Showing posts from 2014

History is to be noted in moments

History is to be noted in moments

Christmas break in a trench
Raindrops in a burial ground. 

Night without crickets 
City without graffiti
And skylarks without skies.

Or the Corns, wind, women, 
Sojourns and suntan

Evenings secluded to oneself 
and black coffee.

thoughts like birds

Seagulls crossing 
thresholds of borders 
on your skin.

The half tint canvas
Where stories procreate
One after the other

Of lips, hips and red streams
Of bullets and bullshits
Of Demons and Demi-gods
Of Pope and the Peepal 
Of love and lie.

History is no more history
But a child's game of 
war and loss and war

Sticks and mulberry crowns
Of you and me and other lives.

Becoming Woman

Borders without countries

Now, I need to understand
There is Charm, in solitude 
Not the made up one, in a melancholy base
For love and loss and poetry, but 
that which jell on to your skin
Like tattoos of desire and sin.

This is how two ports should drift away,
Like planes of tectonic movements
Each one designing a continent of its own 
Of candle lights and islands.

Latitudes on your body
And shipwrecks on your shores.

There is no other side 
for an exhausted love
But, the grabbing chill.

Your abdomen,
Like a million spiders birthing 
As you gaze out of yourself 
from a long distance train