2014, in poetry

I leave,
and leave again

because they know not,
the unsweet world,
that lies outside

a world that
needs me to hold
warm and fuzzy, all
the right places, traces

of love's love,

cold, just
enough dry
in all wet 


there is a place
in your heart that
all their warmth,
the loveliness,
your parents

cannot fill.

only fitting
'tis, that the first
day of the last
month falls
on a 


you know, not
a disease, 'tis
but also 


a mere
falling in,
and falling 


for if your heart
is hurting, 

let it hurt

if it wishes
to weep,

let it weep

if it cannot help
but tremble

let it tremble

if all it wants
is to die,

let it die

this, I promise
it will, at last

pour itself out.

so badly

Is that me?

because it could not,
quite possibly be


the love

out, asunder

I feel like

my heart is a flower
that I want to give
just everyone

too old
you are, and
too far along this
road of life,
to be she

who you,
are not; and 
far too evolved to 
open another
door when

the first,
has yet to be
closed firmly shut;
this too shall
pass, and

you must
let the wait,
fall in its own wake
as organic as 
can be

meray jaisa

inconsistency, sure
'tis tiresome, but you 

know what?

many a comfort lies,
in being aware of

just that;

in being able to count
on not being able to 

count on.

and there you have it;
whether it is known, 
or it is known not

you love, and 'tis
kindling, your heart;
for never did it congest

unless of course
you are of superior
incessant, almost manic


and spear right through
your own facade
the lie, your


making you
believe, pathetic
almost, far beyond


knocking on that door
made-up, cobwebs
all this while

the thing with mankind
is that we are able

to convince ourselves
of just about any


even truth that
isn't the truth

life is too short
for the time it takes
to make (stuff) up

all heart

time and again

that is what
the world will do

grows you up

and all at once

you just try

as is feasible
not to scramble

and one day you will find all the yesterday I ever wrote and 'twill be bitter be sweet sweet, sweet sugar sleep so much heart

But that my shade is sparse,
if only I had much else to give

Stupid fool
with a stupid heart
full of stupid love
for a stupid world

So full of envy
how then, can you

claim love?

To own all your own

To be able to say
I miss you

but I am happy

in my

It is all one

The suburban beauty of my hometown, brimming to bits with ambition, she remains yet another ball of subdued fire as I parry finding her hope

Each piece of writing more important than the last 'tis an amalgamation of everything you have learned—each poem everything you have yearned

'Tis in that I feel everyone, I find all inescapable

It is all seamless really; dilon par seema toh hum ne aur aap ne milkar khheenchi hai, phir isay paar bhi hum aur aap ko milkar karna hai

of everything
die hard we could ever
have to give our friends
they cherish most of all
the absence of the
presence of our

I want this night to end, but it refuses to leave me

The world will always be bigger than you; aap ka kaam hai, aap ki ddhundhi huee kahaani aur isliye: You just stick to your story

All this gravity-defying, pseudo-intellectual fitting in, standing out when it is (almost) a life's work how to just be you

All this worry
about getting old
when we have learned barely

how to be young

Brighter than you are dark sweeter than you are bitter gentler than you are kind; and 'tis this ferocious heart that will find you a way

Leaving far behind the abuse, its savagery you wake from the nightmare to how much you were once loved and by how many; wrenched, your heart

Har ek lamhe mein hai bhi aur nahi bhi humari, aur aapki har ek kahaani

You are not interesting, and I am boring toh phir aakhhir jaayein kahaan?

aik safar hai there is no arrival like you and I have always been told; the struggle one day at a time

I don't think

you stop believing in love

as a result of anything

(or anyone) else, but the
sole recognition of your
own dysfunction

Anonymous, in no way, shape, or form


In an immigrant world that can be far from kind, at least you can give your parents benefit of the doubt a fair chance


Uss paar dhundhtay hain shor jabkay mili huee hai khhamoshi humein yahaan Hongay wahaan dhundhtay raheingay issko bhaaga kareingay uss say

My heart
gargantuan engulfing from the inside out

To escape yourself, you immerse yourself in yourself—yeh aakhhir kahaan ka hissaab hua?

It is like
I am outside
all these boxes
I have already been
on the inside of

Tempt, and
they beckon
but I know all
that there is
to reckon

Logh pohochtay hain khhwaab puuray karnay
hum toh niklay hain khhwaabon ki talaash mein

nahin bhi milein, toh bhaiyya
kya chaahein bhi naa?

Each person you encounter—
of what you had that they did not
what they have that you do not;
the calculating is endless
the respite, phantom

Chaahay bin seema ke ho,
par ager junoon ho thandaa, toh
apni aag mein, faqat khhamoshi se
sambhlay huay, thheheray se

sab le jaa sakay hai

You cannot fight
what you do not acknowledge

for which, you must
first understand

after which,
the fight may
leave you

after all

Sexual abuse
(for the long, or short of it)
may turn you off sex,
off even (wo)men

but what it
does not turn off



All we have 
is what we know, 
of each other


There must be 
a fundamental error 
in your biological 

for them all, 
to always only 
almost fall

Loss in death, 
being jilted in love, 
of treasured books, 
a place called home, 
each define nicely, 
the paradox:

Trying not to miss them

What it must be like 
to just as easily, effortlessly 
unlove a person, 

the ferocious intensity 
with which you let them 
read your heart

What if, 
there really were 
not one other person, 
a reflection of your heart; 

is it all the same then, if you end up 
with just anyone?

They fail me, 
the lies on your 
immaculate faces; 
for, of what real value 
is even the most beautiful 


Piece of cake; 
your heart grows heavy, 
then it is light, once again 

'Tis the coming to terms 
with inconsistency 
that is wrenching

You, specimen of delight, you; 
no wings to speak of, after all 

Oh, but can you soar!

of course, 
the question is 

would you rather be warm, 
than breathe; be safe, 
than free?

I know, what it is 
you are looking for 
and 'tis not even love, 
but warmth

'Tis cold 
that is the worst 
beyond bones, and 
into our soul

Profound really, 
how everything from
languages to people, 
matter to character,   
virtue to vice, 
faith to art 

is essentially all math

For you can be afraid everywhere;
then why run away anywhere?

All there is to do, 
with the bottomless surplus 
of gold-coloured confetti 
in my heart

is to give it away

If not compassion,
what am I

What am I,
if not hope

For never did I learn,
to keep my secrets

to myself

Bursting of hope, 
one side of this night; 
keeper of shards, 
the other

My heart, 

'Tis full; 
my heart, 

Nothing interesting,
ever actually interests us;
somehow, however, we continue to need,
more than we actually need

Of what use 
are arms wide open, 
when 'tis your heart 
that is closed,
wide shut?

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