तीन महीने पहले
खिड़की के नजारें अलग थे

एक समय चिड़ियों को देख
मैं तुम्हे खयाली कहानियाँ सुनाया करती थी

चिड़ियों के साथ मिजाज़ का आना जाना अब भी है
पर अब,
तुम्हारा पता बदल गया है ।

Telescopic Impasse

Walk soft with slower rides.
They’re the treads.
Of my messy insides.

The fucking winds.

Such unrelenting harshness
On my pretty face.
But these eyes
Won’t drop their gaze.
They search his lines and rings.
His face.
Frozen on clean sheets.
Memories of unsaid things.

Rain used to be fun.
Now annoying?
I am unsure.

The caustic slow burning would endure.

For I am the favorite friend.
He’s true.
Clay for playtime madness?
Take my heart.
Till your fondness
Allows for all that.

But I’m his and promised, how!
No other shall taste the feel
Of his lovely warmth now.

I stand and observe.
Absorbed intimacy and affections.
The ancient horrid game
Of mirrors, tricky reflections.

This mind’s rationale
Heart’s twisted bent.
Two languages –
Same damn content.

The incomprehensible affair
Of wrong translations
Dry humor to our tragic despair.

Is this enough
What’s that?
Good and nice.
Let’s put stamp on it
But which one?
Uncertainty is the bitch, hon.

His pain would bleed my heart out
Transfusions – no match they say.
I hate bad investments.
People are the worst kind anyway.

I like the rain.
I could try keep falling.
Till pneumonia catches me first.

Relevance of sympathies are subjected
To efficacy at receptor’s risk.
Dead eyes, broken ears won’t do shit.
The pain is yours.
Transfers can’t be fixed.
Got the tech for that?

No. It doesn’t fucking exist.

Our Musings on Us


You know it well, when I sigh.
And drop hints of my attention.
The disguised doubts of the why.

Maybe you prefer me as the hot one.
Sliding up your skin.
So we can believe it’s for the long run.

But how you block the noise
Inside my head, those looks.
Your slight shivers at the surface of my voice.

I would lie beside
While you search your screen.
My curves getting cold in imposed ignorance.

But I wonder sometimes, could I burn.
My intestines – if that’s what it took?
Desperate purge, of this sordid hunger.
I would give up the chase.
And let the smoke waft away at my face
My dark pungent stench, for you.
To dream sometimes, maybe remember too.

No Alternative

Although this poem was written a few months ago, but with the Lok Sabha elections just around the corner, its relevance today cannot be overstated. This poem would be better comprehended when kept in mind that the context here is India’s current political scenario where politicians have lost almost all sense of propriety and have made a buffoon of themselves in the race to bolster or dent the image of their so-called future PMs of India. The candidates themselves have left no stone unturned in order to add fuel to the fire. And it becomes pertinent here to mention that it seems another indispensable cog in the wheel, the media, can’t see the forest for the trees. In their mad rush to grab eyeballs, they seem to have forgotten the bigger picture, and are unable to decipher their role towards the society, or they simply choose to ignore it.

A smile on the face
With dignity and grace
But inside the emotions churn
Oh, watch how the flames of ego burn!

Paranoia and hypocrisy all around
Is there any compassion to be found?
Charlatans and inveiglers abound
And the naysayers pretending to be profound!

Indignations exacerbated, passions run amok
A predator eyeing its prey like a hawk
Vying to connive their way to the finish line
“To hell with the ethics, the victory is mine!”

Machinating to cause upheaval and turmoil
And in the way forgetting the flavour of the soil
Enmeshed in skulduggery’s intricate coil
Forgetting that there’s no alternative to blood, sweat and toil!

Narendra Modi Arvind Kejriwal Rahul Gandhi Caricature