Now that I move on

Gradually I fail to fall in love so do my attempts to write poems It's not that they are connected, love and poetry you and me now and then. But they conjure,  haphazard evenings and revolting senses.  The void, that takes over like a weed looking for excess.

As She Moves Away

You roll your eyes to shake off the tears looming large. You sideline memories  for another hour for you need time to gather the scattered skies You touch her again and again run your fingers urgently over the wrinkles, cheeks, and her hair like a child, lost           to memorize the warmth of love, just faded away. You try to cross your fingers over hers The grip-less slip, You realize, the careless abandon of your life to be.

The images that come to you on a Sunday morning

Jesus, crucified in an altar facing the sea Desires, Prayer beads Rain down your skin as you walk, into the endless gaze of a body sprouting blood You turn away, from the wickfires, glorifying a sacrifice, and face the monsoon waves Love, leaves the shore again and again Droplets from the altar flow past your breath filling the waters The sea and the sky, Pale blues, spilling over each other You smile, as you notice, a million crossing overs wetness over the sandbanks yellow lights over eyes, closed sky over your purpose, and My longings, over your abundance

Casual Intelligence

It feels numb to walk out of the familiar street of clustered love and longing to the vastness of apathy Hours Wet streaks dry, famine down your cheeks Prayers Hope, like dark clouds drifting away Words, assumed comforts                                                                     Left over sourness of distant stare and the immediate chill You walk out the dragging breath, half built bridge. The bunch of females, his mud plains of unejaculated coital mirth

The Mound at my Backyard

The legacy you pass down to your son, sits at your backyard showering flowers on to a pit Golden white fur breathless, still lovable sleeps, over ants mud, dry leaves and tears He sits lost, recollecting the pet names, the cuddles, the warmth that spread through his feet And I, stare through the million mounds over my senses The barren cemetery Lit by my solo cigars

The Insult

Suddenly, one day You become a weed on a courtyard wall   The wild green that nourishes on the intrinsic bliss of his domesticity.   Their murmurs of yesteryears gather on your body, hanging down the dilapidated concrete, and write new epilogues for a play, that ended much before the first Act   Your hapless nerves become, the scorching summer intruding, their frozen corridors. The melancholy whore, You spread like evening rays over, the impending silence.   Your words Your skies Your cuddle Your newfound womb, shatter over a forbidden land, mutilated.   The snake bite on their moonlit nights, You ooze out, from a million pores.    


Seventy five summers weighed down on her as she stepped out of the home he was laid to rest.   Not a drop could contain the sea, she left to dry Reminiscences now lost to termites and her progenies other worlds   She, the alien to be forsaken, earnestly. Her hunched values, broken limbs, sagging breasts and vague senses   The door, closed behind her.   Silence the gaze wind, and the road.