Friday, 18 February 2011

Her tinge of blue

When you pried my six-year old self
Or sent me to the shrink at twenty-two,
Running to Maa was not a shame
I could gulp down and live,
So I ‘let’ you be my secret
Held tight at the throat,
Hands and feet and thoughts
Tied together with
With threads of melancholy,
Or perhaps a lifelong lust for touch;
‘Bitter chocolate’ it was indeed,
But unlike the creator-and-destructor
The three-eyed one,
My neck belied no shameful hues,
Merely a tinge of awareness gained
That innocence would henceforth be
Just a word, no more.

Begging Bowl

With a heart full, a self empty,
What begging bowl may I fashion
To earn a glance from your eyes?
When it is the void 
That you so avoid.
If I had a drunkard’s courage
I would find another door to haunt.

Tuesday, 8 February 2011


As pockets are rattled and
Turned inside out,
I searched the apparels of your tale
Hoping the lie will tumble out
Like an errant hideaway coin
Telling truth in silence;
But those scraps I found instead:
Tickets belying travels taken
Tissues edged with coffee and stray thoughts
Tokens bookmarking memory
And my fragrance, wafting on all.
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