I'd make a fine stone in the Duck and Drake game - skimming through the surface with the bare necessary contact, to sink when slowed down; you had seen me slowing down and sink with a faint splash, the moment you said it was better that we meet in letters, best we do not meet… Continue reading There is no Honey for the Tea served in these Crowded Cafes
Autumn winds blow the trees wither, shed their leaves like my tears for you *** The birds chirp at night reminds me of the sound of your jingling earrings *** Intoxication in your love is far more than pegs of rum poured neat *** The mosquitoes bite me in the night as I sit waiting… Continue reading Haiku(s) for Autumn
The tiny, transparent water droplets decorating your hair spread through the air as you shake your head and smile at me. Your lips are mauled by your teeth. I ask: May I? "Why not? you consent. "No reason that I must not," and I clap like a child unwilling to let go of his first… Continue reading Erotic Poetry
The road was filled with bustling traffic. In the state of half-drunkenness, moving was a laborious task, and yet he moved, much against his will. The stoned footpath trampled with busy footsteps, had always been like this, ever since it was made. It was the constant movement of the footsteps of the pedestrians that must… Continue reading Fairy Lights In Decorated Places: Part II
I like those five or nine alphabets that make your name. Had you lived in the time of Shah Jahan, he would have made the Taj Mahal in the memory of his wife, but would have inscribed on the Makrana marble in Persian those five or nine alphabets of your name. I say again: had you lived… Continue reading The Five Or Nine Alphabets That Make Your Name
Oh Love of mine, if you were bathing in the same sea of intoxicating madness such as I, you'd cast your pearls before swine, sell off your bracelets and anklets, and take the first plane - or a bus, or a train, or a taxi (whatever suits your transport taste) and come home to me… Continue reading What Makes Me Mad Keeps You Sane
Emotional state: Tsunami. A wreckage awaits; the captain being drunk is out of his senses. The tempest calls for more sacrifice — more corpses to sink into the blue abyss. What effort does the captain make, but nod to the hailing wind — the sailing wind. There's no effort to be made, no word to… Continue reading What’s a Tempest to a Captain?