Sunday, August 12, 2018

You - My ethereal monsoon

Seasons, have I felt and seen;
But the sight of you was the onset of
the first drop of monsoon.
Oh! How I craved to be drenched in thy showers of care.
And, when you sensed my yearnings,
You did allow me to feel it,
Though momentary!
-As you are the monsoon & you never stay around.
But when I know that my cravings were not futile;
I’d; with honest love, prayers and hope
Await thy return….

Sunday, August 05, 2018

Your voice resonates in my head...

   On a moment’s notice, even without knowing who you are,
I became enamored by you.

Now I fail to realize what I’ve become…

I fancy listening to your voice. It is like a gentle touch that sends chills through my entire body.

A touch of unspoken words and facts that are yet to be spoken.

At times, I’m forced to render your lips motionless from uttering anything; by pressing my lips against yours. Now I can feel your unspoken words, stealthily finding an escape route to my heart, drenching my entire body with your voice.

Though my eyes have become a stranger to your physical existence, I sigh no regrets but my heart aches and my eyes fill up every time, I fail to listen to your conjuring words…..

All I mumble against the pounding of my heart – “I miss your presence”

Saturday, June 16, 2018

Being Black is Poetic - II

I see you in black, beautifully clad;
Near my body which has given away to the dark.
For once you came to see me last, I’m glad,
But to another world devoid of fancies, I embark.

Is it for paying homage that you wore black?
Or is it to relive those moments we both cradled!
They dressed me up in scented whites but not in black,
With white lily flowers and satin laced coffin, I lay cuddled.

Hymns rise along with the incense as prayers for me,
I see you eyeing me with unbearable pangs of strife.
Never regret that you are unable to find a replacement for me,
For I lived and craved for an ordinary life.

I’ll end up in purgatory, for all those heinous acts done;
Shoving aside the up-front choices of heaven and hell.
Remember that life is short and things done can’t be undone,
For I ended up in the altar, to witness my knell.

Sunday, January 14, 2018

You - II

I slept in your arms marinated in love
I wished you were mine, but I know nothing that your heart commands.
I knew it might be momentary
But you never knew how much it would cost me,
To trade myself to the darkness that haunted me.
You let me go and now I’m sinking….

Saturday, January 13, 2018

Being black is Poetic- I

I reek melancholy,

My room smells nothing but isolation;

My soul bleeds wildly,

And I .....

Suffer from depression.

P.S:Feelings culminating from heart: I need help.
Dated: 11/01/2018 @ 6.45 pm.

Saturday, January 06, 2018

You - I

I like the way you and your memories resonates in my head.

Like a breeze on a day of spring,
Like a leaf moving along with the wind, my eyes move along with the images of yours that flutters in a direction unknown.

You impregnated me with your breath, you exhaled and I bore you silently swearing my love…

Sunday, May 21, 2017

Monsoon Diaries - IX #Sensual rain.

"Your sensuous eyes with clouded brows,
glares at my body, with lust profound;
 And when I lift my head up,
out of curiosity; you come as though
 you are determined to...

You feel my forehead, my eyes and my lips,
You never fail to hold my hand;

And you flow down my neck with
                             tickling passion. 
You embrace me, close to your chest 
 Where my hip is never amiss." 

                                        -to be continued...

Thursday, February 02, 2017

Karl Ove Knausgard : My unclear reflection

                                            "I have no problem with uninteresting or unoriginal people – they may have other, more important attributes, such as warmth, consideration, friendliness, a sense of humor or talents such as being able to make a conversation flow to generate an atmosphere of ease around them, or the ability to make a family function – but I feel almost physically ill in the presence of boring people who consider themselves especially interesting and who blow their own trumpets.” 

It was ever since I came across Karl Ove Knausgard, I began to realize the pain and frankness in his words. 

                     “All my adult life I have kept a distance from other people, it has been my way of coping, because I become so incredibly close to others in my thoughts and feelings of course, they only have to look away dismissively for a storm to break inside me.”  

I see him as a never ending phenomenon; where he acts not as a person but as a life of events. That's how his writings have transported me to be what is known as a state of extreme truth.

Monday, January 16, 2017


Held, I my hands

Across my chest.
And gasped a breath
That ached my soul...

Tainted with grief 
and of lose,
I never knew; it pained my heart...

'Where was my heart',
Was my inner call.
All I knew,
"It was bottled somewhere in
    matters mysterious."

Monday, October 03, 2016


                                            Far away in the mountains,
                                                           Have I, an old love.
                                                                     Old and sweet as the,
                                                                                     Wine in the barrel. 


Monday, September 05, 2016

Gratitude Unforgotten.

                                                            Last day, my sight caught the attention of the man who runs a cycle repair shop nearby the bank, where I'm tied to my banking transactions. It's been years, he has been working there in that same old spot with no accompaniments for his help. In our childhood days, my brother and I used to check the air in our bicycles and also visited him when our cycles dumps us all of a sudden on a particular occasion. 

Ever since then, he is all the more same. I was getting on my two-wheeler and just then I saw him busy attending to the bicycles and punctured tyres. Even on a sultry sweating noon, he seems not bothered by the heat sitting under the black asbestos roofed shelter besides the main road.

I stood there, looking at him for some time, reminiscing our old childhood days and his part in our lives to repair the bicycles at lucid intervals. Characteristics of old age has also visited him. His hands and clothes were stained with grease and oil as usual, wrinkles of hard work has invaded his face but his lust to work has not faded.

On a momentary note, he saw me looking at him. He smiled at me and shook his head like he knew me for ages. Maybe, he might have recognized me. 

The shifting of time period made me realize that I'm a 25 year old guy now from the transition of a 7th grader to the present working scenario. Though it was years, he might have understood that my bicycle has at least once, gone through his magical hands.

I too gave a smile back and waved my hand. That was the simple gratitude I could give him rather than sympathy.