...disclaimer.

go away.

there is no poetry left.

Giulli

...Can we depart without saying a word?
Some goodbyes are seldom seen
They say some are never heard.
To hide away all that you've got,
Sometimes there is no hollow ground.
There is a reason we are lost...
And there is a reason we are found.

Geisha

And you, on a canvas
Rising like smoke
Still in bloom
After spring has passed us by.

I saw you run
In shoes that barely fit
White mask with
A painted smile.

And when you melt
With a little touch
Draped in red
The colour becomes you.

The Right Name

Take these eyes
And make them see.

Take these hands,
Break their chains.

Take these words
And make them breathe.

Rid the distance
Shimmer any other way.

Take this pen and make it run.
Tread every soul
And every soil.

Take this body
Divide it in two.
Take what you find
If it may be of some use.

Take my mouth
Make it sing.
Translate
And make it give.

Sometimes I need to feel I’m falling

Break this heart
But make it live.

The Bends

Take a bend in the road
Said I can save it for tomorrows.
And when the story is done, you,
Pull open the curtains
Watch the sun dissolve.

I will take this and more
All the colours and
The residue of the night
Still fresh on your tongue.

In the end
If it can be called that,
I know we
Can’t always be the same
Our own worlds we have
To decipher.

Abul Fazal Sky

Here we live
Look up
Again
Scattered bruises in the sky…no,
Vivid brushstrokes on a blue canvas
Purple, white and lovely pink
Quaint orange and an unthreatening red too
In streaks and patches
These tread marks of rain
Over Abul Fazal
Where we live.

Wrong if you say
Everyday is the same.
Sometimes words don’t do you good
When shades are your only friend
May I borrow this palette?

After Miracles

Today I wish to leap out of your shadow
You who I have followed for so long
Observe the night with all its stars
Aligned together like children holding hands
In other words, be where you are.

I don’t know from where I began
From a path I was on before I was lost.
From a hill or a waterfall, from a storm or a dive
From a tree or a vine
From a wheel or a shoe.

Or maybe from sunrise through a valley
A smile behind a veil, a whisper
In this world,
All beautiful things are hidden.

My eyes grow weary looking around
Where I’ve been
At times I’m tired of talking.
Sometimes you’re tired of being a man.

Today I wish to be hung,

Like stories on a wire
Where we will sway easily
Like clothes in the wind
Till we are dried of all our tears.

Prime Time

Breaking news
Is what we want to see.
Dramatic reconstruction of
Events for my children to understand
What went wrong or,
What went on
Behind closed doors
In the middle of the night.

Re-arrange the events
Tell a good story
Get everyone on screen.
That one, there, he looks suspicious
Hiding behind a policeman
Staring at the camera
I believe he has something to say.
Something he knows.
Anything.

Show me every picture of a bloodstain
In every corner, dark ones too
Don’t leave out anything.
Tell us everything.

It’s not very often
That my entire family sits together
To watch the TV.

Another

I see through you
Falling off the page
Nameless
Never thought I’ll care
For someone who was
Caught in the words
He never thought he will utter.

Through you, I see
What happened before.
And in your face,
I try to trace
The stories I’ve heard
Others repeat again and again.

I see you through
When it all falls away
Nothing to do but
To let the steam rise
As I strain my tea
And watch you become
The evening news.

Jamun Seller

Purple fingers
Is the first thing
Anyone will notice
About you
Next are your yellow eyes
They’ve seen many transactions
Carried out between you and
Hordes of hungry and scratchy children
Lucky with two rupees
Then there is your small basket
Balanced atop your trusty cycle
Filled with Jamuns
Almost hidden, but,
Peeking through
Waiting to be devoured
With a little masala.

Its funny how,
They’re the first thing
We want from you but,
They’re the last things we see.

Me & Myself

This is how it is
Sitting at the corner of the table
Unravelling
Coming undone
In strands of skin
Wishing you could prove Freud wrong.

Today I ran into my former
He never listens
Wears a face I don’t like
Blinks often and never smiles.

Tell, my lonely friend
Are we lost for a reason?

While You Were Gone

Through the nets I see,
Life wade in water.
The uneven sea is perfect
For football and curses
Till we drown,
But we wait for the rain.

Patience drives you crazy like
Something unrequited, when
All you want is what
You need but will never get.

But you, on the outside
Breaking into a run or stuck
In slow motion like you sometimes are.
Seeing red, glasses crashing with
Poetry and your love for plans
Wish I could turn into you
Or take you far.

And you never say,
But the hints in your
Eyes, maybe silent complaints
This is why I have no stories
To tell, for I bring
You this from my room.

Lately...

...maybe trying to get away from yourself is slightly different because usually people are kidding themselves when they say that…what they really want to do in such times is get away from where they are or from others…the worst thing about being lonely is that there are so many things one has to come to terms with…so many things that you have to tell yourself…things that you can choose to ignore more often that not…this process can be very cathartic if you are want to be…its killing me because I am not…wow…I actually sound almost sure of what I’m saying…could have made it sound more suave than usual. But this is how it is in my head these days…can’t find a better song…I’m already wishing for winter…clarity is the need of the hour…I hate it when I’m uninspired.

While the Smoke Settles

Light a cigarette
Ponder
Pseudo intellectual
Try to look like someone
Anyone
And I,
Have no place to hide.
Just a rogue in the balcony
Outer space
Trouble on my mind.

In my room
Corner
Questions
Mistakes
The things I used to love
The letters she never meant to write
But she did.
And I did too.

In my eyes
The things I’ve saved,
Photographs
Laughing, blinking
Sunrise.

And you
Nod once
Twice
Look up when it rains
Drops hit your face
Make you beautiful.
The love we made
Is the weather
No shelter can shade.
I see clouds gather
And you
Wish I’d walk.

Secret

Let it come like a road
Winding alongside white lines
Changing lanes
Turning yellow
Out of the dark, into
New stories of what you find
When you’re alone.

Let it come like a smile,
Bad with timing and
Right on cue.
When you do the same in
A crowded room
When you’re sure we share
This secret.

Or let it come like the rain
Without a reason and arms outstretched.
Making pictures that rid the haunt
Of crimes and mistakes, washing away
The things that make us hide.
Within the tedious action
When you part your lips and
Bat your eyes.

Sweeney

And from the dark – ‘murder’!
Cried she when the streets, they bled.
In the moonlight, beautiful, and she ran
Her fingers through the shimmering red.

You should have heard the haunting sound
Of laughter proceeding plans insane
When Sweeney smiled with a glint in his eye
‘At last! My arm is complete again!’

I won’t rest till every throat is dry
But oh my friends, patience…patience
All those who’ve wronged shall be tried
Served and tasted cold, sweet vengeance.

Judges may preach but there are lessons to teach
To this city full of filth that hides many things.
Every drop of tear on my hands will be
My reason to find joy in the hurt I bring.

Monday

Morning. Weird bad dreams about losing Mishmi and finding myself in a totally new way but not like I want to. Woke up with the 'Tuesday blues'. I actually thought its Wednesday today. I thought again for a moment that I'm turning into my father so i should listen to my mother more often but i don't really want to because i don't sometimes like what she says or thinks but anyway, thats everyday so lets just forget about it. I thought I suck at guitar and should learn to play like Omar but I somehow just can't bring myself to do that...really wish I could write a song that I would be able to sing when I am alone with myself...really wish I'd friends who I could make up an entire band with but fuck it. Euphoria. Hell. Hell. Hell. I am bored. want something new to do. Anything. Actually, something else. Change of pace. Different plans. New plans. No 'plans'.

The only thing that's making me go on for this week is the thought of where I'll be next week at the same time. The only thing I am totally sure about right now is where I want to be. I don't think I've longed for Monday so much before.

untitled

Look outside to the streets to see the seasons change

Beneath your window, the things that wait

The road disappears, singing, and you

Hum and mutter the songs you wrote.

That same hurt, unknown, alone, unnamed

Behind the word, hiding

Raids your mind like wounds you hide.

Forces a tear, makes you smile.

And until it wears you out, like

The moment you turn and forget about the time

You danced and were beautiful when you said

The world moved with you

Well, you are and it still does.

Unsolicited

Sometimes within,
The answers kill, like
A cold day in Delhi.
Like the summer heat when we
Search for solutions
Or wish for it to rain.
When nothing turns out the way it
Seems or sounds or rhymes in your head.
Nothing happens the same way twice.
When you’re broke and loose and can’t
Pick and choose between what
You want and what you need.
Between sweet sin and terrible greed.
When outside, every other voice has got
Something for you to prove.

When everyday is not the same
But you find the songs you remember and love have
Gotten old.
When discretion has been practised enough
But it leads nowhere.
Just like sympathy, which you get when you lose it.
And when you think you
Have no stories to tell but you’re happy with
The one you’re in. Oh well,
Lets take water over wine.

Rambling Without A Cause

Read the news…let it fill me. I need happiness. No a warm gun. I am not feeling like this is the end. But I feel rather like this is the beginning of a nasty chapter.

Season’s changing…heavy breeze…some icebergs melt-a band sings about it in a concert, a few hundred tigers and elephants are poached, some protesters are killed in Lhasa for crossing the line, politicians snore as the bill is passed in the parliament, some cry and shout and try to disrupt the proceedings but some just keep on sleeping , America invades and bombs another village whose name it can’t pronounce, more Qassams rain down on Israel, more Palestinians are killed…no one will ever know.

The fat man lights a cigar, price for oil is set, the deal is signed, camera bulbs flash, the ‘clink’ of wine glasses are heard, the nib of the pen breaks, the ink spills over and fills the page, blots it, they shake hands, calls are made that we need another war; he nods as a sign of approval.

The world is not a happy place…my face doesn’t don a smile now as I’m getting to know things that gathered dust before my very eyes…things I had ignored and hadn’t pondered about. Little angry, little irritated, anxious about this and everything. Scared that this won’t turn out the way I want it to. Like all those times you feel really happy…on top of the world with your little accomplishments when you’re kid…’oh, I climbed the tree today’…’I scored high marks in the maths test’….’today I won the race’…’merit card’….’box of candy’….it sure feels like a million bucks then. Times like these, no matter how young you are, you always imagine yourself as something else, someone else, bigger, better…something you WANT to be. Now when I look back on those times and think to myself what I wanted to be then…I realise I am none of those things.

Is David Bowie right? Have we only got five years to live? To save this earth…? Please don’t let this be true. There are so many other things which should be.

If happiness was a paper, I would roll it into a ball and keep it in a box…keep it safe from fire and others things that may destroy it….leaving behind only ashes.

Sorry.

This sounds very pseudo…unreal…untrue. Maybe I was just kidding myself when I told myself sometime back that this will work…this will help…I should have told you that I am sick of being wrong but I love it when you make me right and show me what is missing…I’ve realized that that is something which is absolutely necessary…in one way or the other…sometimes I want to cry when I am just with myself…your simplicity is untouchable…I feel too complex to be with anyone…maybe I am not but I feel like I will never understand me even though I’ve usually seen that I am like a bad sweater….just pull a string and I’ll come undone. You’re more than anything anyone could ask for…you’re real…something I can touch and feel and hold…you have the answers…I feel stupid that the scar I made on my left arm doesn’t go away but maybe there is a reason for it.

There are so many things I must do and be. I feel scared that I will fail. I am not natural at anything. Music doesn’t move my feet. My hands don’t glide with a brush. They don’t slide on a guitar. I’ve been telling myself and forcing myself to write poetry since class 8 and maybe that’s why I’ve gone far with it. But just like everything else, there are many things I must explore and make something my own…many doors remain unopened still.

And you told me to laugh…well, now I am laughing…but there’s no one around to hear it…I am not angry I just feel alone…do you hear it…can you hear it…?