A Cure for Broken Shoulders

When the rain gravitates towards you

be still, my dear.

Be still and let it touch you

like a lover’s breath on broken shoulders.

 

It sings quite softly, my dear,

but when it does, I swear to you,

the world stops spinning to

let the stars sing along.

 

You’ll feel the tune escape your lips

and your soul will dance in bliss,

Be still, my dear, and let the lover’s

breath write stories of magic on your skin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clay

you impressed me

you were impressed upon me
the faint dent of your lips on the edge of my throat
the hollow of bright red fingers on my fading wrists
the stamp of words whispered against my hair
the print of heel warm on my knobbly knee
the dip of your elbows against my ribs
i was clay for you, dear potter
and i gave you all,
all that you chose to make
a shattered vase.

Hold my hand, dear, and say it’ll be okay.

i held a fist of sand as i once

held your fist

and watched as the grains

slipped away

like smooth fingers sliding

out of a warm

grasp

and the hollow air that

remained

was a reminder

of you blowing

whispered promises

into my ear

and my red palms

stayed permanently blushing

from the absence of the sand

and

the absence of you.

First Draft

I tried to write
poetry
for you.

But I cant find

a suitable metaphor.

You see,

You aren’t my Sun,
even though you fill every
pore of my body with your
everlasting warmth
even if
you set the linings
of
my belly
on fire.

You aren’t my Moon, either,
even though I’d be
left stumbling in the blindness
if not for your gentle
guidance
even if the
tides of my heart
are controlled
by you.

And neither are you the Stars,
even though
you take my breath away
when you’re
in your glory,
even if
every time I look at you,
I keep finding
more of you.

Sweet boy,

if anything,

you’re the whole damn sky.

You’re the infinity that
controls my
nights
and my
days
You’re the comfort that
wraps my entire
world

and what is
the sun
and the moon
and the stars
when compared to
the
entire heaven ?

I cannot write

enough

poetry about you,

but call this a

first draft

if you will.

Future

There is wind,

but there are no trees left to sway.

There is water,

but there is no thirst left to quench.

There is music,

but there is no soul left to hear.

There is love,

but there is no heart left to feel.

——–

There is life,

but there is nothing left to live for.

Dream-catcher

AN: Dismal day today. Current mood can be captured by A Fine Frenzy’s ‘Goodbye my Almost Lover’.

The dream-catcher came in a little

blue box with silk wrapping

and a satin ribbon, my fingers

gently

clasping the little

strings of hope

woven together

in a cacophony of connections

and I hid it under my pillow

as I closed my eyes,

hoping,

that this time

when your dimpled smile and

shaggy hair starred in my dreams,

it may do what I

could not

catch

you.

Hidden Conversations

“GO” I screamed.

Please don’t, my heart whispered.

“But…” he stuttered.

I don’t want to, his heart pleaded.

“I love you.” he mumbled.

Me too, my heart ached.

“Well, I don’t.” I snapped.

Don’t lie, his heart beseeched.

“Okay, then.” we said together

wiping our hands clean off dust

I’ll miss you, our hearts chimed together

silent fractures achingly exposed

You should leave, now.

I need you by my side.

I’ll collect my belongings tomorrow.

Don’t break my heart like this!

It’s all for the best.

My world is falling apart.

Good luck, then.

Hug me and say it’ll be okay.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

The sounds of the man

and the sounds of the woman

and the sounds of their hearts

echoed forever in

the strange silence

that followed

and

never left.

Today, I promise.

I saw you wipe your red-rimmed eyes today, when you thought nobody was looking.

You quickly dabbed the edges of your monogrammed silk kerchief at the edges of your eyes, and plopped it back into your bag, in a matter of seconds. You pasted on that huge smile, flashing your pearly-white teeth at your friends, as you spoke about how much you adored that year’s Fall Collection. You watched as your friends lightly tapped your elbow, and you cringed slightly as they leaned into you doubled with laughter, but you smiled anyway. You thought I hadn’t seen your eyes, but I had.

I heard you throwing up in the wash room today, when you thought nobody was listening.

Your tender milky knees were on the floor, and you continued, without heeding to the purple swirly bruises that were now forming. You chose the stall when the bathroom was empty, but you tried to be silent, nevertheless. You slowly and steadily deposited your favorite pasta you had bought earlier from the store across, and you wiped your burning mouth afterwards. You made sure you used the perfume softly, listening against the graffiti-filled door of the stall for anyone outside, your head spinning just the slightest. You thought I hadn’t heard your noise, but I had.

I know that you contemplated killing yourself today, when you thought nobody would know.

You tried hard to fight the black monsters raging within your bones, but decided to finally listen to them. You felt the sharp edge of the knife against your finger, testing and deciding. You walked to the balcony, hands running on the railing, and wondered if it would hurt too bad or feel like flying. You wondered if it was true about drowning- lungs bursting and absolute misery- and vaguely registered that even that sounded less painful than what you were experiencing. That any amount of pain would be better than the cold numbness that had settled within you. You know that had it not been for the shrill call of the telephone, you may not have stopped yourself. You thought I didn’t know your darkness, but I knew.

I saw and I heard and I knew. I am time, you see, my dear. You try to box me into seconds and minutes and hours, but I am un-boxable. I am infinity. I stretch along, holding each one of you in my never-ending arms.

And believe me when I say- Your heart doesn’t have to stop beating to stop hurting. Trust in me and trust in yourself and all will be well. Your laugh will one day actually have happiness, and your food one day will actually reside in your belly, and the knives in your kitchen one day will only be used for chopping vegetables.

Today, I saw you and I heard you and I know you.

But tomorrow! Tomorrow, I promise you, You will see you and You will hear you and You will know you.

And eventually, You will learn to love you.

—-

You

I choose

you

you with the smile like warm butter on toast

you with the eyes like a time machine

you with the hands like fluttering butterflies

you with the words like soothing balm

you with the voice like satin ribbons

you with the heart like an iron wall

you

always

unfortunately

you.

Red-Skinned

I’ve been writing too many poems with a darker side off late, and I know there’s more to come so here’s a bit of fluff to break the monotony. This is a simple poem to all those girls/boys who have a crush on someone and can’t tell them. It’s infuriating, no?

I can feel the butterflies

playing catch in my belly

I know it’s time

I have to tell you

It’s now or never

My blush has become

a

permanent feature

by now-

I bet you think that

I was born red-skinned

better for you to think that

than know the reason is you

(always, infuriatingly you)

you and your eyes

that

shine the clearest turquoise

images of

you and your large palms

cupping the side

of my red-skinned face

you and your lanky gait

lazily crossing the room

like you

own the world

you and your dimpled smile-

the crowning glory

like the applause at

the end of a play

my fingers clutch the edge of my yellow

skirt

i know you like yellow, you

had told me once

I spot you, leaning against

the wall ahead

the cigarette dangling at the edge

of your chapped lips

you see me walking to you

your raise your eyebrows in greeting

my heart stops

I stutter a hello

and keep moving forward

not daring to look back at your

questioning eyes

I simply cannot confess

I have lost my nerve

and my wit

and my ability to speak,

thanks to

a young boy

with the ocean in his eyes

and death on his lips.

The Bucket List

The hair is gone

I watch

as she chops it off

and it falls down the sides of my face

like a snowfall of brown

I try not to choke

as I remember the times

when you’d run your fingers

through them

and tell me they smelled of strawberries

and now,

my love,

your strawberries lay at my feet

rotten and dead.

I’m sorry.

I look back at my

reflection

“Dear, it’s all done.”

she whispers.

I wince slightly,

as my head reflects the light

shiny in it’s new landscape

bumps and endless stretches

of bald pavement

“I look like an egg.”

I joke,

she laughs,

but I see the tear.

Life is short,

I know,

trust me.

And so is my bucket list.

It reads thus:

‘Let happiness make you cry’

I want to

bubble over with laughter and

joy

so much so that the emotion

marries

my soul

and my tear-ducts

give their

blessing.

I want other things, too.

Time, firstly.

Time to spend with you

tracing

your spine

and laughing at your geeky

jokes.

I want time to create more memories

like the kind

when we spotted an owl during

a midnight swim

and the kind

where we lay entwined

indistinguishable as two separates

and smiled

into each others beings.

I also want,

selfishly,

a baby.

(she’d have your eyes, darling.)

A little token to leave you with.

Without this

to give you,

only one thought races through my head.

-Sweetheart,

when I’m gone,

will you forget me?-

And then,

when my moment of daydreaming

comes to an end,

after everything,

I think

of only one more thing,

my love,

your gentle, patient face

shadows under your eyes

as you held my hand

last week

so bravely

and now, the sound of your

tapping feet

from outside the room

as you wait to see your

egg-headed wife

and smile encouragingly

(as i know you will),

and I ask,

-Sweetheart,

when I’m gone,

will you forgive me?

Iridescent

I’ve always been

white light

as far

back as I recollect

pure

&

drab

then you came

dark swirls

of

lust

over my limbs

knotted

legs and

scratched

backs

peppered kisses

&

stolen glances

heart raced faster

adrenaline

coursed

through veins

they tried

to

tell me

“It’s all wrong;

white is white

black is black

and that

would

never change”

but

you see,

that is the problem (in its entirety)

when I’m

with you

I don’t exist

you don’t exist

I’m not white

you’re not black

we

remain,

together,

iridescent.

I had kissed her goodbye.

“Are you okay?” Strange voices filtered through my head, and I nodded vaguely to the concerned strangers.

 

The rain battered down on me, and I was grateful for that, because my tears now camouflaged easily into the background.

 

I had kissed her goodbye.

 

The thought wafted through my head, and punched a crater in my stomach. I could picture her pale face in my head as I told her I was leaving. It looked so terrified I had wanted to hug her and promise her I would always be there for her and tell her I loved her over and over again. Instead, I did none of those things.

 

I had kissed her goodbye.

 

I had expected her to get angry with me. I had expected her to scream and yell and bring the roof down, but she hadn’t. Instead, she had looked at me with still, lifeless eyes and my heart had plummeted to my knees.

 

And so, when she didn’t say anything for a long while, I decided it was time to leave. I took a step closer, she stayed where she was. I let my palm cup her cheek, and shivered slightly at how cold she was. I let my thumb graze her cheek, and I bent towards her. I kissed her softly, on unmoving lips. I looked into her eyes, but she wasn’t looking at me. She didn’t kiss me back. She made no motion.

 

I stepped away. “Goodbye, beautiful.” I whispered.

 

I had kissed her goodbye.

 

As I reached to door, I turned back and saw her again. I looked at the auburn curls tapering towards her waist, her large brown eyes that used to get away with doing any sort of mischief, the curve of her nose, the mole at the edge of her lip, her fingers at the frays of her yellow sundress.

 

I committed it all to memory.

 

I didn’t want to leave her. That’s all I could think about. I couldn’t leave her like that, alone. And yet I did. As my foot stepped out the door, it carried me far far away from her. There was a strange feeling in my ribcage, though. It was light. Nay, it was weightless. I had, after all, left my heart back with her.

 

I had kissed her goodbye.

 

And so I stumbled along the rain, miserable, lonely and heart-broken. I had just given up on my one epic love, and my life felt like it was collapsing.

 

I must be the one man in history who left the one epic love of his life and then cried about it.

 

I was dumb. I was an idiot. I had left her.

 

I had kissed her goodbye.

 

A week later, I could finally stagger out of my bed. I looked at myself in the mirror. Unkempt hair, unshaved beard. I looked like a ruffian. I shrugged it away as I padded down towards the hallway.

 

It was when I was buttering my fourth toast that I decided. I was going to see her that day.

 

There was a light tingling in the core of my stomach. A tinge of excitement and curiosity. A tinge of knowing I’d be closer to her again.

 

I took a shower, and I shaved and I combed and combed and combed. My hands trembled with anticipation, and I ran to the florist.

 

“Hey, John. The usual, please.” I asked the florist. He made an arrangement of the most beautiful carnations, her favorite. I had got them for her every week.

 

“Thanks.” I yelled, as I ran. I halted when I reached, though. I took a deep breath in, and suddenly, I felt hollow.

 

She probably hated me, I realized. I almost lost my courage to see her, but nevertheless, pushed past the creaky gate.

 

My eyes roamed the large ground to find her, and when I did, I walked slowly towards her.

 

I sat down silently next to her. I placed the flowers on the cold stone, and whimpered, “Forgive me, baby.”

 

She didn’t respond.

 

“I didn’t want to leave you.” I continued.

 

She didn’t respond.

 

“I didn’t want us to part.” I cried.

 

She didn’t respond.

 

“I love you, and I miss you, and I want you back.” I said.

 

She didn’t respond.

 

I looked at the encryption on the grave stone. Susie Jones 1994-2014. A loving friend and daughter.

 

“I know you won’t respond. I know you can’t. But I need you to know that I have always loved you since the day we met. You are not just the better half of me, you’re my better whole. You make a good person just by being with me, and Suze, without you, I’m lost. Kissing you goodbye at your funeral was the hardest thing I’ve had to do in my entire life. I hope you like the flowers, though.”

 

I cried like a baby at her stone, and her lifeless eyes as I had kissed her goodbye flashed before me once again.

 

I spoke to the stone for hours, never once expecting a reply. I was just content to be close to her. My voice echoed through the graveyard, long after sundown.

Eavesdropper: Prologue

Love is strange. That’s an accepted fact. It’s twisted and tangled into impossible knots. It’s the sun that shines bright in the day, and the stars that guide your path at night. It’s the heart that thunders in your chest, and it’s the butterflies that flutter in your stomach. It’s the dozen phone calls, and it’s the constant worrying and it’s the comfort and the fights and all the other million things that love encompasses.

Love has no boundaries, it’s limitless. Love is the simple four letter word that holds so much meaning and depth. It has every teenager day-dreaming about it, and every senile man reminiscing. It ties the memories with a satin thread; it binds people with spun silk.

Love is blind. It’s impaired, and it’s perfect at the same time. It’s beyond explanations. Love is a dream come true. It’s unexpected.

I know all this. I know and accept all this. In fact, I’ve experienced the weeping and the screaming and the late-night calling and the hand-holding and the hugs that sweep me off my feet, the whole package- really.

Which is why I’m telling you that this whole love business ? It’s overrated.

Mission Happy Cows

I live in an urban city, yes, but keeping in mind that I do live in India, we have an abundance of dogs and cows in the area where we live. Now feeding dogs is always a pleasure, and biscuits are easy to carry around. In fact, Div, Aku and I usually scrounge for them after school and feed them biscuits.

Cows, now they are more difficult. This has been my dad’s and my tradition from when I was two. Whereever we went, we’d feed the cows greens and jaggery and veggies. So, today when we went (after a loooong time), I thought I’d share it with you guys.

Our driver has a farm in the village, and cows on it. So he told us that they liked tomatoes a lot. My dad was a bit chicken, but I don’t mind feeding random cows (never mind the size of the bulls’ horns, lol) by hand. So when they nibble at the tomato in my hand, it gives a feeling of pure unadulterated delight!

As you may well know, these cows otherwise feast on the garbage dumps (also in abundance) and ingest plastic. WHICH IS OBVIOUSLY REALLY BAD.

I also fed a calf some jackfruit without the seed. I wasn’t sure about that, but then the shopkeeper told us it’d like it, so.

It wouldn’t eat off the ground, it kept looking to my hand, and in a flush of selfish delight, I loved it. Here are some pics, and if you live in a city where there aplenty of cows, try doing this ! 😀