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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
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Confession

I may not have done this
if you had, held me close
for a moment or so
before walking away into
the chores of indifference

Leaves holding on to the wind
before the fall.

The morning dew,
droplets of diamonds
On my face, pale white.

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The Hour Before You Commit Suicide

The hour before you commit suicide
Think of, red flowers.
Buddhist monks.
Magic seeds, like rain on your face.
Flags, revolutions, flying high.
Dancers in red.
Autumn.
Think of, the setting sky
and the red sea.
Fallen roses.
Lips dried up, like parched land.
The red of your veins,
like a river, dead
with no rivulets.
And, the red planet
like another time.
You see,
the sindhoor bath
of the goddess, in gold.
The red flowing out
from a million cuts.
The red earth,
holding the female red
as if a baby sacrificed at the altar.
And now, you realize,
The red leaving the borders
like the words you left unsaid.
You hang
Swaying in the breeze
like a bridal wear left to dry.
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