Heal

I'm your child, they say
I carry your looks, your genes
For how many years now, though
I wished I hadn't been!

I only remember a monster
Still haunting my dreary dreams
Someone with drunken emotions
Ideologies and archaic spiel.

You blabbered through our nights, fiery
Lengthy sermons on your notions, scary
Shivering with tears, I stood there
All through my tainted teens.

Some days when I'm lost, like I am now
To choose between righteous and faulty
I'm amazed how you chose so steadily
To go down paths, sleazy.

I wonder why I can't still go there -
Being yours, it should come easy
To focus on ones pleasures solely
And not change for friends, or family.

In a world full of broken people, promises
I want to stay true to my being
You've done enough harm - breaking me
Let me not pass it on, let me heal!

CAB

Puppets of the first order
Protesting for and for not
for what precisely, many seldom know!
Both sides call for blood
Screams
Kill them Fascists,
Butcher them all.

Yet how many open gates
For strangers to stay a night?
How many welcome home
A life, if not, from their 'kind'
An unwavering shelter, how many provide
How many really hold them
when they're dying?

You are a bigot -
For not voicing your stance.
Or
You are a terrorist
For supporting them lot.
Amidst chaos, my country burns.
But whose country is this, after all?

Pointless

It astounds me 
how detached
I've become. 

Indifferent 
I sound
Or to some sad.

I was taught to lay down
to bend
to lament -

Advised to shun glories
and survive on
pittance.

Some wanted sinners
like me 
to repent 

Some asked
to respond, 
and to never relent!

A lifetime of
restraints, chains
and refrains - 

Look at me now
A fool, 
inadvertently glad.

Priyanka

Her scooter was her mate
it was her constant pride
for it gave her wings
and always stood her side.

Until it broke down
that scary night 
she watched it just lay still 
with a flattened tyre. 

She heard some howls
She saw some light
She thought 'Dogs'
And let out a sigh.

A woman full of love
for helpless four-legged beasts.
A life that tended
to wounded, ferocious beings.

She cured animals
She knew their kind ~
But those that approached 
Were not her type.

The scooter stayed dead 
as a warning sign
but she thought otherwise
she thought "they'd" revive. 

Her screams faded
into the lonely night
and they took turns
to put out her fight.

Their thirst for blood
did not end between her legs
they even burnt her red
pleasuring themselves to her begs.

A body reduced to char
her perpetrators still at large
some media, some slogans
the usual paraphernalia.

Your scooter failed you once
and we - I've lost count
I only pray what happened 
does not happen to me one night. 

My Brother

I have no tears left.
No words, my child.
My sobs stay muffled.
No strength to cry.

Too young to go

Too happy a soul

Loved by all

Why did you have to fall?

I lost a brother 
I lost a friend.
You were a father
A husband, a son 

How do we cope?
Come tell us. Come show.
The world stands still now
We have no hope.

Your voice in our ears
You laughter, your face!
How do we forget? 
How long? Till we go?

I'm a sinner -

Why else was I spared?
You deserved a good life
And I could have gone!


Rest in Peace, Bala.

Wishes

I have a few wishes with you, honey
Don't worry -
I don't have too many!

One is to hug
The other is to cuddle
Also to spoon, for one night, without struggles.

Few kisses on the forehead,
Some snitches at foreplay,
And lazily sleep in warm arms, cozily.

Once we're done
Let us close doors, let us lock them
And throw both our keys, into the deep oceans.

Bala

You said you'd stay a lifetime
You promised tomorrow would be better
You worked harder each day
So that your child would have her way.
You said you are young and strong...
And could scale the highest walls...
But you forgot it all...
And just like that, you are gone.

Help

Be there
when they need you
And when they dont
a little far off!

Not too away that
they can't see
Just close enough
For them to reach.

But keep in mind
not to hope
For them to remember
Once they've coped.

You helped them not for
Accolades and rewards
You helped them for
you loved them true.

Me First

I'll not wait
For you...
To reject me
Or tell me we're through.

I'll walk away...
As I ought to have done
Eons ago...
With the rest of them too.

I'll pick my bag,
I'll pick my shoes,
But this time around
I'm not picking you.

The end of nights

I've known you for less
than a thousand nights
A vast majority spent
in endless fights!
A few giving up,
a few in respite
Many more in hope...
that it might reignite.

At times, cursing your
irresistible sight
Looking away from pictures
but miserable in plight.
Staying away from devices,
choosing early bed time -
Yet decoding in mind
messages to find insights.

A few catching up
On happenings in hindsight...
A few building castles
Of what ifs and what mights
Among numerous nights
In a handful, we shed disguise
In those, living and loving
What would last us a lifetime.

Suicide

Mother of mine
I'm sorry, I tried.

I had to escape
I cringed, I cried.

I ran a distance.
I tried to hide.

I did seek help.
I saw no respite.

No future to me
No promising signs.

It choked my breathe.
It blinded my sight.

I know I hurt you
But I had to die.

I take my life
And yours too, with suicide.

Jester

Who do you write for...
What you write?
Why do you write...
What you write?

For you to heal?
Or for the world to read?
Or for them to see
How you bleed?

Did you not scream for help?
Did you not bare your soul?
Where are those friends?
Those people? Those foes?

Aren't you done
Being whispers for them?
Don't give them more stories
To spice up their fun.

They taunted your wounds
And laughed at your pain.
They mocked your tears
And your disgrace.

They offered you a bed
In exchange of yourself
They hugged you here
And sold you there.

So, shred your paper
Throw away your pen
Build a bigger wall
And mount a stronger lock.

Shoot down any visitor
Don't answer to their knocks
Stick to mockery
As a court jester, you rock!

A Queen Is Born

Can't you see
You are breaking me
Can't you see
I cannot breathe

Release me
From your 'loving' grips
Let me explore
Set me free.

Don't play your games
Your silly, mind games
I fell for it, how!
But I can see clearly, now!

I was numbed in your presence
Like you had cast a spell
A fool in love
Who'd die, for you.

But that's in the past
That me is done
I was made to rule
Not to be subdued

I'll break these shackles
I'll tear down walls
I'll rise like a phoenix
And touch the skies

I'll rain down fire
And burn them all
They'll see my wrath
And the bloodshed caused.

All those who mocked
I'll hear them howl!
And learn to bow down
For a queen is born!

Darkness

I don't deserve this respect
Or this high raised pedestal
Burn those laurels and praises,
And stop singing songs of glory.

I have hidden well, my darkness -
But, as it turns dark, I merge in
For behind my mask of goodness
I too have a murky story.

I don't pray for forgiveness
Nor offer lame apologies
No expressions of remorse here
No guilt from which I'd scurry.

The line of righteousness, is blurry
I stepped over, very wary
But now crossing back, seems painful
And frankly I'm in no hurry!

When time would come upon me
I'd walk head up, to be buried
Dont put up any fairies on my edifice
A demon or two - would be savoury!

But for words

I am my stories
All that prose
I am my poems
To the last phrase

I am that love
I am that pain
When lost in life
In words, I find myself again.

She

It's just another poem -
Please don't pay it much heed
It's her only way to vent out
Before putting her mask of glee.

Many days she sticks to her silence
Some days, she charges with speed
At times, she momentarily breaks down,
But mostly, with words makes merry.

Give her her time to heal
Give her her stage to speak
Give her her moment to feel needed
So another chance she can offer, you and me.

I burnt my lingerie

I burnt all my lingerie
All that he used to dig -

Because I was too easy

Because it began to sting.

I burnt all my lingerie

All those fancy ones!

Which on me, made him crazy

And, helped me feel some lust.

I burnt all my lingerie

For I felt he came for them.

The nights without them on -

I felt hapless, not strong.

I burnt all my lingerie
And smiled at what I saw
Loved what looked back at me now, 
No longer felt like a whore!

I burnt all my lingerie

And poof! That ended it all.

He had stopped craving me -

And stopped knocking at my door.

I burnt them down to ashes

For I wanted him to see -

I am beyond my lingerie

And all those lacy reds.

Weary Warriors

There is something about

a man’s tear

That breaks my heart

And no, this is not sneer!

Though I was taught

true men don’t cry

And was asked to leave

When aged ones grieved.

I was told they guard

No matter how hard!

They valiantly fight,

With all their might.

He needs no warmth,

no tissues no hugs.

If he were hurt -

he’d heal himself.

Yet, at the rare sight

Of a man’s break-down

a 'weak' man, who no longer

hides his fears -

A father in distress

A beggar in misery

A soldier in agony

Or lovers in harmony.

I no longer run

Or look away

I extend my palm

and offer to stay.

And let him wail

While adjusting his shield

And give him, his time

To fumble, and re-begin.

Butterfly

She was a fluttering butterfly
In pursuit of sunlight
Once she flew up, too high
To brighten up other lives.

Strong, herself she perceived
Not pretentious, just naive
Thinking sorrows of the world
Away, alone, she could carry.

But the sun came down heavy
Burning her tiny body
She looked back at her friends
Crying 'back to hell, fly, please!

I'll be back in a while
It's a tad too hot, though I'm fine
This glee we are all in search of
Is right here, a grasp away!

She was famished, just tired
With everything turning a blurry sight
The heat numbed her wings
And her foolish mind.

Almost there, almost there
It's almost done, one more tiny flap...
For we fight, we lead
And we will conquer every feat!

If only you'd be kind -
I don't ask for much,
A handful of your sunshine
To bring upon many smiles.

The sun in all its blaze,
Said, "Come, hug me child!"
And she flew into its fury -
That butterfly died.

Whore

I am your companion
Just for a while
I'll keep you warm
And your worries aside.

I know as it dawns,
You'll pick up your pride
And leave me empty
To rush to her side.

I'll hug on to sheets
And cover up my thighs
And breathe in, what lingers
From your sweat and your sighs.

You may return
You may never come by
But this wait for your gaze
Is what keeps me alive.

Thankyou

Thank you for scarring me 
for a lifetime ~
I can still never watch
a father hug his child,
without feeling the rush
of tears inside.


Thank you for maiming
my childhood with real times ~

I never sought help,

never wept, never fell,

never broke, never spoke,

kept it all - bottled within.

Thank you for making me 
distrust fairy tales ~ 
I never relied 
on a prince to fly by
to love me, to claim me, 
to save me from fires.


Thank you for pushing me
to grow beyond my age ~

Can you see my wounds?

I have hidden it, and how! 

Ain't I a woman now?

Haven't I made you proud?

Rain

Blame it on the rains!
To turn us into poets...
To singers and dancers...
To lovers lost in lust...

To bad storytellers...
Who'd feel it all.
To teary-eyed men...
Trying to forgo sorrows.

Blame it on the rains!
For it disturbed a calm mind...
I'm melancholy today,
And shall remain, until the rains stay.

Radhettan

He was a police man.
Without the Komban Meesha (long, twirling moustache).
Or the loud, scary voice (he used to make it extra meek while talking to a 9-year old me).
He was tall and well-built, but he was one of the most softest, gentlest men I knew.
Radhettan.
Radhakrishnan.

His mother, Vesu Edthi (Lakshmi was her name) as everyone fondly called her, was my dad's cousin. When the Gulf War happened and we had to run back to India as refugees with nothing but our clothes on, his mother and he were among the few who warmly welcomed us into their homes.

When my parents had to fly back to Kuwait, after a year, to get back into their government jobs and make a living, they were puzzled. Because the country was not yet safe or fully inhabitable, particularly for children.

Vesu Edthi volunteered to take care of us 3 children (then a 9 year old me, 10.5 year old brother and 11.5 year old sister). How long it might take for our parents to bring us back to Kuwait - no body knew. But Vesu Edthi opened up her home and heart to us. She was well over 50 then (I know, I really wouldn't do it).

Her son, Radhettan was already a police officer. Newly married. His beautiful wife Uma Chechi and he used to live away, at the Police Quarters because their job demanded it. Uma chechi and he were a match made in heaven. She was also a Police officer. And Vesu Edthi used to beam with pride when she introduced her daughter-in-law to anyone. A 'Vanitha' police! And I would also be full of pride while traveling with Uma chechi, as if I contributed to making her a Vanitha Police.

I used to look forward to their weekly visits home, with brown covers wrapping the cakes or yellow laddus or orange jilebis. They were the only visitors we used to get then.

I was always in awe of Radhettan. For how sweet he was. For how such a huge body could not be intimidating because of his kindness. For how adoringly he would treat his wife. Then I saw him be a father to 2. His children grew. Got married. Radhettan turned older. But whenever I met him, I was still a little intimidated by his overwhelming personality, and the kindness that followed.

I was always sure that the job was just a facade. All the policemen I knew, including my father had only horror stories to tell. This man was different. He was my weekly Santa. I still remember sitting in the Poduvayil Tharavadu veedu as a 9 year old, looking out of the windows waiting for Radhettan's visit with Palaharam.

Maybe I loved the Palaharam more! Maybe that's why I never visited him, except for occasional meets at random weddings.

And I won't meet you anymore. A heart attack took him away last night.

You were too young to go so soon! Maybe the work did get to you? I pray that Uma chechi and family can cope with this immense loss.

And I pray I can be the "Radhettan" for atleast one of my nephews or nieces.

Pranaamangal!

Pursuit

Only hoped for

a forehead kiss

A closer hug –

all given a miss.

Whatever offered

was never fine

Whatever asked for

was always denied.

The world echoed of

bloody, war cries

Of gory streets,

of repeating times.

Yet there she was -

in despair, in pursuit 

Looking for love

in the wrong alley.

Desperate stories

of enraged minds

Some live in abundance,

some denied.

Go back to your nest

they screamed alike

Be grateful and graceful

that you’ve stayed alive.

Seasons would pass

years would go by

Until she’d ponder

to wander again.

Garnering her frame, frail

gathering her mind, derailed

She'd step out in search

of a life she’d never find.

Hope

And one fine day
When you look no more
You'll find someone
Who feels like home

You'll stop dissing love
You'll stop feeling sore
You'll walk into their arms
And they'll heal your soul.

Respite

Why do we go into deep slumbers every night - 

Is it in hope, that tomorrow will bring light?

Is it to keep - today's worries out of sight?

Or is it to rest now and prep for another fight?

To let me garner strength, for success stories to write?

To let me keep at it, as victory is at sight?

To let me think of love, and let our romance delight?

Or simply build dream castles, and marvel at towering heights!

To let me rest my wings, under dark, marvelous skies -  

To let them offer peace, to let them offer respite!

Tomorrow I leave early, for the horizon awaits my flight

I slip into slumbers deep, as triumph today I didn't,
but tomorrow I just might!

What are we

What are we,
but memories and breath?

Memories etched in those minds -
who'd cry at our funeral pyres!

And breath that keeps us alive -
in between sobs and some smiles.

What are we, but lives -
Awaiting our turns, at death?

Period

She sat wondering why she was dying now.
Now, when her father was hospitalized.
His arm was broken.
There was a fracture on his skull.
Looked like he'd lose one eye as well.
He had survived a murder attempt.

Her mother was also away.
Couldn't reach her or meet her.
Not even by phone.
Apparently all those privileges are denied, when you are in jail.
For attempting to murder your husband.

But her mother tried to kill him to make her survive.
Now, all that was in vain.
She was dying.
She did not deserve to die though. She was so young.

"I'm not even 12! Why me? Why now?"

She was sure it was cancer. In her tummy.
She was in pain for a day before. And now, she was bleeding from below.

She continued to stare into the bloody closet.

Her mother had been arrested the previous day. Along with her - her only child. The policemen were grilling her to see if she'd break down and give in - for conspiring with her mother, for the attempt on her father's life.

That's when Aunty, her mother's friend, walked in with a lawyer. And money. Apparently it was a serious offence. Trying to murder someone. That too a man. The victim being a policeman did not help.

Her mother couldn't be let go on bail. But she was allowed to walk out with the duo. Aunty magnanimously offered to take her home. She was thankful that she didn't have to spend the night under the prying eyes of the officers at the police station. She was always scared of policemen.

She was surprised at how calm Aunty's home was. Uncle was also very nice. He was not drunk at night nor was he screaming at Aunty. They had dinner together and uncle even offered a prayer! He hugged his 2 boys before they went to bed. He did not threaten to kill them, when Aunty went to sleep.

Her stomach pain started soon. She somehow managed to sleep through it. But she woke up feeling wet. She was so ashamed that she wet the bed and rushed into the bathroom to change before anyone else knew.

She did not expect to see blood.

She was wondering if she should tell Aunty or just accept her slow death.

The knock on the door brought her back to her senses. Aunty stood there. With her bed sheets rolled into a bundle, in her hands. She offered her some kind of a white tissue and asked, 'Is this your first period?'

What ensued, she couldn't follow. Aunty asked her if she was in pain. She said this was normal. She was a woman now. It was a good and joyous occasion (how can anything that's got to do with pain and blood be joyful?).

The toughest part was the napkin. Walking around with it was a nightmare. She soiled herself no matter what. Disposing the napkins was worse. She just couldn't get to roll it right. The newspaper always tore. She touched the blood.

She just wanted to puke.

She wanted to rewind the past 2 days. She wanted to go home to her spot near the bed. Where she spent countless nights under the blanket, trying to silence the horrific screams and sound of thrashings.

A year later, the murder attempt was forgotten. The crime already forgiven by the court of law. It was an attempt in retaliation to save one's own life. The verdict was in favor of her mother. Soon, her parents chose to be together again. Her father vowed to change his ways. And never drink. Nor abuse his wife. Her mother agreed to move in, back with him. For the sake of her daughter. For at her wedding, whenever it happened, only her father could give her away.

Her period kept coming. Every month. And she hated it. As she had only bad memories about it. Womanhood had chosen to come her way, when she had absolutely no one, to fall back on. She felt it deprived more of her, than it gave her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

She had outgrown her blanket. It couldn't keep the sounds of the thrashings away any more. And they were also adamant. They kept coming at her with vengeance.

Like her period.

Lotus

She was a care-free child. When you are born as the sixth one, among eleven children, you just grow into being one. 

You cannot sulk or demand. You are part of a crowd. First, you are taken care of, by your elder siblings. And then, you assume the role of a mother to your younger siblings. That you, yourself, might hardly be three did not matter. That was how it was done, those days. Parents conjugate. And in parenting, children partake.

She was nicknamed the Arachar, or the Hang-woman, because once she took the cattle to feed. There were pastures and forests, near home. Also, buying feed for cattle was unheard of, those days. She tied one of the goats, closer to a cliff. The over-enthusiastic animal, must have been seduced by some greenery on the other side and took a jump. Only to get the noose tightened around its neck and prematurely end its life, hanging off the cliff, like a convict sentenced to death by hanging. It was an amateurish mistake. But the name stuck on for the rest of her life.

She was also known as the 'Kannakku-pillai', as she was good with Maths and Finance. As she turned a teenager, she also turned to be her father's close confidante. 

She grew into a beautiful woman. Her wheat-ish skin, long face, slender body and thick black tresses brought home alliances from many prospective grooms. Her father chose a government servant - someone who was employed as a Teacher in a distant land. He had a permanent job - unlike many of her sisters' husbands. That meant a permanent income. And food on her plate until he retired. And just like that one day, she was married and gone. Taken 400 kms away from home. 

Years moved on. Her husband turned out to be a drunk. And her mother-in-law needed someone to blame. 2 children came along, somehow. 

Her husband would go to work every morning, dressed impeccably, not a hair out of place, not a crease on his stiffly-ironed shirt, nor a speck of dirt on his neatly brushed sandals. But he came home drunk every night, and turned into a demon who hated his wife and children the most. Only his mother could approach him, who gladly ensured that his wife or children would never occupy that spot.  

She was an amazing cook. Whatever she touched, she turned into the most delicious meal. Sometimes she wondered if she was still a wife, only because her food impressed. 

At times, when the thrashings became unbearable at night, she would pack her few sarees into her small suitcase and walk into the darkness, carrying her two children. Their solace was a huge jack-fruit tree at the corner of their plot. Its long, protruding roots were like beds and also made for a good hiding place. 

As daylight came, she would sneak back in, with the children sleeping on her. She'd go about her chores like an obedient wife - pressing her husband's clothes as he needed to look spotless while taking classes, and also packing his lunch, as he wouldn't touch what his mother cooked.

But, she always wrote happy letters to all, back home. Not because she wanted to cover up. She was genuinely happy. Women those days, did not know other ways. They thought this is how life is meant to be. Men drink. Women adjust. She also knew she could not go back to her old parents. She did not know where to go looking for a job. She did not know any other way of living. But to depend on a man - who never acknowledged her, or appreciated her. She had to bring up her 2 children. 

She remained true to her name - the Lotus. She overcame all hardships and kept her head high above murky waters. No one could see her stalks, which were rooted well below in the stinky mud. Like the Lotus, she bloomed every morning. Beautifully.  

She never possessed anything of value - a bangle made in gold was a beautiful dream. Asking the husband to spare a few rupees to gift her parents, was shameful. A vacation with her children and husband, was ridiculed as being an over ambitious ask. And the request for tiled house, instead of a leaky thatched one - was nipped in the bud. 

The only thing she was religiously granted was the opportunity to run out in fear almost every night hugging her only 3 possessions, and the graciousness to walk back in the next morning, without any questions asked. It was as if she were a tape recorder stuck on loop. This was her life for over 25 years. 

Until one day, her husband died. She was well into her fifties by then. But her responsibilities were far from over. 

She saw that her children completed their education, and found jobs. Got them married. Worked along with them, to help built their tiled houses. Rejoiced in the birth of her grand children. 

Everyone said she was lucky, as her hardships had paid off. Her children adored her. She was an old woman now. Over sixty. She could finally rest. 

But destiny had something else in store. 

She had been having pain in her abdomen for a while now. It never took priority - because all women are used to ranking the comforts of their children, grand children, friends, immediate kin, neighbors, other relatives first, before they even think of themselves. Her mother had passed a few years ago. She was well into her eighties. She knew that she'd also live a long life. It was in her genes. 

But one day, when the pain was unbearable, she knew some thing was wrong deep inside. She decided to get herself scanned. 

She hadn't inherited any wealth from her mother. But she inherited uterus cancer from her, in her sixties. She beat her mother at it, by a good twenty years. 

Reluctantly, she started treatment. Chemotherapy and radiation kept the growth in check. At the cancer Institute, she'd keep herself entertained counting the innumerable queues of patients ahead of her, waiting to be called. She'd come back home crest fallen - not for what she was going through. But empathising with other cancer patients - 3 month old babies, girls who had turned teens or men who had just landed their first jobs. She'd criticize how fate was cruel to them. Wonder out loud what they had done to go through so much pain. 

Over a decade passed. The scans were phased out, from every month to every six months, from every year to once in 2 years. Her fragile body seemed to have beat the odds. Everyone thought that the Aarachar had indeed managed to hang the disease to death, before it could. 

Until yesterday. 

Yesterday, she was detected with a relapse. The cancer had spread to other parts of the body. To what extent, no one knows yet. 

She was seen last packing her suitcase, with her new sarees. 

I'm sure she'll sneak back in, right into our lives blooming like a Lotus. 

Beating cancer, like she'd beat life so far. 

My dear Aunty, I know you will! 

Another Day

Oh! It's a lovely day!
Sorrow - keep going another way...
As I'm keeping everything else at bay -
And choosing only happiness today...
So, please, oh please! Let me stay...
You can come by later, I pray...
If you still wish to join me anyway
Come jump in, let's play!

Us

It has always been about you

In a while, once - 

Can we make it about me?

Sponge

You passed all your hurt
on to my soul -
I soaked it all in,
like a sponge

I promised to hold them,
as my own - 
Now, you don't want them back.
You are gone!

Truly Me

You are always in so much glee
Why are your poems melancholy?

For the world, I have to be -
But my poems are truly me!

Departure

You promised to heal me -
From the worst
Yet you walked away
Like the rest
Taking along with you
A piece of me, shattered.

Did I not beg you
To tread with care?
I was fragile
And even scared
Could you see I was broken?
Did you even care?

I was a little soul
Who knew
Happiness at times
Until you snatched away
Even those momentary smiles
Leaving my nest, grim
Empty, and deprived.

You made me dream plenty
Of warm, cozy nights
Knowing very well
In those heavenly skies
At the darkest hours,
You were my only light.

Seek you again,
I shall not.
I know to guard me,
you cannot.
Bonded in love –
we were not.
Yet hate or curse –
we will not.

I stop my search here
I will look no more.
I might shed a tear
Watching lovers meet
Or stay longer under showers
Letting pain and water greet.

You are free to leave,
Please pick up your pace!
Do me a favour,
And never come by.
And keep it that way,
Until I put you behind.

Even when I’m dead within -
Not feeling a heart, throb inside
Just leave me on my own
I will heal just fine!
For a crazy diamond, I may not be
But I was sure born to rise and shine!

Live Today

I'm just a child
Who goes to bed, cranky
Crying into my hanky
Who wakes up each morning
Forgetful, happy
And filled with awe, of life
And all the joy it brings.
Yesterday, bygone. 
Tomorrow can wait -
Anxious about coming days 
I cannot remain. 
Let me live my life, my way
Today!

Numb

You say you'll break
Yet you always push me away

My presence, do you really crave?
For you never seem to want to stay!

People who caused me hurt
Even from my past, you hate

We are meant to be, you assert
Yet when I open up - you are curt.


My presence no longer cause flutter
My raunchy embraces, you claim smother

Our talks are parked for a day, another
My break outs are 'childish', why bother!

My ask for kisses, are given a miss
In our solitude, no longer is there bliss

My painful make overs, go unnoticed!
If it's someone else, you'd tell me, I wish!


I religiously ask you for your time
Knowing a new excuse, you'd always find.

I'm sorry I never meant to restrain,
Refrain, or change you or your ways!

I fell in love with your dreamy mind
I'd never want to alter it, to suit mine!

I wish you'd see my feeble fights
Were my last resorts, to keep you by my side?


You say you are tired, and almost done
From the pressure of what I want to overcome.

Having taken this step, I see you regret
Though a big misstep, you won't retreat.

Let's not be naive and try find solace
In 'if it's meant to remain, it'll be'

I don't want you numb, I want you to breathe
So, I'm letting you go. Your freedom, I bequeath.

Broken

When I'm sad, down trodden
Or outright broken

Don't give me any preference -
I have no such notions!

Don't wipe my pain or
place palms into mine, open.

I don't even ask
To be kept as an option.


Don't talk, or sob,
nor strain, or walk in

No claim to privileges
Don't waste time, nor your emotions.

Don't shower praises -
I'm not looking for devotion.

Maybe offer a quick glance my way -
From your heart, frozen?

I'm Done

I'm done -

Chasing things,
that won't be mine.

Pleasing people,
who don't find time.

Faking wide smiles,
to cheer every life.

Trying to be kind,
when others act blind.



I'm done - 

Following coarse paths,
which coil, as they unwind.

Wondering where I went wrong
and how to rewind!

Walking towards goals, 
which abruptly go out of sight.

Striking conversations with life,
which prefers to stay uptight.


I'm done - 

Staying up late,
hoping tomorrow brings light.

Keeping it going on,
when within I am not so strong.

Looking the other side 
when things don't look so bright.

And wanting to stay alive,
when I'm so dead inside!

Daddy come home

Daddy come home
To watch me play
To rock your baby
In her tiny armchair.

Daddy come home

To make me fries

To clean my dress

From crayon lines.

Daddy come home

To cut my cake

Don’t you know?

I turned twelve now.

Daddy come home

I just got dumped

He made me cry
Please make me fine.

Daddy come home

I am starving in pain

Mummy says our money

Has all gone down the drain.

Daddy come home

Let's go see my workplace

I’d also like to take you

Tonight, on a dinner date!

Daddy come home

You are already delayed

Why you so mum?

What’s keeping you away?

I’ve come, old man!

Would you want another try?

Would you want to rewind?

Would you rather be alive?

From Love

The greatest wars
The  direst lies
The loveliest sonnets
The prettiest monuments

The envious binds
The covetous minds
The dreamiest phase
The rudest heartbreaks

The passionate bonds
The life changing reforms
The heavenly highs
The deadliest falls

Are all from love.

Pride

What are you so proud of?
Beauty? That’ll fade.

Over time, see what’ll be -

Of your tresses and your lovely eyes.

A spotless mind?

Then, may nature be kind

To keep you sane - 

and not break you under pain.

A benevolent soul -

with impeccable ethos?

Sure, give them some years  

And see what remains.

What is yours? What do you own?

Nothing really - not even your homes!

Empty pots, with faltering egos

Yet, brimming with so much pride!

Au Revoir

He said he loved her
She gave a smile, weak

He said he was true
To trust him, she was keen

He said she's home now
She heaved a sigh, weary

He said she had to let go
And let her emotions flow.

He said he was different
A different lover! She would see!

She flashed her dimpled smile
Her way to show she disagreed.

After all you are a man
A man who's young and free.

A man who's had his past
A bright future too, it will be.

He sensed her wee disbelief
And she saw his growing grief

Wiping a tear off his eyes
Offered him warmth from her, deep

Walking out a door, once more
She pinned a note, from her core

She kept her  poetry brief
Writing "Even poems evade me...

A lover true, you are indeed
And eventually fate will lead

You to a maiden, pretty
Alone, awaiting your company

With her you'll find your nest
With her you'll forget me

For that, I'll have to leave
Because we will never be".

The Affair

He claimed, only for her, he had eyes...
And then went hearting all cleavages, he found online.

She promised him, her love for a lifetime...
And waited for his deep slumber to chat with her new life line.

Every year end, a happy picture of them, friends received
Her in his arms, and their child in between.

What a happy team, why can't we also be?
Cribbed wives, and men, across families!