Submarine

Is that a dew drop or a tear
That rolled down your petalled cheeks near?
I know we're getting there
Without fear,
For there's grass, sand, running water here
Beneath our feet.

If only my words
And all that jazz that
Make up my poems
Could be stored...

In glass jars
On your cupboard shelves,
You could taste them 
Like your chocolate cravings.

Darling, come hold my hands
Not only because 
Yours was empty
But, also to fill mine.

Let us partake of each other's past
And pain
Like ol' rose wine.

Because only
Once in a while,
A joint dream turns true
Like a nuclear submarine
Out of the blue.

Barter

Starlight in her eyes,
Ghosts in mine.

Hope in her eyes,
Treasure hunt in mine.

Care in her eyes,
Madness in mine.

Poetry in her eyes,
Muse in mine.

Wings in her eyes,
Mine own the skies.

Fog in her eyes,
Rain in mine.

Thorns on her head,
Wounds on mine.

Now, come.
Let us 
Change sides.

Monachopsis

Tears on paper
Blot as ink.

Like a Samurai sword
Slashing a petal.

You're stoic to 
Unspoken pains
Though unsaid words
Bleed each month
From your womb.

Tentacles of bastard memories
Entangle you; you
Wrest free each time
Only to be wounded anew.

Come, dance with me.
Leave your monachopsis behind.

You know you're afraid,
You know, you're not alone.

But am I as 
Scared
as you?

Are you as
Scarred
As me?

A prayer in the dark

When I say I love you
I don't mean I'll die for you.

I wish your prayers you let out,
In the dark
When no one's listening, 
Turn true.

I wish our kids turn out strong
And have enough courage
To take life by its horns.

I wish for the colors to return to
Your tomato cheeks.

I wish for you to make a dollhouse
Of chocolates
And peanut butter sandwiches.

I will not burn for you
But I'll return from hell, if I need to.

I'll be your warm blanket in the cold
And let you be that naïve child, once again.

For when I say I love you,
I'll live for you.

Would you?

I found Keats in a café,
Blakes in a bar, and
My scribbled poems in a dustbin.
You change and
Exchange
What you don't need
In this world.

Can you too hear
The voice of a dreamer,
Singing songs spun by bards
Across time and space?

Do you too feel 
That ravenous thirst
And hunger
For fiction and love
And some jazz in between?

Do you too feel my face
Like a mirror pressed on to 
Your tanned skin
Like I feel your sunlit hair?

By the way, would you rather 
Read this love poem
With your old classmates
Across your desk during
A boring board exam?

The good place

When the gutar-goo is replaced with the scream,
You know you're in a good place.

When you feel at home at a farmhouse, 
You know you're in a good place.

When a child brings you a small butterfly
Only to release it later, 
You know you're in a good place.

When you look into a black well
Only to see a million stars above,
You know you're in a good place.

When a temple with a fierce Kali calms you,
You know you're in a good place.

When home-baked French toast is served hot, 
You know you're in a good place.

When you worship the goddess during Dussehra, 
You know you're in a good place.

When you hold her hands and she calms down,
You know she's in a good place.

9 nights

Electricity crackles,
Leaves rustle,
Flowers fall.

The crescent moon is awakened,
Drum beats announce Her raas.

She opens her eyes, walks the earth.
She breathes, each thought
Born and dead
With the air
On fire.

Bodies rise, bodies burn, 
When she dances with grace.
Poisons turn into amrut
As I crave for one last
dose.

What do I owe Her? 
Am just a collector
Of all creative debts.
Like scars of my past lives
Are my glittered blue veins now.

These 9 nights. 
The goddess in her dances
Inside my soul.

You found me

Our future is enough
For our past to fade.

Like two parallel railway tracks
Heading into the clouds,
Let us remember our purpose.

Like a snake in a river,
Snaking its way, 
Through treacherous terrain
Let us be alert of the heat.

I know I'll never find another you
Without even trying.
Like listening to a song and
Understanding it even
Without being depressed.

You're what I see through
My open windows
You're what God gifts through
My closed doors.

Like a deep river that evokes
freedom and fear at first,
You're the poetry that found me
In parts of me I didn't even know.

my seeds

mustard seeds popped about...
a kitchen floor
tells a story of 
what's cooking?

the essence of all that is,
ever was,
comes out
when it manifests
in the presence of a 
catalyst.

a poem is born
in the union of grammatical mistakes 
and poetic licenses.

seeds pop in my mind
when am cooking
thoughts peppered with feelings,
lost loves, and
willingly lost
petty mind games.

may i manifest as my poem,
with you, 
as my catalyst?

Quench

At the bottom of the marble stairs,
I trust you.

You'll protect me from the devil. 
I'll hide you from nightmares.

With each falling leaf,
What is it that you dream of?

My parched chest
Thirsty
To listen to your stories?
My myths?
Your forgotten wombs?
Cold stars?
My intimacy laced through your tattoos?
Handmade loves unlike artificial fairytales?

In this unadulterated love affair
Between poetry and me, 
Are you 
The metaphor?

We'll quench our souls 
With sacred tonic 
That pours from the clouds.

At the bottom of the marble stairs, once again, 
Trust me.

Colors of punishment

Take her hand. 
Stop the little girl,
Inside you,
Who you punish.

Like an old violin tune
Played out on a mandolin,
My skin emanates 
Your scent.

I skip over stones,
Bend below barbed wires.
I want to wear 
You
Everywhere.

Let us pluck love
As cobalt strawberries
From the skies,
As you bite my lips
Red.

In a world where 'I' no more exist,
My skin shall be
Your sky above.
Let my summer heart
Warm
Your winters.

No, you can't go back. 
We've turned the tides of time:
We've colored everything.

The Mist

The hunter rebels,

Her caring hands soothe...

The prey 

Stops its prayers,

Written as poems,

On paper wrinkled

Cashew and indigo ink.

Her fragrance floats

Across my pages

From second-hand bookstores.

She's a metaphor as deep 

As a child reading poems

With rose-tinted glasses.

A mystery that envelops 

An undead village surrounded by mist

In the dark.

I stare. 

Stand.

Watch. 

Her lone survivor.

Lucid

Someone would've hurt you
A trauma would've cursed you. 
Which is why that smile never leaves you.

Come to the land by the sea
Where no one knows you by your face
Where the cold breeze from the sea
Warms your cold skin
By the fire.

Let us hold hands without a plan.
If needed, rearrange the house and make it your 
Home. 
All housemates are mere guests
Only I will always stay.

Those few moments before you awaken 
From your sleep,
Let me in. 

Let us sink
Into God's lucid dream.

Light of your own night

This burial ground,
We call our body
Where a thousand hearts
Die. 

Let us resurrect.

This mausoleum,
We think of as our mind
Where a thousand thoughts are born
And more dreams die.

Let us rise and erect.

Let us go.
Rather, arrive.
Shameless,
Into that bloodshed night.

Come, shine a bit
On your own
On moonless nights
Like the moon.

For in the light of 
Your own nights
I belong to you.

A new poem, anew

Come, let us 'time pass'.
Or, think of better ways to pass time
Than sitting at the silent shores, listening to stormy waves 
While trying to hold on to sand in our fists.

Come, let us make our doors into windows.
Come, keep both our dreams:
One below your pillow,
The other in my left eye.

This October rain and magic
That drips from my inked lips
You always thought mere poetry.

No, this is my revolution:
When the sun bleeds into the sea,
The moon blooms under your cloudy skin.
A razor-edged crown fits my heads.

We know we'll never give up;
It's difficult to wait
But worse to regret
Not waiting.

You flower,
I'll be the leaves that wither.
Together till the end, 
You'll either end up on me or an idol.

Our poetry may end
For our
Poem to be born.