The bridge

There’s a lake that winds on forever.

There’s a path that no man has taken for years.

I wanted to see where it leads.

So I took a different route the other day.

I wandered a bit, honey. Even though they had asked me not to.

I took a journey to the roads that have cursed stories.

The legend says people who went there were scarred forever.

And now I have a memory weighing down on my sanity.

I came back changed. I came back scathed from the things I saw and I touched.

“There’s a forest beyond the rusty gate,” the old man had spoken.

“But don’t go in there, young lad” his words fell on my deaf ears.

How long I kept walking inside the gate, is a question now I ask myself.

All I know is that the forest got a hold of me.

I can feel it in my bones to this moment.

I saw the things stranger than ever.

And now I can’t tell the truth from the reality.

I saw you sitting cross-legged at a familiar place, once I crossed the wooden bridge.

I remember how the trees willowed down & darkness took over.

I remember it all happened as I walked over the damn bridge.

You sat on the other side like you’ve always been there.

Younger and happier as if pulled out of an old Polaroid.

In your favourite purple jacket, zipped halfway through.

You tucked your hands inside the pockets and started to walk.

I followed you like a ghost.

Beyond the bridge and into the woods.

At a place that time cannot rule.

Is it the end of our worlds or is it the beginning? Is it a shortcut to our memories?

Out there was your world that whispered to me.

I headed into the unknown, the one that felt familiar eerily.

I have come back changed now, and I can’t unsee the ghosts I have been with.

I took a little journey into the darkness, honey.

I cheated on time and now I’m being punished for it.

I can’t tell if I belong to this time or another.

I can’t help but wonder if you’re still sitting there, with your one leg crossed over another.

Like the December of 2009.

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Interstellar

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Let’s pick a black hole to plunge into,
Let’s tumble down into the black velvet sky.
Let’s spin around the planets as tiny specks,
Until we transcend the dimensions of space and time.
Inject sunsets into my arm,
Let me feel your rush.
Let me love you violently in the privacy of my heart.
Your rib cage holds an ocean,
It’s the night we drain this sea
And plant flowers on its floor.
I think you’ve become a planet yourself,
Which is why I keep orbiting you like a dead satellite.
Turn the stars back on,
Let the moonlight slice the years gone by.
A taste of the universe sits on your tongue,
Show me how many galaxies you hold in your mouth.
Pour me a thunderstorm or two on the rocks,
Let us riot against the time.
Let’s tumble down, down, and down into the black velvet sky.
It’s the night we become one with the cosmic sublime.

A ghost

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You tell me you don’t miss home anymore

You stare at the faceless portraits of people you come across

You wait until midnight to listen to your favourite song

In the new city that sucked you in

Just a month before

 

You tell me it’s hard for a ghost

To be dissolved in such a crowd

You tell me you can’t as much work on new art

You stare at rusty drafts that hoped to breathe life

Just a year back

 

You tell me you take the longer route back home

You chew on daydreams more than before

You stumble upon a broken tree and

The old abandoned houses try to pull you in

You wander the city like a ghost from another time

 

You tell me you don’t miss home anymore

As I get ready looking right at you

You mimic me until I smile

Then you draw a half smile in reply

I leave for the new office in the brand new town

You stay back on the other side of the glass

 

Writer’s block

writers_block

This little place they call a writer’s block.

Would you care to pay me a visit?

I surround myself with it. I stay in it, and I sleep over it.

I have made it my home now.

Would you push open the old creaking gate,

And tiptoe down the spiral staircase to the basement?

The house welcomes you with an archaic clock.

It is stuck at the hour you said goodbye.

Don’t be fooled; they’re my eyes.

Stare at them long enough & your reflection will wink back.

The guestroom is adorned with a flame.

My lungs blow oxygen once in a while to rekindle its dying spark.

Hear that fluttering sound right across the hall?

A foolish child tied my heart to the ribcage,

said it was his paper kite that someone tried to snatch away.

I keep thinking that you’d come around.

I hear you re-read the drafts I scribbled long back,

Ask me who did I write them for?

But I just lie here in an empty bed,

And watch the wind play its dirty tricks.

Our memories ride on the paper planes,

And fly across the room in a frenzy.

Till they become the wandering clouds,

that disappear into the sunbeam.

The memories that you’ll become in years to come,

The memories that you already are.

Nothing

Romantic Poem

You look up with tearful eyes and I tuck your hair behind your ears.

You stare at my face and fail to read it. You ask me, why am looking at you like this.

I glanced into your eyes in turns and say ‘nothing’ with a grin on my face.

You ask me the questions you ask, about the future and the present.

You roll your finger around my chest and I reply with nothing more than a racing heart.

‘Nothing’ could be a perfect answer for am too afraid and weak inside.

And I finish the leftover courage to belie the sensitive-me with just another witty tale.

You laugh your heart out and shake your head like you always do.

Before you know, it is a poem being written in the drafts folders of my mind.

‘Nothing’ but a poem, with too many feelings tucked inside.

You wish for more answers and I fray with own self.

‘Nothing’ is what we started off with, you say and I stare at the ceiling.

The kaleidoscope of our memories starts to play.

Our feelings so intense, of love, possession, jealousy and hatred.

We’d love to kill each other, with no arms, no weapons, just words to express.

 Rainy afternoons and the orange sunsets, walk by the beach and your window pane.

I saved you secretly, in the songs you like and the things you hate.

Yes or No were too narrow to explain,

How beautiful you are when you look at me and say ‘nothing’ and I…

I tuck your hair behind your ears and whisper ‘as long as we are here together’,

And you complain, as long as sounds so little.

The Last of 90’s Girls

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She doesn’t pout when someone clicks her photograph.

She looks almost the same as she does on her Facebook profile.

She is not a #Hashtag girl, she tucks complications inside.

The only time she puts a make-up on, is on a wedding time.

She is a rage. She is passion. She is the last of 90’s girls.

She checks out a guy, but doesn’t think it’s old fashioned to feel shy.

She knows how to use Photoshop, but

She is not a master of putting filters on Instagram.

She’s still got a mixed tape cassette in her collection.

The one she doesn’t play yet hums the songs of her favorite Boy-band.

She feels nostalgic every time someone mentions Yahoo messenger.

She says Watsapp killed what once used to be ‘hey, are you there?’

She loves early morning texts. She enjoys late night chats.

But Handwritten letters are what she loves the most, she doesn’t tell you that.

From Blank calls on landline to Missed calls on first mobile phone.

From writing crush’s name in scrapbooks to his first scrap on her Orkut wall.

From Café Coffee Day dates to Hallmark greeting cards.

She is evanescent. She is endangered. She is the last of 90’s girls.

She asks him for what they dreamt of. She hopes. She demands.

She stomps the ground and Love pours from the clouds.

Her smile is a gateway drug to, everything you ever lost;

Moonwalking slowly back into your life.

She’s fallen in love. She’s been heartbroken.

She is heading into extinction now.

Find her. Treasure her. Make her feel special.

Not because she wants you to. Because she is.

Because she is the last of 90’s girls.

A bright green parrot with a red collar around its neck

Freedom

The owner fed its bright green parrot a pomegranate.

Because he was a loving man.

He offered parrot a home adorned with golden bars around.

And a small door, that occasionally borrowed freedom from the wind.

The owner fed its bright green parrot a papaya.

And parrot spoke the words he liked to hear.

The bright green parrot with a red collar around its neck.

He told his pals that they envied his comfortable life.

The owner fed its bright green parrot a mango.

Because he was a caring man.

And the parrot sang the tune, owner asked him to.

The owner brought his friends home the other day.

And fed bright green parrot an apricot.

The bright green parrot with a red collar around its neck.

He muttered curses under its breath.

He told his pals he envied them.

Every time his wings longed for a flight.

 He spent his days banging himself on the golden bars.

And a small door, that occasionally shared its darkness with night.

The next morning it was swung open.

By owner to collect bright green wings, gone numb with time.

If possession was a definition of love,

The owner would have been the most romantic of them all.