This morning, as I stood before the mirror,
I found new streaks on my body,
Semilunar temporary tattoos,
That have crept up overnight-

You left remembrance on my breasts
With gentle carresses of your teeth,
Sinking softly into my flesh.
I like to think of them as
One last valiant attempt, to hold on,
To these last pigmented bits of togetherness
When there’s no way that you, can, not, go.

But efforts, although valiant, can still be futile
And it’s just skin, flail with vanity, and it’ll forget.
The alive reds will soon turn,
First livid blue, then cold black, dull green,
And then, pale into Yellow.
An entire palette, and yet too insipid,
To match the entire myriad of colours,
That you run through my mind.

The entire myriad, too much for my mind,
Now leaching onto my skin, for a few brief days-
Like dark, forgotten water trails,
Through the faults of cracking limestone caves.
Iridescent, yet fleeting, memoirs, of secret seasons of love,
Bursting out, from the weakest parts of me,
Where my mortal body, cannot contain them.

But it’s just skin, it’ll soon forget.
The seasons will change soon too,
The sky outside our windows, sooner.
But the hickeys on my soul,
Will have your touch etched into them
Neither superficial, nor gentle.
Here, to last seasons,
Here, to stay longer.

All around me now, are dry autumn breezes,
Colours of Fall, on my body that only knew summers
And once in a while, downpours, untimely rains.
Marks on my body fade, not used to feeling this way
And I realise-
It’s not only the seasons, the bruises-
That change, that leave,
When I want them to stay.

Whispered Tales of Sedition

My breath holds dusts,
Like half-crumbling memoirs
Some figments from lost cities,
Some glitters from emerald tapestries,
Some bits of this maritime humidity
And frosted flakes of forgotten winters.

But I guess it’s for the better,
How no kiss came with complete abandon,
How your back under my nails,
Always shifted, uncomfortable
Betraying that tiniest bit of caution.
Scared, lest I transmit them-

Entire stories, captive under my eyelids
Entire worlds, inside my flesh and body.
Entire graveyards of almosts that died on my tongue.
Hand to hand, mouth to mouth,
More pamphlets, less poetry, reeking of my sedition.


Boy looks at the girl. The two screens in between,appear as more formidable a barrier than the thousands of miles and the hundreds of barbed national borders separating them. They have been talking for hours, oblivious to the changing skies, it’s evening there and night here…

He has tears in his eyes. It kills her inside, but she can’t reach out. And somehow, every time she is in front of his eyes, her tears freeze. And so do her words.

So when, barely audible, he asks, ” So what am I gonna do when you leave me again?“, she finds the crowding chaotic words in her mind noisily burying his question, clamoring to answer… To tell him, that the next time she leaves him, will be when they decorate her in white lilies, gently close her eyes, and kiss her hushed goodbyes. 

That then, they will expect him to be dressed in white. But she doesn’t want him to. She wants him to wear blue. Blue, like the ocean whose waves always made her want to crash against him and cry. Blue, like the autumn sky which always made her want to walk with him through a sudden unexpected October rain. Blue, like the robin’s eggs from the song they just didn’t seem to have enough of. Blue, like the days she missed him. Blue…..

To tell him, that then, they will expect him to break down and cry. But she doesn’t want him to, because nothing could surpass the torment of being locked in a lifeless mortal body and not being able to hold him and say, “Hush my love, don’t you cry, these moments of pain will soon pass by“. 

They would expect a whole lot of words from him that day.Words of praise, words of love, words of glory. But all she wants from him, is one word, one whisper…. “Lenore?…”, and the wind,the trees, the breeze, the leaves, will all borrow her voice and whisper back their echo, “Forevermore…

But instead, her wits and words all fail. And all she does, is look down. And mutter a muted reply, “I am never leaving you again“… Too soft, too frail, to reach his ears. His tear drops. She wipes her own away hastily. And yet, they both know the other is crying. 

Outside, the sky changes. The owl hoots. The raven caws.
Two more teardrops fall. Washes the past, dissolves his purple rage, his green hatred, of the person that she had become. Makes a melange, a collage in the background. The lovely red raises it’s head again.
She becomes 14 again. They fall in love again…