It is Spring

It is Spring
I don't want
To go home.

It is Spring
I don't want
To stay in place.

It is Spring
I want
To make mistakes.

It is Spring
I want
To fall off a cliff,

And scream
The fierceness
In my heart
In my love.
To prove
I'm enough.

It is Spring
I don't know
What I want
I know
I just do. 

Whiskey

I want to strip
The taste
Of whiskey
From your mouth
More so now –
That it’s forbidden
On my lips
Like your lips were
A lifetime ago.
And every time
I hold you down
Between my knees
I hold the world.
Once, you loved
My long, dark hair
Covering all our
Transgressions
Now you love
The cracked, jagged
Beautiful edges,
I let remain
Because you can promise
The world
To my neck.
Beneath my
Wicked, wicked ways
My collection of strays
My smiles, my guiles
My fixation with erstwhiles
I’m always on my knees
Ripping my heart
To shreds for you
Always.
I’m always trespassing
Encroaching
Conquering
Stripping every sin
From you iniquitous mouth
Always.
I’m always crossing
Lines, flying miles
Beyond taboo
But I begin
And end
With you
Always.

Green Vol. 2 - NaPoWriMo2017 #2

Green Vol. 2

After 10 kilometres 

Of the English countryside

We ambled together 

And the verdant, emeraldesque

Escape, It offered

I am still 

Inescapably bound

Solely 

By the green

Of your eyes. 

Damn everything else.  

So Where Does Delhi Live?

So where does Delhi live?

Where does the heart of Delhi,

The real heart, the true heart of Dilli

Begin to beat.

Where does Delhi live?

At 18, with all the brashness

Of someone who had lived in a bubble

Of neatly drawn lines

I thought Delhi, ‘my’ Delhi

Lived in the meanderings of Hauz Khas.

I said,

No. I proclaimed,

That Delhi lived in pockets of North Campus

And of course, Delhi Cantt

And the great circle of CP

At Janpath and maybe the odd mall in Noida

And in some malls down South

And in the opulence of GK markets –

They have really good kathi rolls,

Go try them out.  

At 18, I was desperate to belong securely

To a place. I never had.

So I made Delhi belong to me.

At least, I tried.

Every moment since

I have fiercely declared

My belonging.

At 22, I am secure in belonging

But insecure in the breadth of Delhi.

At 22, I see Delhi inching out, opening up, engulfing in.

It lives in Gurgaon now.

And a little bit in Paschim Vihar.

It lives in the cacophony of Kashmere Gate

And in the merciless sun outside Tihar.

It lives magnificently at the India Gate Hexagon

And it lives in Gali No 10, Prem Nagar –

I can find it now.

It lives on the blue line to Vaishali

And a little bit on the Green line

(I am still unsure where it goes)

At 18, I remember dancing in the deer garden

To Delhi Drum Circles

And thinking,

Surely this is where Delhi lives.

I see now,

That Delhi does live beyond Delhi Haat and that market

Opposite IIT.

But just like at 18,

At 22 I can still not tell you

Exactly where Delhi lives.

I can tell you however,

Where Delhi began.

It began when -

An 18 year old,

Fresh to Delhi,

Turned to her friends

And said,

‘It’s 7 pm and my first day here.

 I should go home’.

And they turned to her

With matching grins

And said,

‘Stay out a little longer’.  

Songs

If I had to pick

And I do so hate to choose,

What defines us more –

Songs or Cars,

I’d have to say songs.

Though cars hold

A whole heap

Of memories too.

Remember when…?

Yeah, I thought as much.

Yesterday you said

My life was riddled with clichés

Or words to that effect.

I could hear the laughter in your voice

As always,

I had to agree.

So this is rather a clichéd poem and all.

But be grateful you are getting one

(I am rather broke, so this will have to do)

Songs are how I knew you first

No, not music

Though I know that is more accurate.

But you are always, forever going to be

A mosaic –a fucked up, taunting, irritating mosaic

Of all the songs you made me listen to.

Long ago

When I didn’t recognize the chick in the mirror

I see these days

Those songs painted a picture of her.

Yes,

Even that messed up Bon Jovi number.

And it is rather unfortunate

That a large part of my library

Is built by all the songs you threw at me.

It means I have shit taste in music

And need to be spoon fed good songs.

And yes, you are right once more.

So I would have liked to says cars –

Innumerable journeys in cars

Even going so very fast

On that highway

So I would cheer up

Even that

Can’t define us

As much songs do.

Because all those times

I sat and fiddled with music system

And played the most clichéd songs

(Like that sad, sad number by Muse,
God, was I a sad teenager)

As we drove through a city

That I learnt to love

(Well, a little bit)

It was the songs

That made the car journeys.

And it was you

That made all those songs.

Yesterday you were in a silly mood

And sent me the creepiest song lyrics

Ever.

Suckers, you big baby.
I am counting that creepy song

As part of your mosaic too.
What, you have a problem?
You told me I always get what I want.
(See that is a clever insertion of a song lyric,-

I wanted to clarify for your Engineering brain)

So it is with songs

That I always think of you.

Yes, including Soft Kitty.

And Sherlock themes

And that really depressing

Bollywood song.

You know the one.

It’s bloody lucky

There are so many

Songs out there,

Or else,

How would I remember you?

Cliche

Cliches are so,
For a reason .
And really, babe
When the light
Catches you right
You shine
Are sublime
Like a,
What shall we call it?
Like a,
Supernova.
So that's a cliche
Yes or no?
Castle tops
Are cliches too.
Let's do it anyway
Or maybe
Because of it
Rain is cliche
But this was
A mere drizzle.
Tree list
A bit much
To the left
Lean up
Against them,
Just so.
That's cliche
Too.
But it's
The kind
I'm awfully
Partial too.
Cliches come
Riding down
In hordes
And one cliche
That's all about
How we crash and burn.
Let's shred that one
To tiny bits
And kiss
On the remains.
In a very
Cliched
Sort of a way.

"Seize!"

You've got me spoiled,
Far too much.
Days and days
Of waking
Surfacing,
Grumbling,
All of that,
To your
Pretty, pretty face
And your
Dancing, dancing eyes.
Tis getting a bit difficult
To kick Morpheus away
Without you
As my personal alarm clock.
Everyone else gets seduced
Into my bed
And the land of sleep
Or just ups and leaves.
You are the singular
Singularity
That stayed,
Reclining
On my couch.
Coaxing,
Threatening,
Laughing,
Me
Out of bed.
You are sitting,
Creeping subtly
Into my brain,
Telling me,
I must
'Seize the day'
Flinging open
Shutters,
Proclaiming
The weather today.
You are all about the
'Seizing'
I am all about the
'Maybes'
And between the tewo
I arise
Compromise
All because
Of your smiling/scowling face
And try
To seize the day. 

Moon over Scotland(Sentinel Remix)- NaPoWriMo8

It's gotten late,
Very late.
The bus emptied
The further North
We got.
We left some idiots
In Newcastle
(It was pretty
In itself, though).
We left the idiots
And grabbed
The front seats.
So now,
It's gotten late,
Very late.
You are sleeping
Curled in on yourself,
Across the aisle
From me.
She is asleep
Curled in, on my shoulder.
We crossed into
The Scottish border
A moment past
The board said,
Welcome to Scotland
And it felt like,
Homecoming.
Suddenly,
The grit of the night
Has been rubbed off
By the light
Of the moon over Scotland.
This a late night
Sentinel watch. 
And for once
My heart is
Tender enough
To want to protect
You both
From everything.
This is a Sentinel watch
Just me
And the moon over Scotland.
That is company enough
Sitting at the front of this bus
Tonight,
My heart is
Tender enough
To promise
Anything, Everything
On this Sentinel watch.
Just two sleepers
A watcher
And the moon over Scotland. 

Sheesha-NaPoWriMo6

We call it
Hookah
Back home
(Wherever that is).
Sometimes I think
My wild, wild youth
Is tied up in stories
Of the hookah
In my room.
Smoke makes
My eyes sore
And my head hurt
But Sheesha smoke
Curls seductively
Down my veins
With a sweetish tang.
And the pain
Is worth
The payoff.
Sheesha thrums
In gentle hums
Around my head.
And watercolours
The world
In shades
Of BLOODY AWESOME.
I swear I could fly!
Let's get chinese!
Hey Emma, you ok?!
Woah, standing sober
Is challenging!
Yes, I think Chinese
Sounds great about now.
Yes, Sheesha
Recalls my
Wild youth
If youth
Is walking down London streeets
Wanting to fly.
It is.

Green - NaPoWriMo 2

Directly inspired by my eternal muse- she's been slacking off on the job lately.


I never think about
The color Green
All that much.
I'm more of a
Blues, Blacks, Reds
Kind of person.
But often,
Unobtrusive as you please,
Green sinuously
Seeps,
Bleeds,
Into my vision;
And I remember
Verdant trees
Lush with leaves,
Green.
Nurdan's scarf,
A deepish warmth
Home and love and,
Green.
Comfort and coffee
Stories and Starbucks,
Green.
Rosie's trousers,
Unsual, bright, calming,
Green.
For secrets
And whispers
Spring and Summer,
Green.
Connemara Hills,
Scottish Lochs,
Green.
Your eyes,
Brightly, acidly, joyfully,
Green. 

Country Roads - NaPoWriMo 1

We are hurtling
In a tin can
A tin, tin can
Down a country road.
It's a dark, dark road
And if you slid
Your eyes half mast
We could pretend
We were flying.
If we hit something
On these country roads
It wouldn't end well
And death lingers on corners
That darkly press closer.
But we are alive,
More than ever.
Country roads
Are winding
Dark distances
To infinity.
Your loosely clasped hand
In mine,
I'm flying
On these
Country roads.
I'm praying
For never ending 
Country roads
And I'm flying
With your hand in mine.

Running Away

So here is how we do it. Don’t ask questions, don’t say a word. Just listen to me. You are so good at that. You are the best at that.
This is what we do. We take my car. It isn’t a fancy car. It’s a tiny little turtle, in danger of being upended by a strong gust of wind. But its mine and by that extension, it is yours. So we’ll take our car. Throw our backpacks in the backseat, gun the sweet little engine, hook up the iPod to the aux and take off.

Let’s drive off. Remember, we agreed on the no cell phones rule. Once we get where we are going, we won’t be able to use them anyway. That sounds downright wonderful, doesn’t it? Let’s swallow up miles and roads and worlds and be born again. Let’s start climbing. I am not quite comfortable with mountain driving, but we’ll figure it out together. Fuck this car, WHY IS IT REVERSING, SHIT SHIT SHIT.

Phew. All good now. That was fun, wasn’t it? It was, I can see it in the sardonic roll of your eyes. I could read epics in the sardonic roll of your eyes. I have about 10 seconds before you break and we both are laughing hysterically because we survived that insanity and we have survived so much insanity and sure we weren’t born into rampant poverty and insane odds, but we were born into our brand of struggles and we survived it all and damn this sentence is long.

It smells better up here. It smells like home. I have never loved anything like I love the mountain pines. And unlike everyone else, you’ll let me roll down the car window and you might complain about the cold, but you’ll let me do it because you always let me do stupid stuff because you know the exact limits of me. Gosh darn, we had forgotten what the stars look like so far up, hadn’t we. They are shiny and clear and so, so, so pretty. We park the car at a side and get out and lean back on it and stare and stare and no one can tell us we shouldn’t. Finally some benefits to this ‘grown up’ thing. I was beginning to think there weren’t any. You smile at me and I know you are going to make some asinine yet insightful comment about love. I babble something and drown you out. I don’t want to hear about love. It is what it is, what is the point of talking about love? You let me drown you out, but your eyes are knowing and I can’t face the love they give over. We both are running away. I want us to run away. If I had my way, I would never stop running. Never ever.

But you won’t let me. You allow me insanity, stupidity, arrogance, cruelty and so much more. But you don’t allow me cowardice. So fine. Let’s run away for a little bit. The world below, the insignificant world below us with all those insignificant people doesn’t mean a thing, since you are here with me. But I suppose I will feel differently when we drop down again. Man, don’t you hate the crashes after a particularly good high? No, I am not smoking up, you idiot, why would I smoke up here of all the places? Let’s not think about the crash just yet. I am good at denial, let me teach you.

Let’s us talk about all the things we are not talking about. You love him, I know you do. I know he loves you. But sometimes that isn’t enough. And things get messed up. We are so young, so very young – how on earth do things get so messed up? As for me, you know all about me. I am a wanderer and an only child and I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone but you. Well, I suppose I have and I will, but I don’t think anyone will love me you like you do. I am scared, god damn it. I have never met anyone as deserving of my love as you and that is probably all kinds of unhealthy, but who cares about healthy. I am fucked over in the health lottery either way.

Happy now? We talked about love and we talked about how I run away from myself and how I am so good at it. And this time, I am taking you with me. Because you far too good for this world and I won’t say you are far too good for me but I will say you could have done better on the best friend lottery. So the least I can do is take you with me when I run away.

I wonder when we’ll hit high enough to make it snow? Remember the last time we saw snow together? It was glorious and the snow was better because it made you so happy. I have liked the snow more than ever since then. This could be a typical besties on the road movie. We certainly have the right playlist for it. So let’s sing (more like scream) till there is no air left to scream anymore and we have shattered the total peace of this landscape. There are mountains on every side and a long road ahead of us and we are running away.

It’s good to be alive, Chauhan and it is good to be alive with you. Look at the stars, look at the mountains. Look at the road. I have heard it goes ever on. You coming?

Postcards

Tomorrow,
Tomorrow is Sunday.
Glorious, glorious
Sunny Sunday
(Probably).
I think I shall
Get up in time
To see the sun
(Whatever little there is).
I think I shall
Go find a cafe
On a busy street
And hope my coffee
Is a starburst
Of perfect bitterness;
Tarty pleasure-pain.
I shall pull out
A sheaf of Postcards
And I shall write
Dear----
I have been missing you
Edinburgh is beautiful today.
I wish I could show you
How are things over there?
I'll address one to my
Father- tell him
'I thought of you
at Westminster
I cried at the grave
Of the unknown soldier.'
I thought of you.
One will go to a girl,
Who cares so much
One will go to a boy,
Who makes me cry
One to a girl who,
Keeps my heart
One to a boy,
Unexplainably loved.
One to a woman,
Who taught me myself
One to a boy,
Who makes me laugh
Another to a boy
Who makes me think - too much.
There are dirty dishes
Spread across the kitchen
There is hoovering
That needs be done.
I forgot to take the
Trash out- again.
My room is alight
With chaos- like my life.
Plans to be made-
Stretching to infinity
But I think
Tomorrow,
I shall go out
And write a few,
Postcards.

 

Memoriam

There are memories

I have concealed

Jealously

In deep hushed forests

Of dark pine trees

Each needle

A jabbing thought of you.

Deep memories

Buried in winter

That came tumbling out

Because a friend

Was owed some honesty.

Could you,

Make me feel a bit or more or too much?

Not today, not again

Always, forever.

I love you still

Madly and sadly

And differently

And samely.

I love you still

But there isn’t any still

In you or in me.

So I love you

Not as much as I should

Far less than I could

But more,

Far more than I thought.

Today

Today I spent

An age

Staring down

Blank, lined paper.

My laptop

Has a folder

Containing snapshots

By a camera lens

That adored

You both.

Today I hate you both-

A little, very much, 

Not at all. 

Today I wish

We weren't so

Screwed up together.

Today I don't want 

To be a living

Mausoleum; Of your 

Fucking love story. 

Today its 4:40 am

And I would like

A little love

A lot of sleep

And perhaps- absolution.

Today it's killing me.

Today I spent 

An age

Staring down

Blank, lined paper.