon.

II.

My moods like you many faces,
Sometimes bright and sometimes gloomy.
I wish I could marry you, moon.

III.

Are you upset with me moon ?
It is but not my fault
for the cloud ministry did not sanction my request.

IV.

I do not think it will work between us.
It is not about love, 

just that you are too predictable , moon.

V.

How could I not be upset
My birthday and you were not present,
Moon.

VI.

The sun detests
The moon desires
Its the dusk that interests me.

Spring.

I.

A blue bud sneakily takes a peek,

Transformed by what she saw, forever.

Such is spring !!!


II.

Spring, it alters souls.

Groggy buds open up everywhere,
Like a bunch of introverts, mingling


III.

Buds and bachelors,
Cease to be.
Spring is a lovers time.

Wish.

If I were an eagle,

I'd prey on unsuspecting hearts.

Utopia

Will I have it all one day
I house I'll share with my love
A car I'll ride in with him
A farm where we grow our vegetables
And trips overseas we would take.
In this age of inflation
Love is hard to find.

At The Brink.

It just piles on
The burden of failures
Unresolved and unread
My biography will be a confused artwork
Of just greys and blues.

I realise how I haven't looked up the sky in a while now

Is it still the same color it used to be

Or maybe a muddled grey

I need to fall in love again.

Not Guilty.

I'm innocent

You stamped on me
Razed me down
A genocide of my self
I gasped and cried help
You shut the door and the windows 
Tighter than ever
I'm innocent 
I cried
But it seemed to upset you even more
A rebuking nobody
How could I ?
I am innocence
I wrote in blood
Excited, you smiled as I drained it all
A crimson artwork befitting a desiccated lump
I'm innocent 
Said the salty trails on my face
You mistook it for a daring
Now my eyes run dry
I'm still innocent
For I think i would still love you
But that heart of mine
You consumed the other day
I'm. Just. 

The Onset Of Homecoming.

Slow mornings, ginger filler air and tea brewing a boiling red.
The suffocating quilts, heavy but oh so warm !
A familiar touch on the forehead - "Good morning , get up and have tea," she says.
So predictable and comforting.
So uncomplicated the living.
So less the words and such simple interpretations.
These small hill town joys.
I yearn for home.

For my musings are not literature, not even close.

They are mere reflections, characterless

Of the life that I lived, mediocre.

Compromised lovers and comfortable love stories.

A cheap book made into a cheaper film.

Salvation.

The cloud ministry finally brews magic

There are lovers holding hands watching out

there are broken hearts in it, crying

There are the whipped of heat, relaxing

And there is me, writing about you, me and the rain

Rain Alone.

Do u hear it too ?

Can you feel it ? 

Its soft and misty

It whistles mildly like a distant mountain wind

Like a statement of muted luxury

Its there, pouring and busy.

Two summers passed by, dry.

Its only now that the monsoon makes sense.

But you are not there by my side.

Come home soon.

Looking Out.

Dwellings so high

For me rain is just a fleeting emotion

Silver strands in the air

I’m jealous of the ground

Its receives the rain

The wet sweet pain

The generous gods pierce it

To feel and split and melt away

It would be nice
To not be oneself for a moment

Rain Therapy.

Pour it down hard on the crusty land

Tear it open by the wet slivers

Reveal what has been untouched unfelt

Its only rain that can seep into corners and crevices

Its only rain that can touch

The most dried of eves

The most shallow of minds

And the most closed up hearts

Pour it down

Pour it out
Breathe.

A Pervert Nostalgia.

Bending like a trained gymnast,

Lumps revealed.
Curving and arching.
My eyes wander on your scape,
I feel gooses and bumps.

This sparse growth
This thick bush,
Is trying to hide from me-
Big rocks scattered and a bent log, broken
Running long and thick between it.

Moist from the night's fall
Exotic smells and heightening senses.
These roads to Mussoorie.
This nostalgia.

My Stand Point.

For my musings are not literature, not even close.

They are mere reflections, characterless

Of the life that I lived, mediocre.

Compromised lovers and comfortable love stories.

A cheap book made into a cheaper film.

Half Bitch.

Slipped at the age of 15
And never learnt a lesson.

Slipped again at 18 and 22

Well, nothing again.

I gave my heart in style

Succumbed when I got no replies.

Let is suffocate in a dingy chamber.

Till is ceased to exist

Or so I thought.

Love, in all its velocity

blew off me, my charm

Love in all its texture

corroded my being, my all.

For love it comes in such fierceness.

A simple rubbing on my shoulder,

is now a itchy red scar.

And now Im what they call

A stone hearted half bitch.

A Devious Appeal.

Treason, rape, murder and theft

And how many more, shall I make you count?

You did these to my soul and my being,

Forsake my freedom, my love.

Love, the most essential,

Love, taken so forcefully.

Everyday I wake up,

I wish for you to change.

For humans to be more humane,

For masses to consider.

Adopt me.

I appeal again.

I do not ask of you, what is yours,

I just want a validation for what is mine.

I shall leave you alone, a promise.

For I breathe with my likes,

I thrive with them, just a handful.

But for when I venture out,

I want no raised eyebrows, or fists,

Or pointed fingers.

I need invisibility.

I need approval.

What I ask of you - less,

What I demand of you - essential.

What I pray for - survival.

Why then ignore it?

Why then fight it?

Why suppress?

I have begged and cried.

I was kind enough to not steal.

But know this, time and again,

Forced and deprived many a times;

Evil is not born, its made.

A hurt ego, and a bruised past,

A foggy future, with all to lose.

I would be a villain, classic.

For I tread on a path, without weakness.

Consider this an alarm.

Boiling on low flame,

You are brewing me to perfection,

Compelling me to spill, burn and scar.

Consider this a warning.

I’m hopeful and determined.

Its mine and I shall have it.

With the morals burning down,

An obsession is taking over.

This my final plead -

Hand me over what was never yours.