Foreign

I know very little about you.

And sadly, I do lack the interest.

You claim to be a city, and deserve more attention.

I know, but I being selfish,

Only trudge through the necessary roads

Of my everyday life.

And I am happy with that,

Even if that’s not true, I presume no other way

That you could make me happier.

I don’t know if I should feel obliged

That you have shown me the first snow

And have given me something

That I sometimes feel tempted to call life,

Far away from home.

You make me do things, that I never thought I would have to do.

And show me the true color of loneliness.

Loneliness. I thought it to be very charming and poetic.

Without you, I could never know how pathetic it could be.

And those excruciatingly sad wake-ups and vacant hours.

My entire existence has shrunk to this small room.

You have that great voyager’s name, that mocks at your mundane self.

Columbus, I wish I could learn to belong to you. 

Restless

I am screaming like anything

I am throwing things away,

Breaking the glass window,

Wrecking the bookshelves.

Tearing up the posters

Of my heroes, ever silent.

There’s someone at my door.

And I could only figure out,

That it’s you, observing.

And not stopping me.

With a curious look.

Do you think it’s funny?

I pick up the vase…

You vanish and the poor thing

Hits the mirror.

Shattering my face

Into pieces.

The One with The Crack

He is so brilliantly stupid.

A fool who makes himself a buffoon

To the men around him

To the woman close enough.

He understands his hopelessness,

And has in vain tried to follow the ways of the others…

The less stupid ones.

But no, it didn’t get him anywhere,

Just attracted more unwanted attentions

And the giggles, and boos.

So now, he has decided it.

To remain a fool, an impossible and incorrigible one.

And to his surprise, the people around him,

Have started taken him seriously, lately.

The First Fortnight

                        (1)

I never wanted to stop the talk

But felt like catching some breath

So I hung up, in the middle

And you felt bad. And since then we

Are living, in the same city

Like aliens.

                        (2)

I thought you would understand

And appreciate my poetry.

So I opened my diary, and read some to you.

To my disappointment

You liked

All of them.

                        (3)

It’s winter time.

In our city, it’s never cold enough.

We went for a coffee,

And on the way back home,

We held hands tightly

Just to ward off the fake shivering. 

Though, I must admit.

In our city, I’ve never felt this warm.

                        (4)

I am happy to know

That you are angry with me.

And I can see from this side

How you are ignoring the ringing phone.

It's your mother, she’s calling.

And just for nothing,

Please don’t shout at the maid.

Rather, if you ask me

I’d love to see you pondering on the words

We’ve said.

                        (5)

How could somebody waste an evening

Helping her aunt organize her kitchen?

How could someone think she has enough time

To go shopping with her mother?

Ahh, and how could anyone find it alluring

To visit a remotely related uncle’s place,

Over the weekend?

Well, my evenings are blank,

And they are being wasted, anyway.

                        (6)

She needed some time,

An hour he thought.

But after some five minutes

He just wanted to check

If she was done.

And came to know

That she hadn't even started.

He poked again,

Half an hour later.

She didn’t reply.

The hour has passed.

And he’s still waiting.

                        (7)

The movie was a trash,

How could he know beforehand?

                        (8)

I am sorry to keep you waiting for so long.

The traffic is heavy,

And my boss wanted me to finish a task…

And then that call from the client site came,

Just as I was about to leave,

I lost my I-Card for a while…

And… and… ohh ok, you are moving,

So can we go somewhere and talk?

                        (9)

I was born in this city,

And here I have been raised.

But in last twenty five years or so

It never occurred to me

This city lacks so dearly

Dark corners and lonely alleyways.

The Breaking

You are tired, I wish you could stay.

For a while, so that we can love a little longer.

Here I keep my eyes fixed at your fingers

And you ask yours to close… and savour

The darkness around, though mundane

And the warmth that we share

Are not going to stay.

We are just waiting for the end to come.

End of wisdom of having each other.

And then we shall celebrate the fall of love

In our freedom of lovelessness, together.

Help Me

Help me with the words.
They are like riddles that I cannot decipher.
Even at the times when I start feeling coherent
They effuse through my lips uncontrolled.
So, help me with the words and give me some room,
To undo them and rebuild again and again.
Like a mound of clay too ambitious
To resemble your face and emulate your smile.
Help me with my poetry, when I am alone,
When my dreams from a distance seem futile.

Oblivion

I used to say if you die for me
I would cover my grief with a graceful solemnity.
And even if you return to hold me again
I shall not break the harmony of sorrow.
It might sound like too much of thinking
And too much of poetry far from the truth
But poetry can share sufferings unlike many
The healing is delayed, deliberately, for good.
And now that you are dead for me,
I have set my words free, so that they are understood.