Thursday, September 8, 2016


I shall write to you,
When the words drizzle
On the parched lips
Of my forgotten parchment...
And the train rattles
Over the rickety bridge...

I shall wind you up
In long, seamless sentences...
Our bodies in synchrony...
Your thoughts, enmeshed
In the barbs of my desire...
You shall provoke in me
The art of melting free...

I shall douse you
In the downpour of letters...
And you shall emerge,
Drenched in my coherence...
While your afterthought
Gives my language,
A new meaning...

Till then,
I must satiate myself
With tracing the outlines
Of your memory...
As I rest my pen

Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Mincing Goodbyes...

Today, the morning is different.
The hoarse crow
And the distant rumble
Of construction
Remain constant.
The aromas of condiments
From my neighbours'
Still entice my hunger...
But the skies are awash
With ashes
Of a life, well-sung...

It seems like you've finally heard
Of my goodbyes.
The breeze tells me
You can't whisper one back... you wish to sweep me off
In your torrential embrace...
And light up the wet crevices
Of my corridors,
With the lightning of your sighs...

Just so you know...
I can hear you cry...
As you incense my skin
Transforming your longing
Into goosebumps...
Just so you know
We must try to get by...
While I walk away
Leaving me behind...

(To my beloved city...)

Friday, June 10, 2016

The Resurrection...

I'm seething in your mind.
Your fury is in labour.
I await
The unleashing that you put off...

The cracks are growing.
And I can see you look
Through the crevices
In the door,
That you shut on me.

I sang the last song
Like no one was listening.
But echoes, they travel...
Your ears
Will not stop ringing.

And whenever you'll look
Out from the window,
Peeking through
The curtains of denial

You will see
How my whispers
And the din shall be

My spectre,
Too stirring
To ignore...

[Dedicated to Rohith, the scientist, activist and poet]

Monday, May 16, 2016

Post-its in my mind...

I need to write.
I've not spoken
To you, in a while.
How have you been?
What have you seen?
How many songs
Did you not sing today?
Which tree
Is your secret keeper?
How long
Since you looked up from the phone
And saw
Unmediated reality?
Is there any?
Will we ever know?
Will we look into
Each other's eyes
And see content?
Will we seek it?
Will there be a moment
In time,
When you and I
Will coalesce
And believe
That you are
What you've wanted to be?
They're just thoughts
I've been having,
Pondering away the futile...
While you were looking
Through the mirror,
Waiting to let out a sigh...
So tell me,
How have you been?
Where have you wandered?
What have you seen?

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Of Smells...And Stenches...

Till when
Shall heaven,
Within mass graves,
Under the drunken smell
Of apples and blood?
How many
Shall remain,
To form a people,
To dream in fetters,
To die in letters, 
To bear the brunt
Of our cartographic lust?
How long
Shall we fool our reflection?
How often
Must we wash our hands?
Will ablution chip away
At this rusted sanctum,
And cleanse us
From the stench
Of a charred identity?
For my veins,
And thine,
Have enmeshed like vines...
Frozen. Still.
Through the travesty
Of time...
And when we tend
To the clots...
Sit down,
Take a pause,
We shall trip over
The undulating bed
Of coalesced bodies...
And the riddled milestone
Shall finally ask
Is it this?
Is it this?
Is it this?

[Title of the poem inspired by a Children's book written by Sara Joseph and illustrated by Koonal Duggal]

Monday, April 18, 2016

Of Interstices...

I'm unspoken.
Caught in the crossfire,
Of unruly songs
Broken free from the strings
Of an ill-tuned guitar....
Coming together, bonding
And a din.
I'm a doubt
In a half-gulped murmur...
Held back
From being let out loud...
Even when you sense
Me, throbbing within...
I peep through the leaves
At the sun-kissed chatter,
And ponder
A surreptitious emergence...
But the stars relish
Their gravity,
On my disquiet....
And I'm shackled
Like a breath under water,
For an unstrung gasp....

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

The Remnants....

I laze
In your backyard...
Watching the world light up,
As the day switches off...
And that's when I smell the night.
Stealthy, young
I never realize
How long I've waited,
For this juncture
To arrive,
Until the crickets greet me
The conches and the muezzin
Are just wrapping up
Their daily differences...
The clattering of vessels,
A beckon
For the last meal...
Each so invested,
In doing away
With the quotidian,
For a listless shut-eye...
But the hues
Have only just begun,
To transform
My encapsulation...
Into a riotous palette,
Speckled by a game of hide n' seek,
That the fireflies
Never seem to lose...
I'm basking in the conversations
Of branches and the breeze...
To the tales of their travails...
And as the night begins to speak,
My chaos falls asleep...
And the day becomes a spectre
At the doorstep of darkness...
While I thrive,
Like a sigh
At the lips of peace,
Flirting with the remnants
Of madness....