Sold my new blue jeans,
and bought a new pair of white shorts
to last me the entire summer.
Killed my cat,
and let the silence sink
in the dampness of my room –
the clock ticking coherently on the wall.
Smoked a cigar,
flicked it in the dustbin –
waste papers burning –
the letters never posted.
that were made in moments so aesthetic,
that a painter would fetch colours,
wash his brushes,
setup his canvas.
break not the threads of love,
for they cannot be mended,
and if they are,
the knots remain everlasting.
Candle wax melts
on the bare surface of skin;
the wait for you never ends.
Be stubborn, my love,
for you castle will be besieged
with the swarm of my kisses.
Only the smell of rain
seeped in the moist garden soil –
can replace the absence of your smell.
When the trees are laden with fruits,
you would find me high up on the branches,
plucking the well-ripened fruits for you.
Just the effort to be near to you,
is similar to extracting honey
from a beehive in wild –
body bare, fingers trembling.
The sound the sea makes
with the gush of its waves on the shore,
is similar to your footsteps passing by.
The devotees ran out of incense sticks
when they had you –
setup in the temple in gold.
When you became an atheist,
the Gods rained thunder and storms,
and flooded the city –
All the notes taken
in the six semester of the course
were not sufficient to describe
the charm that you hide behind your smile.
Poetry has its branches extended
in the gutters
where the human soul drowns in misery.
In the sky,
the supersonic jets flew,
to escape from the sound of your laughter.
The pages of The Bhagwat Gita were turned
again and again,
to repent over the sins
committed in your love.
the purpose of my life
for a mere word from you.
My lovers gave up on me,
for I was too busy
admiring the shape of your anklets.
Art by Gil Cohen.