Sugar Sticks!

All I want is to hold onto that timid little finger,
Bite onto those neatly cut white sugar cubes that crown your fingers,
Play with that slender ring finger,
Fight with that short fat thumb,
Kiss the insides of your palms,
Smudge red love on your cotton white wrists,
Nuzzle those curvy round knuckles with the tip of my nose,
Try constantly to open your closed fists,
Keep counting your fingers as though I’d never figure how many you have,
All I want to do is keep pulling your palms to my belly,
And remain in my sleep safe inside the embrace!

A Mother Is Born

My belly ached to empty itself,
As I lay on the stained white cloth
Under the damp ceiling of the hospital room.
Hair in a mess,
Wide stretched legs,
Sweaty I lay crushing the bedcloth under my palms.

At every killing push of pain
Your face flashed before my eyes,
Those rainy nights,
Our playful days,
Those moments of slimy wild thrills,
The love that brimmed in every touch,
The clumsy warmth of every breath.

Scared I lay on the bed,
On the urine stained white cloth,
Tired of crying to myself,
My growling belly ready to burst,
My legs wet of bleeding life.

At the last push of frightening hurt,
My insides emptied onto the floor,
The drops of love you wet me with
On those rainy July nights!

My puffy eyes closed into sleep,
My body shaken by the strain,
Mind completely at peace,
I lay content in a blissful sleep.
You gave birth to the mother in me,
And I kept the word I gave you,
To go through hell or pricking pain
Just to see a smiling you!

White Funeral

Let us make a coffin,
Neatly painted in snow white,
With Lilly buds all over,
Let us engrave my name onto it
With your's at the end,
Let me place into it all that was left unsaid,
Every single breath,
Moments of magic,
All the long pauses,
The deep ocean of our silence,
Utterances in between the muteness,
The plucked jasmine petals.
Join me in the funeral
Of what we watered all these years,
Lets uproot our plant
And destroy all its seeds,
Together lets pray
That our restlessness finds rest in our coffin of eternal silence!

Scarred White

My lonely moon,
I am here
Sitting by my open window,
Waiting for you to peep through foggy clouds,
Waiting to see my scars reflect in your eyes.
I know you have shiny stars resting on your chest,
I know you have icy winds to thrill you,
Dancing bellies of the night birds to groove with,
You have beautiful lotus petals down in the waters
Looking expectantly to touch you.
You have other belles sitting by open windows whom you love looking at.
But its only me who writes about you,
Its only me who knows you are feeble,
Only I know that you feel insecure about your deep scars,
I know it all even if you never told me.
That dosent make you mine, I know
But even then,
Peep through,
Just once,
Before the sun overpowers your charms,
Peep through at me
For that will give me a whole night's peace!

The Witch Within

As I stood drenching my skin in the dark night showers,
The black rain smudged onto my pores
Melting the molten khol in my eyes,
Causing it to drip down like fluid black metal from my eye ores,
Like a dynamite the black rain made explosions in my inner mines,
The burning coal and molten gold within me pushed their way out,
Through my open belly button they spilled out, mingling with the rain drops.
Reducing me to a smoky mass of crumbling metals,
I shed my mortal skins,
My skin turned pitch black and I transformed myself into a Black Witch
Exorcising disturbed creatures and calling out to sleeping spirits,
I wandered like the mistress of darkness,
The queen of mystery,
Searching for myself in every thunderbird's flutter,
Spitting fire on every hissing python,
Kissing hard on every grave I met,
Praying to live on forever in this bubble of freedom
Hoping never to put on my mortal skins again!

The thing people call "Love"

“Love is a leader. In order to be love’s follower, you have to be chosen by love,” says Khalil Gibran.
On glancing around me, I see a lot of people who claim to be in love and the emotion has become so overrated that anything and everything between two people is named love these days. If the so called thing that happens between two people is love, then why is it that relationships don’t last or that marriages which claim to be built upon foundations of love fall down miserably?
Even though there may be exceptions, according to my observations and acumen so far, an average(most commonly seen kind of) romantic relationship in today’s scene can be described as follows:
• When two people meet (even though the scene in the contemporary world includes homosexuals, here my reference is only to the heterosexual pairs) and they think they are curious about each other, then there is a misbelief that it is love.
• The next thing is that they get into a romantic relationship and then of course there is the usual night talks on the phone, the 24 hours non-stop text messages, make out sessions which are much looked forward to and then the final culmination- sex.
• After the sex, things change in most relationships, the pair starts to feel bored, the talks get monotonous, and as days go by there is nothing much that excites the both of them in each other.
• When the relation reaches this stage of depression, either of them decides to dump the other or they decide to part gracefully.
• If not that, they have a huge fight and they break up. Later on, the guy goes around describing the girl and her assets or the girl goes around lecturing about why guys should not be trusted.
Now, if we analyse this hypothesis, we see that all that the both of them needed was sex. If that was the case, why didn’t they just sleep together in the first stage itself and part?
When it comes to love, our society seems to be a complicated and disoriented lot. The underlying fact is that every individual wants to be on his own and wishes to think for himself. When a relationship happens, people do not look beyond the possibilities of the physicality between the two of them. Any individual cannot survive with someone to whom he cannot connect on the intellectual level. Be it a mediocre person or a snob or an intellectual one- every individual wants to talk out his mind to his partner and be able to coincide on some level with each other’s line of thoughts. Human beings are not sex machines who can be content with sessions of love making alone. Its only when work, brain activity, love and sex come together that a person feels revitalised. Sex alone will not sustain any individual or relationship.
Love becomes an experience only when you get to discover the person each day and when you can be happy about his existence itself. Getting to know a new facet of someone each day and celebrating the existence of such a person will never bore anyone I guess. But to create that kind of a lasting bond, both the man and the woman need to be wise, well-read and of distinct individualities. Sadly tough, in our social scene, people think that knowledge and love are in no way connected.
The commitment phobia that the Indian men have is another thing that adds fuel to the breakage of relationships. Men in general seem scared of commitment and marriages. They can be in a live- in relationship with a woman for more than 10 years but cant marry her. If the relation can go on for a long time, why hesitate to give it a name? It could be that the stigma that lingers over divorce and marriages in the Indian minds is one reason why people do not wish to get into nuptial knots.
Sex is a physical need, but it has got nothing to do with love. If sex is needed, we should learn to get it and move on without creating dramatic instances by calling it love. Every individual is in search of love. But the irony is that everyone seems to be in love as well. Love is something that will never be found in its entirety (at least thats what I believe!). Love keeps hopes alive and hopes keep the world moving. But again, in most man woman relationships, there definitely is no love. So we should invent some new word that can be used to replace “love” in such cases. “Lust” could be a substitute but again people don’t like it when their true intentions are spilled out. We always want to glorify our motives and use strong words like “love” and “commitment” so that we look, sound and seem civilised(even though civilization has not even looked our way)!

My Deep Dark Tomb

My Dark Hole,
You slimy middle one,
You have decided my life since birth,
Its you who has conditioned me,
My instincts are at your beck and call,
My schedules are altered to protect you,
My ambitions are structured considering your safety,
My relationships are based on your availability,
Its you that is noticed and not me,
And I am made to feel I am in you rather than you being in me,
I get a feeling of filth when I sense the secret gazes on you,
Sometimes I just want to stitch up your walls so that I can find peace,
When the garbage of realisation accumulates in my soul
I get angry and I hurt you,
I make you bleed,
When you bleed,you push me into a shithole of emotions for no reasons,
The world has still not been able to define you,
It rather defines me in relation to you,
And in that narrow definition my self is murdered heniously,
Neglected is my pride,my mirth, my existence.
I try to shut my ears and blind myself to escape the feeling of vulnerability,
But your presence in me will always make me porous.
I know I am coveted only because I have you,
But I wont let you be happy or feel good,
I wont let slitherers to slip into you,
Thats my revenge to the one who has placed you in me
Because my life is the price you make me pay for carrying you in me!