Twice in a day,
Sometimes maybe one time more-
I have emptied the cup of reason,
And then let it overflow-
With everything unreasonable-
Tangled doodles & jumbled neologism
Love, lust, lyrics, melancholia, treason
Overcast skies, untimely downpours,
Persistent drizzles of an eternal monsoon season.

It is in those twice a day self prescriptions-
That I have really lived my life,
But an overdose of even life they say can kill-
So yes, perhaps it’s for best
That it’s just twice a day,


And sometimes,maybe just one time more.

Coming out

So yesterday, my sister caught me as straight as it gets, “So, he is,ummmm , hee hee hee, what- your boyfriend? ”
I wish I could tell her how inadequate that one word is, and how it completely reflects my disdain for any kind of branding – be it clothes, or a relationship.
But then, how would I explain it to her?

The cold wind running through the hair during a bus ride,cooling the cheek.
Walking in the rain over black roads with bare feet.
The wind suddenly blowing the curtains around wildly.
The rain crashing over a glass window.
The hide and seek of the moon and the clouds.
Dark chocolate, midnight coffee and late night phone calls.
A sudden rush of words – devoid of rhyme and yet of poetic perfection.
The sudden whim to sketch on seeing a blank yellowed thick paper.
A postal package waiting for you one day.
Serenades, lullabies, dozing to sleep while listening to someone sing for you.
The wiry perforated shade of a tree, the netted sunbeam through its foliage.
A bouquet of flowers, a new book, the smell of old books.
Understanding unformed tears without words, crying with someone.
Sudden bouts of laughter over seemingly nonsensical reasons.
Choked throats and steaming tears streaming down over amovie.
Those few lines in a song with that aah-that-is-totally-for-me feeling.
A wide expanse covered by fallen leaves, rustling leaves against the evening breeze.
The sound of a strong storm during rain, the sudden jubilation it brings after a scorching summer day.
The feeling of a sudden skipped beat staring into the depths of someone’s eyes.
Bear hugs. Tight hugs. Or just resting in someone’s arms.
Kisses. Teardrops. Fingertips reaching out, touching each other.
Stupid games at midnight, the feeling of not growing up.
Travelling. Learning a new word.
Pitch perfect music sessions, endless singing sitting out ona rainy day with a cup of tea.
The tumultuous sadness of crashing waves, the caress of thefoam at the feet.
Inky dark depths of madness, sudden golden epiphanies, déjà-vu’s.
Feeling beautiful, inside and out.
Little lines that are so beautiful they make you want tocry.
Writing about all the things you wish you had the courage to say.
Melancholic trances, tormented thoughts about the haunting fragility of life.
Lying on the floor gazing at the ceiling with music on.

How could I tell her, that what you are- is an amalgam of these and a million more favourite feelings of mine ? There was no word, anywhere even close to attempting the same.
So I just smiled, and said, “ Yes, he is my , hee hee hee,boyfriend…”


Sometimes, the neurons entangle like a rain forest
Sometimes, they don't let much sunlight filter through-
Onto the damp tropical mossy stones below.
Sometimes, in daylight deprived rooms
Cowering, underneath concrete canopies,
I write my stories in less light and more shadow.

The warm frost

The Earth is ceaselessly going around the Sun in a mutual attraction which if it gives in to – just a little more, our science and our understanding of gravity will go up in a few chemical reactions – and sometimes, I find myself treading a similar thin rope of balance. Memories can be overwhelming, and even more so when mixed with words, emotions, feelings, and often confused to dizzyingly heightened extents by distance. Whoever said distance dilutes?

When the winter sunshine slowly peeps into the room, warming first my feet and then, quietly, my soul – I still think of the dark honey from wild bees and the specks of melting chocolate laced in your eyes as you looked at me one evening through the day’s last sunrays, before your eyes seemed to get closer and bigger and your lips turned into my eternal winter sunshine, pouring sweet warmth into me from each and every corner.

When the slight shiver of a tropical waning December suddenly makes my skin creep, I remember the almost dermographic reflex that you incited inside those goosebumps as your long cold finger traced words against the bare skin of my back – warm from the tumultuous bonfire inside my soul that was soon spreading across horizons engulfing my entirety in frenzied forest fires. Yes- those frenzied forest fires inside me that often put to shame the slowly burning fires forming hieroglyphics on the face of distant forests and hillocks- characters which you often paralleled inside my mind, the tangle of neurons, the unintelligible gallop of thoughts forming sentences forged with ink that I often do not recognise as my own.

Struggling to validate what I feel with words within the realm of language, I realise – I am becoming more and more prosaic day by day, and the fleeting poetry leaves within me an almost indulgent nostalgia that I cannot, and often do not want to shake off.