Hems of the Human Heart.

When you snip at the sides
And your body cannot take it anymore,
When you finally realise
that people are also made up of seams and stitches at the sides,
with patch works of guilt and trouble and morosity and morbidity and whatnot-
Your hugs become tighter.

Because you don’t only see the flesh that’s holding them together.
You see how despite all these landslides and volcanoes
Rupturing inside of them,
they manage to stand
And manage to smile.

Maybe that’s why they say ‘crack’ a smile.
Because sometimes when you’re broken beyond repair,
There is nothing to do but to smile.

scattered words on dusty shelves

We raise our voices in anger,
But whisper words of love.
Because all things beautiful,
were done in this tranquil.
this blur.
Deprived of life,
opposed to live,
dead in the head
but still the heart beats.
Because the mind knows no boundaries
Beyond which to leap.

You don’t feel wise,
Till you’ve been hurt.
I want otherwise,
I beg to differ.
What is love,
if not abundant
Empty the heart of the insurmountable fear.

you might have lost,
you might never win.
But there’s a chance to be taken,
unwise and full of whims.
If we don’t live recklessly
Are we even human?
It’s too late to ask myself,
As I touch the lines on my face-
many and uneven.

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Cheers, Darling

he sings
You know the room is spinning
Because he has a glass of wine
in his hands

you know he’s too drunk
The kind of lingering music that surrounds your ears

He smokes a pack of cigarettes
burning his eyes
In the box he calls room
Eating out of a can

To forget
You were even there

How did a person break another person?
In a way that love could not fix treachery?

in a way that he says your name in his sleep,
While i ease the nightmares away

I talk to myself
To assure my own existence

Because around him,
I am only surrounded by the ghosts of his past

Icy, unmoving stares
And stoic movements
We define dystopia in this apartment.

To Antoine

And in the broken desert,
Malfunctioned airplane,
I made a friend

He began to say, I have a fox friend…
Friends dont matter-
I am dying, I exasperate.
‘It is a good thing to have a friend,
Even if one is dying’
And I stood stunned,
In silence.

His rose had tamed him,
The haughty rose who was devoid of humility
But the rose was his
and he belonged to the rose
And that was all there is.
In another planet-
He looked at the thousand roses
Sticking out in abundance
They were beautiful
But he called them hollow
Nobody would cry for them.
And then he sat in the grass and cried
In memory of his singular rose
That he valiantly protected on his planet

Where do the people go,
He asked the Railway Master.
Not even the locomotive knows.
They are pursuing nothing at all.
Never satisfied where they are,
The wind blows them away.
They sway, the flower said
Devoid of roots.
They don’t want to stay.

Only the children know what they are looking for,
Wide eyes, and flattened noses
Against Window panes-
Looking out.
They take a rag doll
And it becomes important to them.
It is only with the heart one can truly see,
Truth is invisible to the eye.

I came with a broken airplane,
With my supply of water dwindling,
But I knew that my friend meant more to me than my life
When he said,
Let me go by myself
Here it is.
Leaving me only with a galaxy of stars
That tinkled like bells.

(This is my tribute to one of the most beautiful authors’ most beautiful work that changed me in so many ways. Le petit prince by Antoine de saint-Exupéry. This poem may do hardly any justice to the poetical and highly intellectual and imaginative prose.
But with broken efforts and meek attempts, I try)

Withdrawal Symptoms

Turn off the lamps
And sip the darkness,
Because the sun comes
And exposes the scars on your back.

And no matter how hard you try to cover them,
Like an x-ray
He sees through you.

And before you can kiss him on the cheek
And whisper ‘stay’ into the depths of his mind
Amidst the folds of his skin
He is gone
Leaving, in a way that
Erases his existence.


In those cold nights
With the sheets over our heads
Encased in each other
When we muttered to each other
‘i love you’
And felt so brave.
So brave, because we were committing
An act of such magnificence
Only warriors in the field could be likened to us.

But since then
I have realized
That love is just a four lettered word
A mere jumble of syllables

Because love resides
Not in the speaking of it
But in the silence that comes after the storm.

you kissed me at the end of the road
i never knew how good it could be,
until we got to the end of the road

you told me
you were like a pack of cigarettes
you came with a statutory warning
‘know me at your own risk’
your crooked smirk
was beautiful in the moonlight spotting

you sang me lullabies
read me wodehouse into the night.
your husky nicotine-ridden voice,
the highlights of my day
and your second-hand smoke,
my muse

you were the reason
i spilled ink instead of blood-
gathered my wounds
and laced me back together
finally my own oxygen tank
able to breathe

laughter bounced off the walls
unused facial muscles hurt

when you kissed me
i was more than just a broken vase
beyond repair

but i knew little

that you were as broken
as the contorted mirror
your fist met with last night

you couldn’t see yourself
unless it was a blaze of heroin
shot in the dark

no more i love you

deep down
deep inside, where you used to be
a dead wind sleeps,
red coffin breathes

no more i love you
the chairs are empty
the table laden with food

words don’t write themselves anymore
i thought we were words on the same page

please be my prince again
and i will let down my hair
open up that red coffin
and let out the dead air

i am sending the rabbit down the hole
i hope to meet you
before the queen shouts,
“off with her head!”

it’s a changing love
a river flowing backwards
red coffin gasping
Love, too, is dead