“But could you promise to come back?”

I wanted to ask, but didn’t.

Deep down, Perhaps I figured

some answers are your worst nightmare.



“I will hold on till am able, till I can hold on no longer

A day, a month, a year. Centuries, even.”

I say it again and again, as if my saying

Be his reason for his staying


Taken captive by the poetry in his fingers

And days of endless passion,

unending conversations,

And boundless longings..


now, once again our lives are a whirlwind,

hanging on indecisions

The hours and lies and people and morals

Everything takes a toll on a young girls heart


But I’m holding on, with him in me,

With hopes and dreams of all that we left halfway..

Hands still clutching his shirt

Tip of my nose nestled against his chest



As I begin to weep,

He foddles me tighter plays with my hair,

Kisses my forehead, looks out of the window

And says nothing.. nothing…

Experiance, Poetry



I met a certain man yesterday.

Who spoke for hours along,

With no pretense.

About poets,their verses.

And paintings and artists,

And singers and their lives.


Of strange obsessions,

And compelling addictions,

Of his little crush,

On the lady death,

And of all the urges he cannot tame.


He meets you in the lines you pen,

And tells you he gets it,

The empty longings,

The emotional rollercoasters,

The love for forbidden,

And all that you feared to tell the world.



He kept me awake with the tales of his wounds,

The tales that make him a human,

Of an exquisite kind.

A fine departure from all the others,

An honest liar,

Shouting words of truth and penance,

At the infinite moments of darkness.



A certain delusional young man,

Who suffers from the wrath of his own conscience,

Who grieves in silence,

For all the friends who travelled far,

And families that fell apart,

And women who gave up,

And places that wore him out.



He whispers into my ears,

“You scare me!

For you believe in no atonement,

For you seek to murder murderers,

You deny, that all the men, You wish to hang at marketplace,

Deep, deep, deep, down hold a heart that beats.”



But I, “I know”, He says,

“For, I walked with them too,

For, I was one of them too.

But my dear, how I wish I hadn’t begun all that I began!

I’m left with little, so little, if you had known all that I had.

I have been a weak man,

of the strongest kind.

And all of it has taken a toll,

On all that I had.”



As he sits there alone,

and waiting for his little crush

To come looking for him in depths,

How I wish to tell him to hold onto his self,

That the world outside is beautiful,

And that bigger love will happen,

And severed ties shall mend,

And that second chances, third chances,

And infinite chances are allowed,

For men who sin, and yet repent.

And that all you ever wanted,

will come looking for you 🙂

Literature, Poetry

The end.

Your lethal concoction,
Is sweeping through my veins
In unfathomable surges.
With every passive plunge, the ones
I betray,
are growing in numbers.
And from where I stand now,
I cannot,
Even seem to think of the drearier tomorrow’s
Where you and me,
There won’t be a ‘me and you’ spelled together.


My first lousy poem.

My leaves withering,
rot away smiling,
Sometimes in vain,
Sometimes in efforts,
to paint your  life
with the colors I bear,
in red, saffron and yellow,
with cells cut off my veins!

You come to me,
not, but often
when the numbers allowed,
to sprinkle a shallow lifeline
in just the right measure
over my browning leaves,
to keep from souring!

The weeds,
that erupt off my hungry roots,
They steal-
Everything that was yours,
Everything that was mine,
Even the only remains,
of an ancient manure I forced off you once,
with a shameless display
of my youthful unrest.

When you’re gone again,
Across a narrow aisle,
I live in a shrewd silence,
Both dead and alive,
Both patient and needy,
I stoop, as if I’m falling,
Towards the earthly being,
Till again, one morning,
your familiar shadow falls over my skin

I wriggle alive as you run your fingers,
along my tender leaves, enjoying its sweetness,
And its subtle tenderness.
Your light kisses on the flowers I bear,
and the shivers my fragrance passes down your spine,
tells me volumes,
Of all I ever wanted
Which is only a little of you.