Tuesday, August 1, 2017

fishing line

how do you kill a man
who is ready to die
when the sun of his life
is a shadow in the twilight skies

when the fishing line of life
is a thread through open lips
cinching them close, tight
closer than storm fucked ships

and the call of a wild heart
is but a whimper in a dark room
how do you kill a man
who is welcoming his doom

with open arms and open eyes
lips sealed with fishing line of lies
humming to the tunes of the oncoming fire
how do you kill a man who is burned by desire

--
I wanted to take this poem in a different direction. It's not as good as I'd like it to be. Maybe I will come back this for a revision. But for now, it stays like this.

Saturday, July 29, 2017

chew you up

you thought you had teeth, son
you'd take a bite out of the sun
but o, now look, your teeth are rotten
you're lying in the darkness, alone, forgotten

whose jaws are now clamped on your neck
which demon this from regions of heck
can you wriggle, can you move your head
you better try, or you will end up dead

maybe it's alright to not move at all
why try to run when you can't even crawl
play dead, dead like a fish in a stream
maybe you'll wake up and all this would be a bad dream

but this thing, this demon has tasted your fear
you can try to run away, but this thing is always near
so sit down, shut up, and suffer the punishment
life will chew you up for death. Are we clear?

--
chomp chomp motherfucker.

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Lost Poems

I should have kept pen and paper by my bed
I should have kept my phone next to my head
I should have memorized the rhymes in dreams
I could have done something, so it seems

But those poems are now gone
Floating somewhere in the ether
Little birds with missing words
Flying on a broken tether

Disjointed images, flickering through broken glass
Through the fog of dreams I've tried to remember
I've woken up and tried to grasp
My glowing rhymes now burning embers

It only hurts if I try to notice
But who has the time for regrets
I get down to the page in angry remembrance
A man writes, a man forgets

--
In memory of the lost poems

Sunday, July 16, 2017

warhead

far above a cursed earth
a lonely satellite looms
signals processing, data meshing
waiting for the doom

deep below in belly of earth
a girl sits in a bunker
the men with guns search for her
but they still can't punk her

the satellite floats in magnetic waves
its belly filled with fire
it's been waiting for a hundred years
for a signal from her

her finger hovers on the button
a button marked as doom
she takes a breath and slams the button
as men with guns enter her room

before the bullets pierce her skin
the room begins to blur
where there was a living girl
now there's no sign of her

inside the floating satellite
the fiddles with the keys
the wires wrap around her
the software whispers please

slowly becoming one with the machine
she says a prayer for the dead
to rid the earth of all its sins
she lets go the biggest warhead

a scorched planet below her
circuitry in her heart
she pulls the satellite deeper in space
to find a place to restart 

--
I've been slacking writing poems here, because life isn't fair and you even when you get what you want, it's not what you wanted. 

Stay hydrated out there. 

Sunday, July 9, 2017

never

waves
w a v e s
w  a  v  e  s
explosions
in the skies
of my eyes
trapped
in a spiderweb
a willing prey
slit my throat, miss
then give me a kiss
if you may
oh, you might
delightfully
if you do
it's alright
for it's 3 AM
again
and i
i will
never
sleep

Saturday, July 8, 2017

दिक्कत

हर एक मन में दंगा है
ज़िंदा रहने का पंगा है
गुस्सैल मुखोटो के अंदर
हर एक बंदा नंगा है

अंदर ही अंदर उबल उबल
अब शक्लें भी बिगड़ गयी
इस सर्कस में उछल उछल
शिकन से रूह भी अकड़ गयी

अब दिक्कत में ही ज़िंदा हैं
पिंजरे में फंसा दरिंदा है
कुछ सहमा सा, शर्मिंदा सा 
एक टूटा हुआ परिंदा है.

अब ना है आशा की कोई आस
ना ही मुक्ति की तलाश
अब तो हर शीशे से घूरती है
एक मुस्कुराती हुई लाश

---
कैसी लगी? रोक लो, वर्ना और लिखता रहूँगा.

और पढ़ लो. तलाश, खामोश, Outrage का Culture 


Wednesday, June 28, 2017

खामोश

अब मुझसे बात मत करो 
कुछ देर चुप रहने दो 
मत पूछो बेबुनियाद सवाल 
आज रात खाने में क्या है?
क्या तुम गुस्सा हो? 
तुम्हारा काम कब ख़तम होगा? 
कब तुम्हारा काम कम होगा?
यह काम अब ख़तम न होगा 
कुछ ख़तम होगा तो सिर्फ यह आदमी 
कमर के धनुष में एक हड्डी का बाण 
मेरे माथे के आर पार कर दो 
अब मुझसे बात मत करो 
कुछ देर चुप मरने दो 
---
huh. look at me, writing in Hindi.

Sunday, June 25, 2017

the circle

i've looked into the distance
i've seen the roads curve
i've looked into my existence
i've seen my demons swerve

there is only one rule on the road of life
speed, as fast as you can go
even if you ride the edge of knife
there are some things you better not know

what seems on the surface
is rarely within
what comes from within
rarely reaches the surface

it's all a risk
a chance
an arrow in the dark
headlights off, accelerator on
never stop, move on, go on
and then maybe you'd dare
to love and
to be loved
who can be the judge
of these things

you can't bottle up emotions
some things are meant to spring
even if you poison the gardens
some birds will find a song to sing

it all comes back to the same place
in the end, we are all alone
when you're looking in the mirror for your face
do you see a killer with a heart of stone?

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Medusa's Hairbrush

Does Medusa brush her locks
With a hairbrush made of fish bones?
Do her children snipe and bite
Till she fills their jaws up with stones?

Does she let her locks slither wild?
Does she wash and oil her poisonous mane?
Does she preen hypnotized in mirrors?
Does she think of herself as vain?

Perhaps Medusa has a stylist
A brave knight with stones for eyes
His fingers bandaged, bitten, broken
His mouth only filled with sighs

Is Medusa's hair all mangled and tangled
Maybe she should tie them up in tubes
But as we wonder about her head
Are we just going to ignore her pubes?



--
Don't look at me. 

Thursday, June 15, 2017

as the world crumbles

it whithers around the edges
little pieces fall to ground
the world crumbles without remorse
even when no one's around

the crowd of watchers gathers
shoulder to shoulder on this plane
their cloaks hang in tatters
their minds slightly insane

they watch the world crumble
and move from side to side
the litanies they mumble
stink of misplaced pride

and now the pinprick wound
implodes on its own soul
where there was a world once
now just a gaping hole



Saturday, June 10, 2017

when darkness dies

who knows what comes next
when the knife is still vibrating
in the back of darkness
is there an end to this mess

if there is an end to pain
an end to this incessant hunger
if there is an answer to this anger
please shove a spike in my brain

I've tried to rip out poems
from pages of newspapers
but it's only death and misery
wrapped in morbid sensations

the sickness, does it have an end?
will I ever smile or just pretend?
will I ever see the sky again?
in the desert of my head, will it ever rain?

no flowers grow here, sir
it's only arid land as far as the eye can see
and beyond the dunes, there is ice
brutal and no even twice as nice

--
It looks disjointed. It looks like blocks of text. But it makes sense if you read it without prejudice.

Friday, June 2, 2017

cities inside us

there is a city in each of us
filled with people, thoughts, memories
littered with scars and bastard stories
there is a city
in each of us

some cities are vast and some microscopic
some carrying infinities, some hung on a stick
sans atmosphere or enveloped in clouds so thick
that you're not even sure if something's there

(I've been writing this poem for three days now)

I wish I were able to
get lost in a city
with no map
or inner direction
to guide me
maybe everyone is lost
and they just fake knowing their way
if you don't know where you're going
can you even get lost?

no stars to guide the land ships
just a black and empty night
fireflies pierce the gloom with light
and that, my friend, is a lovely sight
--
I broke the flow of this poem. I did. My fault for keeping it marinating it for three days.

Thursday, June 1, 2017

Eye Contact

I've looked into the abyss
And the abyss said to me
My eyes are up here, asshole
What the fuck you looking at?

Me? Oh, I'm all about eye contact
But dear abyss you have eyes everywhere
I keep looking into you, and honestly
I feel a little scared

Like I'm sitting in an exam
Naked and unprepared
And the eyes are looking into me
Ripping through the layers

And at the core of me
As you can see
Is a tiny eye
Staring back at the abyss
Oh, my my!

Saturday, May 27, 2017

On A Smoky Evening

come here
and sit with me darling
I'm going to tell you things
that have been on my mind
it's after two
(as always)
and a lady from YouTube is singing jazz in my ears
some whiskey would be good right now
but I've only got music and memories
I've got accident stories
of kisses, misses, wishes
of things I should have done by now
is that why I am listening to blues
so late at night
when it just feels oh so right
the dog of memories
barks silently, but oh, does it bite!
I've been looking at my lists darling
there are things I need to watch and read
and if I could catch my thoughts from straying
like some pissed off cowboy made of failures
i swear there's some serendipity at work
some ancient clock ticking same for us both
i swear there's some magic in the air
that makes me glad we're under the same moon
i had to say a lot of things darling,
but, soon.

--
Edit* yeah, there was a typo in the title, but we live and learn. 

Friday, May 26, 2017

sliver

from a tiny little hole
a sliver of light
a sign of hopeful paranoia
something to get me through the night
might be a bit sad
to be stuck in this muck
could be a bit mad
to feel like a thousand bucks
shucks!
writing poems in this format
like shitty three chord rock songs
even if you don't know the rhythm
you'll know how to sing along
and even if the beat screws up
you won't get the lyrics wrong
and we'll pass responsibilities
like a game of pinging pong
everyone in the world is right
Ii'm the only fool that's wrong
maybe I should go apprentice
in the cave of Dr. Dong
now this poem makes no sense
it's become more like a song
wait, I rhymed that earlier
is that allowed or is that wrong?

I should stop
while I'm on top

---
Ok, look I started writing this last night. First paragraph is from then, next lines are from now. Mood varies, so does the poem.



Monday, May 15, 2017

a million

it would take me
only a second
to think of a million horrible things
that I'd do
if only I could
get my hands on you
because I've thought
and I've thought
I've made lists in my head
I've perfected my methods till they shine
and I've tied off every imperfect thread
now all I've left is this
a ticking clock and waiting
I'll wait as long as I can
for what am i
if not a patient man

--
I just feel like writing threatening poems these days. I don't care.

Sunday, May 14, 2017

it kneels

imagine if you could
the feeling of power
complete
absolute
when you have a god
a literal fucking living god
kneeling
right there
scuffing the ground with its knees
a god, wheedling,
for a chance at forgiveness
for what sins
who the fuck cares
who the fuck even remembers
but the moment is here
in all its glory and fear
just breathe it in
and hold
hold hold
hold
till you feel bold
enough
for exactly this kind of stuff
as its tears wash the barrel of your gun
take a look at the rising sun
the fireball is getting bigger
what are you waiting for, man?
pull the fucking trigger

Saturday, May 13, 2017

the nail

if a storm brews in a team cup
do the mountains steep out rain?
butterfly wings and tornados
all reside in shadows

where does the light go
when we switch off the sun
inside the refrigerator
the door shuts the fun

the goblins are partying again
inside the washing machine
silent as mice, double as nice
they dance in their dreams

and here i sit
the king of idiots
with a nail stuck through my foot
did i step on it or hammer it in?

--
This day is like a fist in the face of everything pious and pure.

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

sleep and other maladies

i should've been woke,
woke as fuck
but i sleep with my eyes open
a sitting duck

world moves around me
a blurred contraception
i spin sitting in place
a totem in my own inception

when i dare open my eyes
at times i feel so sick
i just want to lie down back
in my pod in some matrix

i will watch the world go by
as civilization crumble, men die
i will wake up in a thousand years or two
maybe i'll wake up with

---
sleep is a problem in these troubled times.

Monday, May 8, 2017

तलाश

मैं अपने मन के जंगल में 
हूँ ढूंढ़ रहा एक कविता को 
कुछ सुनी हुई, कुछ देखी सी 
कुछ भूली सी, अनलेखी सी 

भाग कर थक सा गया हूँ 
लेकिन मन में एक इच्छा है 
एक पंक्ति, एक शब्द, एक लय 
एक नयी कविता की तृष्णा है

हर पत्ती और हर वृक्ष से 
अब पूछ पूछ कर चलता हू 
देखा है मेरी कविता को?
या शायद कुछ सुना ही हो 

छाया मातम इस जंगल में 
सब फसे हुए इस दंगल में 
और मेरी कविता सरसराती
अब घूम रही है मंगल पे 

--
I probably suck at writing Hindi poems. But since when has sucking at something stopped me from doing it? 

Saturday, May 6, 2017

escape

every question
is a loaded gun
the answers
bullets for one

dig into an open wound
just to bleed for fun
and if they try to stop you
darling, better run

run till the blood is gone
and you're far away from here
till you're empty and alone
till you're free from all the fear

if you stop to take a breath
you will catch up with the pain
you better start moving
before you start to bleed again

--
silly lil fuckin poem

but, we all run.



Monday, May 1, 2017

the shards

take something broken
douse it with glue
but the cracks still show
some of them will never go away

with microscopic intensity
prepare, repair, despair
even if you join a torn thread
the knot will always be there

take all these shards
grind them into dust
throw them in the air
and please, breathe it in

these cracks are like memories
nails in the coffin of time
you scrub my skin till I bleed
but we can't get rid of the grime

--
what a useless day and a useless poem

where did this one come from

I have no idea


the circle

perfect paranoia
digital infection
dreams drag the dying
into a sleepless reaction
keys are like bees
flitting from word to word
rounding them all up in a circle
no name for this herd
it's 3 AM again
the timelines are all over places
imaginations infected
by the visions of diagrams of faces
so, come Monday
say hello to me
while I am too busy sleeping


Thursday, April 13, 2017

mud

the sea is stretched out
like a rubber band
till the horizon
as far as the eye can see
it's taut, ready to launch
a missile towards an unsuspecting target
the sea is
waiting for me
but I can't go yet, no
there is a quicksand traveling with me
hands and feet stuck in the mud of my fears
i keep the mud wet with my collection of tears
all the anger, all the rage
i stick fingers down my throat
vomit poetry on this digital page
while my head is engulfed in a jagged cloud of pain
a little piece of my heart remains
in some forgotten mountains
as a hobby, just a hobby
i build pieces of my walls with my quicksand
just a man dealing with strange thoughts
thoughts no one can comprehend
and if my walls are not enough
if these bricks are much too rough
i'd build fences on top of them
trust me when i tell you this
these walls are not for keeping you out
they're here for keeping me in
i sit here in the prison of my making
silently rocking, smiling, shaking
my masks are wearing masks
and the man in the mirror always grins back at me
asking me if i'd ever see the sea

Sunday, April 9, 2017

bees

i've got bees in my head
yes, sir a full hive
they buzz around all day
24/7 alive

a live wire of my thoughts
i think even when i'm thinking
in the quagmire of my head
i'm so slowly sinking

but the bees grab my hair
and they keep pulling me up
i tell them to let me drown
but the bees give no fucks

we're your thoughts, you fucking ass
we just can't let you go
we're in this together, fucker
don't you already know?

so i surrender to these bees
and they fill my head again
i think i should stop thinking
but i'm addicted to the pain
---
Procrastinating parrots propped prophesizing prophets permanently punctual.

Friday, March 31, 2017

Not In Days

I woke up a millennium ago
Stitched my eyelids to my brows
I've been walking these wastelands ever since
Till how long, fuck knows
My open eyes have seen it all
How kingdoms rise
How civilizations fall
But I've longed, oh I've longed
For just one thing
Through it all
To put my face on a pillow soft
A bag of feathers to keep my head aloft
Just the image makes me want to weep
Oh how I wish I could go to sleep
And then I'd sleep and I'd dream
I'd not twist or turn
I'd just lie in my bed and burn


Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Opened A Vein

the sky is a filthy mouth
open in a maniac grin
a demented black hole sucking sin
too much feedback to take it in

reshaping fucked up realities
twisting colors into infinities
dreaming dreams of death and doom
civilizations buried in underground cities

sit back, grab a drink -- relax, my friend
we're here to watch it all burn down
to dust, ashes and a strange crop
take a bite of the chewing gum of hope

now stare at the teeth of clouds that grin
snapping shut like a trap around my shins
the teeth they chew like a dog, and so do i
my chewing gum of hope is stringing thin

---
I built a spaceship from chewing gum and hope

Sunday, March 26, 2017

clockwork lover

the doctor smiles at me
under the frigid lights
there is no need to worry, he says
everything is alright

i see the nurses gather round
like vultures on a dying man
the doctor wields his scalpels
do i spy a tremor in his hands?

they pump me full of great drugs
someone puts on some heavy music
the nurses take turns to give me hugs
but the drum beats are making me sick

finally the doctor is done
he hold his trophy high in his hand
a heart -- red, violent and beating still
is replaced by a clock in a can

--
don't ask me why, ask me why not.

Saturday, March 25, 2017

In The End...Only Smoke

and so
the war is done
fields are strewn with dead
carry on, carrion

blood rusts the ground
a muted sun bursts with hate
no cries, no one begs for mercy
the dead have sealed their own fate

a hole opens up in the sky
a host of valkyries descends
they walk among the dead, empty handed
all same, the dead -- foes and friends

in the end, only smoke
the smoke of life ending
once we're done pretending
isn't all this, but a joke?

--
Tonight's music is stairway to heaven and unleashing the bloodthirsty.

Time to re-roll the poetry machine.

Monday, March 13, 2017

the circle

the circle opens
sharp prongs of a ring
the animals walk in
to hear the ringmaster sing

the crack of the whip
the thwack of the chair
if a beast manages to slip
it's shoved back in its lair

the ringmaster swings
he spins and he twirls
the curve of his mustache
makes puddles out of girls

as the lights dim and dimmer
he sits in the cage alone
and the ghosts crowd around him
in the space that he calls home



Monday, February 27, 2017

behemoth

there is an island at the sea
floating, almost silently
except for a microscopic change
of sub-aquatic breathing

the city floats upside down
a smile turned into a frown
it drips with smoke of eons past
the buildings they were made to last

now fish and vines and octopi
have made their home in tombs of men
a city of souls, and skulls and bones
of brick, mortar, lonely stones

above surface, a boat does reach
men stumble on hallowed dry land
they dig their spades into the beach
as captain stands and gives a speech

for treasure, glory and rewards
we'll rip this island's sand apart
so dig your spades, lads, in these sands
and dig till you bleed from your hands

a portal opens in the sand
something the men don't understand
they fall and crawl down to their knees
forgive forgive, forgive us please

a skull floats up from that black hole
its grin a leaky, dreary pall
av-e satanas it whispers to them all
as sand crawls up under their skin

they cry and bleed and beg for death
till they're coughing sand with every breath
it grates and burns and stings their skin
sand turns their blood to mud within

the city now has a few more thralls
it sups their life in drowned halls
the sea strips the skin from bones
in the tombs of men, once more alone

---
I had a vision of an upside-down, satanic city, floating at some unknown point in the sea and killing sailors that reach there looking for booty.




Tuesday, February 14, 2017

gearhead

blood lubes the gears
that spin, whirl, and twirl
in the brainpan of the man in red
the dude they know as gearhead

stuck in the desert of life
his struggle is never ending
when he's not hunted by his demons
he practices pretending

gearhead walks all day and night
skin burnished and blessed by blight
smoke runs from his ears and eyes
he glares at the settings suns in the skies

his quest takes him to deepest holes
gearhead can take on many roles
the gears spin, they help him think
so low is he, he can't help but drink

he drinks the blood of lost travelers
to keep the gears spinning nice
addicted to roaming, he keeps walking
perhaps, that is his only vice

---
an image, of a man with gears protruding from his bleeding skull under twin desert suns on a distant planet.




Monday, February 13, 2017

poison tongued messiah

his forked tongue
his words forced
litter up the skies
the venom strong
his words wrong
the DNA of lies
the messiah is here
his face is white
powdered by ashes of future
he chomps up
the bones of past
the meat garnished with fear
haunted, wanted
the mouth of hell
opens wide
it whispers, well
invites you
to the other side
they crawl together
the children of the dark
fingers linger
on the dead king's mark
if they were dead
they're now alive
animated by a spark
lit by the words
of a poison tongued messiah


Friday, February 10, 2017

violent agendas

I don't go to theaters anymore
The violence on the screen
Doesn't make me hard
But if I close my eyes
The reels start to play
Scenes on the screen of my mind
bloodgutsgunssluts
tortureviolenceshutthefuckup
madnesssicknesspervertedangels
on bone trees, eyeballs dangle
Odin gave his eye for knowledge
I am stupid as fuck
And I see
As the real world vanishes
Blurrrrrrs right in front of my eyes
The screen in my head
Becomes my reality
I am the Alpha
Omega
theta
zeta
the movies in my head
will give cancer to PETA
my violent agendas
black roses in my garden
i water them with my fears
while my word drowns in tears

Thursday, February 9, 2017

vacant

the void calls out to me
in my sleep
febrile dreams haunt me
sitting on my chest
malevolent bast
staring into my soul
stripping my sin from bones
i am surrounded by humanity
yet, so alone
if there ever was any hope for me
it's over
done for
no more
i've drowned that bag of puppies
in a swamp that i created
filled with my mistakes
and bad decisions
sins of my father
now i see in my reflection
i'd try and do better
if only i could take action
but the void has got my soul now
it chomps, bites, and swallows chunks
to regurgitate and rebuild me
keep me trapped in this funk
so why do i keep going
so why do i keep waking up
to dig my teeth in the neck of the void
but that's maybe
because
i've nothing better to do

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Tartarus Spinning

Stuck in place
Stuck in time
Tartarus spinning
For my crimes
Little sins
Over ages, compounded
My dreams, shackled
Imprisoned, impounded
I carve out new links
With my teeth
My fingers bleeding
As my guts wreathe
Used to the pain
Chaos, noise, disorder
The silence burns my ears
Embrace me, Tartarus

Friday, January 20, 2017

Medusa Mourning

Love leaks
Air from an old balloon
Looks alright, inflated tight
It'll lose its will to live soon

No sparks in this tinder anymore
A sense of possession, that's all
To belong is not to be owned
Moths to the flame, aren't we all?

Crunch bitter words
With bloodstained teeth
Lie in a cold bed
But inside, seethe

Slap these rhymes on my face, love
Tell me "no, not that" one more time
And I'll say I love to hear you say so
And you'd believe that it's all fine

Friday, January 13, 2017

Vulture Words

Sometimes
Words circle me
Vultures with no culture
Waiting for a meal

I lie in my bed
Stare at the virtual ceiling
Flipping rhymes in my head
Just to catch some kind of feeling

A feeling that would stick
When all else falls away
A feeling that would trick
Me on my fucking way

The words blur
They're shifting
In my dreams
I'm drifting
The vultures sit
On my shoulders
Pecking pieces
From my fucking brain

Sunday, January 8, 2017

the nail

for the want of a nail
the coffin was lost
an ineffective seal
that released a ghost

out into the world
the apparition loomed
visiting the people
that had caused its doom

it tried to talk
it tried to scream
it tried, it failed
and so it wailed

now the ghost is embedded
into the random sound of things
when a door creaks, a dog freaks
or a bell suddenly dings

it moves chairs at night
just enough to not cause a fright
but a sense of unease
that something here is amiss
--
I am sitting here, and I think there is something behind me. This poem is for this ghost.

Friday, January 6, 2017

descent

i lie down in my bed
the mattress splits up under me
to swallow me whole
like a sinkhole in space
for a peaceful moment
i am free from all the cold
the hate that fulminates
the anger and the rage
for a blissful moment
i turn the page
and then
(oh then)
a stray draft of cold air
silently creeps into my warm lair
it tickles my feet
crawls up my legs
as try to dream of futures
in coffee dregs
the bed spits me out again
confused, disoriented, i am in pain
so much pain
i just went to sleep 1 minute ago
why do i have to wake up again?
---
Where did I read the word fulminate today? I don't know, but i like this word.
This poem is for all those who hate getting out of bed on cold mornings.

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Outrage Ka Culture

outrage ka culture hai
har mushtanda vulture hai
har nari dukhiaari hai
har shehar me hahakari hai

tattoo karwa lo hashtag 
ab apne apne maathe par
kholo khirki aur cheekho tweets
har ik aate jaate par

ghar ke bahar sardhi hai
galiyo me gundagardi hai
ab jung ladenge bed per se
khade sipahi sarhad pe

WiFi ka signal tez tez
like aur retweets par rage rage
mentions me machi hai maar kaat
koi viral kar do meri baat

sab dost sahi, dushman hai wrong
gussail tweets ki ping pong
kuch yes yes yes kuch no no no
koi sun lo mere opinion ko
please

---
I don't think I've done this before. But here is a highlish poem. People reading in English, sorry for this. People who like to read Hindi, sorry for this, too.

Share kar do social media par, please.

We do not talk about that

There are some things 

That are better left in silence 

Hanging like dead bodies from trees 

In midst of conversations and broken sentences

It's easy to ignore 

hard to say no 

And extremely difficult to control saying 

Babe, I told you so

Now we've practised exchanging longing looks 

We've almost mastered the love in the eyes 

The cracks in this facade are plastered over 

So we can't hear each other's sighs

Why pay attention when life's full of tension

It's apocalypse of soul, but darling don't mention 

When God opens his book to take stock of us sinners 

We'd still be asking each other 

Love, what's for dinner? 

Because we do not talk about that

--

Forgive the formatting. I'm on a mobile device and this poem just wanted out. 

Sunday, January 1, 2017

shine

even arsonists are lightbringers
fire, doesn't always mean destruction
a knife is a knife, but in the right hands
it can change the world

one slice at a time

could you cut me a slice of that cake
or slice my jugular and watch me quake
as the blood sprays all over the ceiling and walls
and weakened and dying, i curl up in a ball
maybe I'll rock, or maybe start to roll

besides the point, though
the point being
we all shine
whether we burn or burn others

every heart is an arsonist in diguise