Tag Archives: love

See, the problem is..

We are not one species.

We are two species –
men and women.

We may look and
sound like each other.
but we are nothing
like each other.

Not even close.

But this is the fucking thing:
we fall in love.
Or what we both call love.

With two entirely
different meanings
beyond the realms
of language.

Love is the elephant in the room.

And we are
like two blind people,
groping at it, trying to
figure out what the
fuck it could be.

All our fucking lives.

Advertisements

Hippy

The only time I get
jealous 
of people is
when they  
post pictures
of themselves 
in Goa. 

Nowhere else.
Just Goa. 

It’s a short, sharp burn.
Like watching your first crush
smile at another guy. 

I don’t know why I
love it 
so much. 

May be because I was born
in the summer of ’69. 
Condemned to be a hippy.

There are prettier beaches,
lovelier seas but I don’t care. 
You can have them.

I guess it’s the only thing I’m
still possessive about.

Because I know it’s
the only love of
mine
that will last. 


All that is unsaid

‘ You know, I am a fan of
your poems, right?’ She asked,
her bright eyes glinting.

I am a fan of your existence,
I wanted to tell her.

Of your bipolar conversations,
your dyslexic plans,
your warm honey voice,
your young-boy hips.

Of  the way
you care too much
or not at all 

Of the way you kiss
and the way
you walk away.

Of your fierce gypsy spirit
and your ability to conjure
flowers and butterflies and
lush green things.

Of your love for animals and
your distaste for people,
your funny feet,
and your easy laughter. 

But all I managed was
‘Thank you so much’


Daft

Like a phoenix
love rises again and
again from the ashes.

We never learn.

It’s staggering.
Our capacity for hurt.
Our talent for ruin.

This incendiary heart
combusting spontaneously
with every passing spark.

Consumed every time.
in the forest fires of want.
Losing every happiness in
the blazes..

Singed but never careful.

It’s what makes us
beautiful.

Our stupidity.


No?

Don’t do this.
Don’t give me hope.

Despair is the glue
that’s holding
me together.

It’s easier to breathe
when it’s routine.

Don’t talk to me
about rainbows
as I stand here
shivering in the
cold rain.

I don’t want to know
how warm it’s in your
arms and where
your smile ends.

It’s cold in here but
I am used to it now.

I don’t want to
know which songs
make you cry or
how you look
sleeping.

Nothing lasts.

So let’s not start
anything.


Bam!

I was a train wreck.
You were a car crash.

Two disasters.

Yet it was good we met.
We were good for each other.

Like two negatives
making a positive.

Electric.

The impossible
love of the damaged.

You slapped some
sense into me.

I shoved some
calm down your throat.

We fixed up each
other up as best
as we could.

Helped each
other stand.

Helped each
other walk.

And walked away
before we ruined
each other.

The final act of kindness.


Zip

This is a
performance poem.

Typed in the bumpy
backseat of an
three wheeled
auto-rickshaw.

Bouncing along
at breakneck speed
on potholed by lanes.

The air thick with
the smell of Jasmines
and urine.

I grip the edge
of the seat as we
whiz past
blurs of tired faces
bathed in
bright light.

Whoa!

We miss
a couple of  teenagers
on a bike by
by a whisker.

High speed Insults
are exchanged.

Cut to a
big round moon
shimmering over a
silver sea.

It’s insane.
Everyone in this town
is high.

This drug called Mumbai.