Sunday, August 21, 2016

Sounds

(Written 20 August 2016, at 2:00 am.)

the sounds you make, the sounds you hear
are sounds of arrogance and sounds of fear
you perceive the rattles of a funeral pyre
you make excuses for unapologetic gunfire

the sounds i make, the sounds i hear
are sounds of oppression, loud and clear
i silence the vibrations of the world around
and blame it on the sound of sound.

a scrape, a tear, an unintelligible moan
are all it takes for a stone
to come to life and fight for life
while you and i sit idly by.

your oblivion, my consumption, are at par
in all that matters, and all we are
as we continue to strip imaginary layers
of meaning and unmeaning in worldly prayers.

alas, it is you, alas, it is me,
upon whom falls this moment of "poetry",
that knows no better but to pretend
like it must matter in the end.

but you know naught, and i know less,
that all of this auditory duress,
is for no reason good, and no reason bad
but a simple state of affairs,
exceedingly sad.

Friday, June 17, 2016

Could You

(Written 18 June 2016, at 1:48 am.)

could you, would you, ever have known
the lengths to which i would have flown
to look in your eyes and hold your hand?

could you, would you, ever have guessed
just how i believed myself blessed
to build castles with you in the sand?

and now, here (or there?) we are
forever forgotten in time's bar
sipping naught but a whiskey grand.

Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Could

(Written 3 March 2016, 4:40 am.)

You could have forgotten the nuances that meant nothing.
Instead, they're all I remember of you --
The things that mean or would mean nothing,
But the things that paint me blue.

You could have held me together in the palm of your hand.
Instead, I fell apart at your feet.
You watched, and sympathized, and tried so hard
To use reason to make, in me, reason and madness meet.

You could have breathed the shards of my being,
And gravitated my edges to your fingertips.
Instead, I bled into the vacuum of space
And time drank me in drunken sips.

Night

(Written 27 February 2016, 10:44 pm.)

Has your broken love mended the fences of my willingness?
Your incessant presence is a strangeness and confusion I take for granted
And forget.
Like the night forgets the sun
And revels in the dense darkness,
Never questioning or wondering about the light that will soon take over.

Saturday, February 13, 2016

Waiting

Every moment of acknowledged waiting,
Filled with heavy pain,
As words stand me up once again.

The competition to be the first
To stop caring about the other
Remains disputed.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Back from Gurgaon

(Written July 8, 2015, approximately 11:00 pm)


Have you broken through the thicket of life?
Can you breathe yet?

Is it unfair
To compare 
The heaviness of my head 
To the lead 
In the vilified Maggi?

Taste is lost 
In the forest of tears.
But the knowledge of experience 
Persists.

Your tongue on my neck 
Is surrender
To experience.

The sandpaper behind my eyelids 
Makes 
Every vision 
A reason 
For weeping.

My breathlessness and wheezing 
Is on me.

My pain:
Is that also on me?

Thursday, September 4, 2014

(Untitled)

(Written September 5, 2014, at 2:26 am.)

Who understands the dynamics of communication?

I wish you were laying on my back
with your nose nuzzled in my neck
and your hand cupping my breast.

(I wish you liked my breasts.)

I want to be able to turn my face
and have my lips find yours
in a sleepily passionate surrender.

There's so much I want to say to you (like that).

The thought of your mouth
on my lower back
in a forgiving, accepting kiss
is a mirage.

There's so much more I want to say to you (like that).
There's so much I don't understand.

I would like the pieces of me to be held together
in your palms.

You're a puzzle I want to put together.
Do I have every piece of you?