Blue envelopes

There's no address to send to. Not anymore.
I didn't send them when I could have.

Blood has pooled in my feet, unable to push it back up, so heavy, this blood has become. But, it is right. It is right to not be able to move them. Ever.


Lavender walls. Lost summer green.

Embedded gems. Cold farsh.

Yellow,well loved. 25.

Medicine cabinet. Mombatti.

Boiled water. A copper jug.

Bakse. Khazana.

Kaanch ke kaidi. Teen.

Jaali. Shor.

Malai. Relief.

Lavender. Lost summers

Skeletal prison. Gales.

Poem

Sacred shrine

Torrents of a sacred river swished by violently. It's fluid raged against the pressure that had held them within.

They flowed away, like ungrateful offspring, leaving their nest without another glance. Leaving an aching parent. Rebelling against their oversheltered existence running away from their safe dwellings.

If only they knew, it wasn't them who had been in need for her.

He found a few pieces of glass as he stepped into the rushing waves. Turned them over in surprise-sharp razer edges gleaming in their viciousness.

He looked in horrified awe. How could they have stayed within this bulbous kindly sac, his eyes asked?

But you see, if he hadn't struck an axe to it, he'd never have found those pieces that caused so many sores.

Do you think he should keep striking till he has cleansed it of these shards of offensive blasted silica ?

It just might leave the sac as dry as a barren desert.

Silent

I don't like talking anymore. I never did. We've not had that attraction most of you have unfortunately. So the affair was short-lived.

You're not listening. And I?I know it. I always did.

I'm tired.

Charades aren't fun. No. Not when I'm talking .
So we'll play charades. Dumb charades. We will sweets. You will all get your turn.

So here.

I'm Mute again.

Finding Neverland

These highways now
We're cruising
Without doubting these breaths
We're breathing

Shelled in this amusement park

Still enchanted

These fantasies we're riding

Outside the story that never ends

Meet you again I shall

Poem

Dedication

"hey!isse chakh ke bataao", she said with a look of eagerness that befits an amateur cook.

"cake?"

"haan baba. jaldi"

He makes a face.

"it's sweet"

"it's sweet? it's a cake!"

"well you didn't make it my way"

"which is?"

"It doesn't matter. You didn't make it my way. So I don't like it"

"I thought you like cakes, does the way matter?"

"Yes it does because I like cakes only when they're made my way in the way I see fit and only when I want it."

"Oh", she said with a dejected look, hurt creeping in but not in her voice.

"Accha toh fir bataao kaisa tumhe pasand hai?"

"Woh mere mood par depend karta hai"

"Humein tumhara mood kaise pata chalega?"

"We'll see about that", he said pushing the plate of chocolate fudge cake aside and leaving the kitchen.

She stood silently and took off her apron.

Cooking isn't for introverts.

Find your flute now

O Piper !

Let the wisps follow

Lead them happily

In deep fires, make them wallow

Come now Piper

let them rest

A white velvet pouch

Token for your service

it lies empty

Find me

whence it's bursting

yet again

and we'll pipe it

yes we shall

but come now Piper

Hop Skip

for this is my bonfire

of delusional celebrations

Yes yes Piper

let's rejoice

till the mice

resurrect once again

Poem

Lost matches

In a blink, she's sunk into those crevices you hadn't seen

No dear, do not hold up your hands in despair, for we knew you're helpless in the abyss that you're stuck in.

It's dark but it'll be darker still if you were to strike that match.

Here do take this kerchief and wipe those tears as we wave goodbye to those lips that will remain a shadow of her clan.

You really shouldn't be running after her.

A is for ..........

She liked how the unbiased arms glided smoothly across her nooks and corners. Soft, warm and so refreshing.

Hot showers were like unconditional lovers ( or is it blinded lovers? She couldn't decide).

They seeped into every imperfection, every flattering feature and those forgetful parts that fetishists seemed to remember (for the knowledge one learns in a Freudian course must of course never be forgotten, if it ever canbe easy to not notice 3rd degree burns on your own body) .

She let the torrents of water oil her with their purity (that comes with chlorine you didn't ask for). But as the droplets clustered on her skin, as she dried them off, she remembered the hour-glass figure which didn't exist, if it ever did for anyone except Barbie.

It wasn't a lack of self-esteem. Hardly.

It was Annoyance.

Because the bevy of ______ girls had arrived to force down some of their 'advice' amidst courtesy and vulnerability that confused her.

But it shouldn't of course.

Insecurity comes in many packages.

"Nazron ke teer mein"

These songs I hear-they're so young. I feel their dreams. I can catch whiffs of their hopes.

But we won't have that. Because we're busy living out what a cruel author had in mind.
Who'll make me ask myself one day, if losing all this was worth it?
And I already feel the doubt creep in.

The power, the freshness of youth. My skin tingles as these songs brush past and dance in the air around me. The young man's brazen deep, careless, loud, hollering note. I like it in a way you won't understand.

And I won't tell either.

Yes there is such a longing in these songs.

It's mine you know.