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
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?
I had left a stack of typed poems at her house (more than 150, to be precise), she said she'd burn them all if I did not return to her. My exit was smooth - I had left her sleeping, naked, her heart well-clothed with my warm touches, and the blanket covering her body halfway… Continue reading The Fate of Her Cigarettes, and Me
Chasing your shadow in the night, I realise that you have been long dead. *** Come to me, my love and taste the nectar from my garden of Eden. *** A drought in monsoon brings to me the flood of your cherished memories. *** A dusty road leads me to a place I call home… Continue reading Ultra Smooth Haiku
Sitting alone in crowded cafes, walking barefoot on heated surfaces, chasing the tree's shade in the sun, stubbing out the last cigarette, biting on my overgrown fingernails, searching my wardrobe for a familiar scent, saving the last bite from my vanilla cake, reading out my short stories out loud, filling up the bitter minutes of… Continue reading Realisations That Strike On a Weekend