Poetry

In your eyes

I had known life in cars and stranger houses. In unknown restaurants, amongst filthy men. Men, I called them before I met you.
Men were strong. They were dirty mouthed and smoked ciggaretes while their wives cleaned their ashtrays. They lifted rocks and engines and their hands at every girl who didnt oblige.
But those aernt men, are they? I learnt that a man didnt have to be the epitome of masculinity. Infact, men are nothing like their exterior self. They are weak and afraid. The large stretches of this world scare them too.
I saw this in your eyes when your son was lying on a stiff, lone bed in a hospital you couldn afford to stand in. That night, the clock and your thoughts were too loud to be unheard. And so was your heart.
It wasnt your fault, my sweet. You did not come to me. The first glance was mine and not yours. Or maybe it was the other way round
The first “hi” was mine and not yours. Or maybe it was the other way around too. Destiny was too far from our hands.
But what I know for certain is that my life wasnt mine anymore.I had no control over me. I was sailing a ship over this sea. And this sea was rough, like no mountain ever climbed before. I thought I knew rough but honey what were these six letter before you.
I was enthusiasm, a hard wall, free spirit and mystery novels.
You were peace and uncollected thoughts. A lesser known discovery.

That night from that cold, bitter battlefield of a room your son emerged triumphed. And in your eyes I saw, as they landed on my surrendered corpse, what a true man I had left behind.

Poetry, Uncategorized

Monsters

Faded marks of existence

occupy this, once upon a time, home.

Walls scrape their edges

as you sit here tearing at your skin.

Your rotten mind holds thoughts

and this house cherishes all its memories.

Dear love, run from these monsters you've come to know

before the hourglass runs out of time to give you.

Continue reading “Monsters”

Poetry

Mystical

We’re lose ends; you and me

conjoining sights over cold coffee

mugs, in areas not a lot can see.

This isn’t the place to be

but the hell in me

adores this no end tyranny

of baseless conversations

and unconscious memorization

of the number of freckles on your left cheek.

Your body, strong yet meek

has learned to seek

shelter

in the smoked tiles of a thirty year old cafe.

 

I know ballet

didn’t work for you.

Blue was my color not yours

And the moon

had been unsparingly mystical

that night.

Yet how is it that nothing

seemed brighter than you

as you danced across the open air stage.

Your moves typical,

yet unpredictable.

dressed traditional

and in your mininmal

efforts into each

strung

of the violin

made me run

out of air to breathe…

 

Slowly, unhurriedly, bit by bit

and then all at once,

I became yours.