Wednesday, 18 December 2013

Open window

The afternoon
Sleeps like a lazy dog
By my window
Hiding from the sun
And while in the shade,
You remain a beautiful ghost
I sound like a stone unturned.
Mumbling to myself beneath the surface
Becoming an island
Drifting like a tale
Away from your stories
Over evenings stretched out into
Secret promises of the rain
Where doused, we make our way
Out of clothes, and
Into words
Fleeting like deadwood
Above conversations of smoke
That fly out of the window
I forgot to close.

Monday, 16 September 2013

The Moth

In her eyes
In her endless eyes
In her gentle, warm, endless eyes
Like the darkening sky
Lie sleeping galaxies, waterfalls
The moon itself.

Like her warmth, that haunts me still
She whispers to me sometimes
Between the sheets
Of an empty bed
Where she gathered me at dawn
And lay me down at night.

In cold of the night, where my will breaks again
The galaxies and stars are dying
The steel of words, melting
The broken string of her instrument
That rings no more.

So I recede
In her eyes
In her endless eyes
In her gentle, warm, endless eyes
Not merely a moth content with reaching the flame
I must dance with it, too.

Monday, 22 July 2013

Reflections in the Dark

It’s July
The roof of the sky is falling
And the storm in your arms
Has kept me away

But through the pages
Of a memory set on fire
I remember you
Like a tree wrapped in light
Wading through
The darkest forest.

I’ve learnt silence is
Closer than we think
Like the ocean at my feet
Or the people standing still
Like weather beaten mannequins

And that I only sing to myself
As your flame dances
Above me
And my words melt away.

I still recall the red shore
Of your lips
And that green gate through which
You made your way
To watch a gentle river flow
And birds with their flame
Melt me to my bones.

But oh my evening moon
My midnight flower
As forever departs and future beckons
Know you were always well clothed
In garbs of light
And I was always

Naked in your presence.

Friday, 7 June 2013

Tired Gamble

In the gamble of everyday
Between what is lost and what is left
I was washed with your flame
Summoned by your voice
And taken by your hunger

But now your words are a trickle
From a broken ceiling.

I was woven
In your story
Lonely as a room
Empty as a house
Made into a home, and
Now I’m a shore
Where the waves only recede.

I’m tired of writing you
Like a road
That goes nowhere

 I’m weakened by singing
You like a song
That you can’t hear.

Monday, 27 May 2013


I must lose it all.

I must lose because I don’t have anything hard or ugly or cold or bitter inside. I don’t have a struggle. I was born in a simple family to loving parents. I was bound for normalcy. But what is normal? Is it a fence we build for ourselves or a wall others raise around us? I think it’d be best to call it a state of motionlessness. Of not going anywhere. Like trying to swim in an ocean with no waves. Or maybe that’s what our indecisive brains try and tell us – to move away from the comfort we burrow ourselves in. however, like the roots of an old tree, our beliefs fasten themselves into a ripe ground of youth and age till they’re too rigid to change.

The only thing I've ever learnt from life and love is that sometimes we should close our mouths but we should never close our eyes.

Now I rage without a reason. I burn without a flame. My voices have no words anymore.

I must lose it all.

Thursday, 16 May 2013

The Tides

Will the river meet the ocean tide?
Where the mountains end and the sun does hide?
To forget and float away like a stringless kite
Is what I often wish to do.

To see the world in her eyes through sunlight beams
To never question these threads merging into tender seams
As night turns to day and a blue evening leans
My arms are doors that lie open for you.

Today, I wish to fly like birds that brave the wind
To be naked and shed this dying skin
Even though they oft meander, my thoughts are pinned
To a wall of words I raised and drew.

And yet, I arrive only as a letter
Only to be gagged, bound and tethered
Yellowed, unopened and set upon a table
Weather beaten and never to be read.

So find me a place where my bones can rest
In the rising tides, I was summoned by your zest
Now I tremble as you remove your dress
But I’ll hold you close like the words you've said.

*photo by Pranita Kocharekar*

Monday, 25 March 2013


To break your silence with a spoon
To cut your voice with my words
To touch your flame with my tongue
Is to break you.

Say a word and time will fall,
Translate my gestures
In a broken language
Or build a shelter, and
Be my home
And I will make you.

Let the fire withdraw
Like waves from your eyes
Beyond this empty shore
The tides rise and fall, like
Words lost inside words.
Let me gather all your scattered shells
And I will take you.

Monday, 11 March 2013


I wake as a poem
Lost in your pages
Once again, in your tired arms
In your cloudy eyes
In your restless wind.

Lost, in your body poetry
I rest within your eyes
And listen to your hair sing.

Through the puzzle
Of the rising sun
I carry your silence
Through my tides
Waiting for the storm to pass.

Monday, 11 February 2013

Woman of Words

Let your words spill out of me
Words that I write alone
On your back in the dark
Words like fruits I pluck from your eyes
Words that shine on the silver
Of your moon skin.
Let them enclose me like your
Arms on a dark street
Till there is nothing else
But words and you and me.

Let your words drown my memories
Lead me to newer lands with shores of hope
Where I find you smiling at every corner
And the trees utter your secrets
With silent words.

Let me be your empty page to conquer
Let my lines spell freedom for your winged words
And I will plant my words
Like kisses on your tired eyes
Watch the tendrils bloom into flowers
And roots fasten themselves down
Into your warm bosom.

And with words, we will
Paint pictures that speak
Sing our songs to reach the sky
With words, we shall brave
Sliver of serpent tongues
Trapeze and traverse this trepid time
Till there is nothing else
But words and you and me.

Wednesday, 6 February 2013


Sometimes you're so close that I could just reach out and touch you. But I don't. Sometimes when I don't see you looking my way, I keep staring until you do but then I feel like a creep staring at you so I stop soon enough. I hate putting on this mask and walking into a cubicled world where I must pretend I've never held you or will never get to. I hate how I don't have a good idea about what I am doing or whether its alright and you seem sure about things and when you're not I've nothing conclusive to say.

Tuesday, 29 January 2013

The Sailor

If I was a sailor on the
Ocean of your skin
I’d be thrilled to be capsized
In your tides
To rise and fall with
Your thunder and love
Lost in the music of your storm
Wet with the tongue of the sea
Charting my own course to rest on
Unsure, but steady
Trusting the stars in your eyes
Turning and playing with your waves
And while you wash me with foam
I wish I’d drown.

Wednesday, 23 January 2013


Sometimes you just want hate to consume you. So much so, you wait for someone to wrong you. Pure white like fresh milk, that’s no way to describe hate, but it washes over you, until you and its shade are one.

Beyond the Line

White and grey, outside a blue facade
Of steel and concrete
A flurry of pigeons in the sun
Windows open like a gaping mouth
Or a million veiled eyes
Lost in the crowd.

Monday, 21 January 2013

Woman in the Waves

The face that soars above mine
With eyes brown as the earth beneath my feet
Is the one I whisper to
And hold.

Your lips, as wet as a sea shore
Moist from a resting tongue
That lashes like a wave
Awakens from slumber of the night

Uttering bitter truths
Parting ways and coming together
Like my answers,
Your tides come and leave.

Your hands enclosed in mine like a summer web
Must surely brave the weather
When the sun keeps its promise, and hides
When fine yarns come undone
And the sky is most vile.

Shivering in the cold shade
As the water rises, she whispers,
‘Meet me halfway’
And I pick up my roots
And walk.


I look at the ground more often than I used to. Looking up is not what it used to be when the sky looks the same everyday. Those who usually complain that people's faces look the same should look down more often, because their shoes certainly don't.

Tired Ocean

No ocean at her feet
Or waves that caress
Just birds from her eyes
That seek greener lands
Where roots and branches
Gently collide.

The purr of a cat
The roar of a lion
Swords of morning are drawn
In the shade of tomorrows
With nimble words that fade
Like whispers under a quilt.

Hesitant but sure of tomorrows,
Deaf to all but blind to some,
Lost in her music,
I begin to sing.

Friday, 18 January 2013


And then happiness rises to the fore, like flowers in a field after the rains have fallen. Sometimes, the yield is good when every inch of you has been invested in the crop. Then there are no regrets, just memories that make you who you are. And then, hopefully, you can reap what you sow, with a smile on your face.

Tuesday, 15 January 2013


Spiders or locusts or unknown beasts,
These frozen tears from the sky
Come down with a million names,
Scattered wisps of winter rain,
In a quiet part of town,
Where one hand reaches out,
For a gift of snow.

*Photo clicked by Udita Banerjee in Prestonfield, Edinburgh, Scotland, UK

Monday, 14 January 2013

Life of i

I never put the things i consider 'work' here, but this was something hopeful that i wrote after ages, and i guess there's nothing wrong with spreading a little hope as the new year begins...

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticise
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin’
Please get out of the new one
If you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’.

So sang Bob Dylan in his 1964 hit song, The Times They Are a-Changin’. It is strange how, after all these years, the lyrics still reverberate through time. If one is to place these words in the context of India, the world’s largest democracy having the largest group of youngest people, it rings truer than any other nation. As the fear and hoopla around the Mayan prophesy passes, the old order gives way to a new age and one thing becomes clear — the future belongs to the youth. Information technology breakthroughs, innovative entrepreneurship, incubating startups — aren’t just accomplishments of the old and wise, the young guns of our country now continue to persevere in such fields. The internet, a phenomena mirroring the various possibilities of the future, has helped the GenNext erase boundaries of religion, caste, creed and colour and connect like never before. Painters, poets, new age artists playing around with digital codes and algorithms, continue to pour out their ideas, their thoughts — their very souls — on the worldwide web. Thanks to the same, people have come together, no matter how burdened the times may be. The conscience of the youth has awakened a fervent spirit in India and the youngsters know staying silent would be cowardice, so they are making their voices heard. Not surrendering to the rigid, iron will of those who don’t want to change, the youngsters have ensured the future shall not be quiet — it will comprise of voices speaking as one. Man may have affirmed his carbon footprint on the planet thousands of years ago, but now our digital footprints fill the landscape of our lives like a river making its way through time. There is, undoubtedly, a humbling feeling as we traverse through time, one where we tend to feel small and sometimes, a little uncertain. Letting go of anchors is never easy, as one is left to paddle aimless, but we have learnt to find our own way. The waves never rest and our little vessel traverses through troubled waters — a little shaken and stirred, learning important lessons, growing stronger and more aware of the tides and giving back what it can on the way. But never before have we felt so alive, never have we had such an ability to break old shackles and shape our lives to make them the one we always wanted to have. We have conquered unimaginable grief and now its time to break the mould and carve all the knowledge we have gained in the contour of tomorrows. And as our humanity strives forward, looking beyond the horizon, knowing it’s always dark before the coming of dawn, there are a few lines we can go forth with:

Flower wither not
Brave the flames of the sun
Take the spears of the rain
Spread your roots and shine.

Sunday, 13 January 2013

The Debt

What debt must we repay with our own flesh

To you, who lurks in the shadows?

What do we owe to you?

My maker, my seeker

At last, my destroyer.

What garb must I adorn that you,

Cannot tear away?

Now that I’m naked within

your eyes?

Shall I melt my vengeance and make it rain

On this parched land of mine?

Where wishing wells of mothers have dried

And fathers bereft of wishes would rather,

Turn the other way?

Should I crush my retribution and

Plant it in a pot?

Watch it grow day by day

Watch its tendrils choke my throat, like sinister vines

Or have its roots feed me

And its shade enclose me

Till I forget myself,

And drown.

Know that I will repay this bruise

And the flesh you crave.

Shall I beat down my retaliation?

And throw it in a pot

Cook it for my unborn child

All the while,

Thousand eyes watching

And a thousand faces spew out

Their whispers of poison.

But no, I shall shape my revenge

Like the sickle your fathers

Used to wield.

Sharpen the blade with words,

Timid things on my tongue

Nurse my wounds,

Watch this body sow what

you decided

To reap violently,

Till it grows strong

With my iron will

Shackled no more,

Within this parched land of mine,

Where, one day, the clocks will stop keeping time,

Someday the reasons will realign

One day, you shall face what you design.