Tag Archives: Indian poet

Old Lovers

Old lovers, they say, go the way of old photographs
They fade away until only the outlines remain
But you, my darling, stay in photographs
And we love through words and sigh to ourselves.

What wouldn’t I do to entangle myself
In your sheets as if they were mine
In your limbs, as if they were mine
In your life as if you were mine?

All I have is your general outline
And yet, you do not fade away
I draw me your face, its shadings
Pimples, and then moles, and then you a whole.

Inspired by this quote by my Queen Margaret Atwood:

Old lovers go the way of old photographs, bleaching out gradually as in a slow bath of acid: first the moles and pimples, then the shadings. Then the faces themselves, until nothing remains but the general outlines.


To the gods in Kathua

did the gods cry when they heard her screams?
when she thought of monsters under the bed,
did the gods feel guilty?
when she was scared, and trembling,
did they wonder how to get out of their prisons?

did the gods feel ashamed?
when the monsters rang their bells
and punished her for the ostensible crimes of her ancestors
on both sides who spread nothing but hate
in the name of fictions they believed,
did the gods feel ashamed?

did the gods feel anger?
did they rage, rage, rage
while her life faded away
in the hands of the monsters
pretending to be guardians?

did the gods care?
while a young body was annihilated
to satiate a thirst for vengeance
the fires of which their ancestors kindled
when they were gluttonous?

why did the gods not care?
why did they not start a raging tempest
an irate tornado, a turbulent hailstorm
against the pathetic, fallacious monsters
masquerading as mere mortal men?

why did the gods not care?
why did they not break their bangles
and adorn themselves in white
and walk themselves into unholy fire-

for what use of reverence,
when monsters take turns to anhilate young bodies in gods name?
when monsters exterminate,
and hate everyone who isn’t the same
when monsters laugh and feel no remorse?

why did the gods not dissolve themselves in shame?

Darling, this is where I leave you

You play and you play till I cave
One word from you, and I’d still concede
In the winter of life, darling you were the month of May
But now all I’m left with is shades of blue.

I wrote about you eay more than i should have
And talked about you to anyone who would pay me heed
I cried about you every single day,
But, darling, this is where I leave you.

I leave you, not because I want to
Dignity is nothing when you are away
But I have to let you know I have no misdeeds
Even though to this pity party I’ve been invited late.

Did I not even deserve a goodbye from you?
Darling, loving you was all dark gray.
And even though I may miss you Rashid
Darling, this is where I have to leave you.

Make believe

I live in a world of make believe
And pretense. The sky is always blue
The sun-warm as a McDonald’s hash brown
The river always flowing, the leaves jewelled with dew.

You are a blank canvas
I paint on with acrylic
My dreams tranquil
As the sound of the rain.

I wish you upon a star
And at eleven eleven
I give you my entire being
And you feel like heaven

Skin on beautiful skin
Fingers intertwined
Ghost of a smile in your eyes
And that’s how I know you’re mine.

But I live in a world of make believe
And you don’t really exist
You let my fantasies live
So how can I resist?

Erasing you

I rub rub rub
Till my skin is the colour of the setting sun
Kind of like you, a little
Perfect, I’d said.

I scratch, scratch, scratch
At the wound till it bleeds
And stays unhealed
It hurts less than I hurt when I think of you.

I scrub, scrub, scrub
You away from my skin
But the feel of your touch lingers
Like a phantom limb.

I break, break, break
The habit of you.
That’s nothing compared to
My shattering heart.

Favourite Poems: February 2018

This year, I’ve decided to read a poem a day. It gets difficult to quantify, sometimes, mainly because a) I’m exploring what’s poetry supposed to mean, and b) I like reading poetry collections. In addition to poem/day, I’m also trying to read a poetry collection each month. (But at this point I’m sure I’m just showing […]

via Favourite Poems: February 2018 — Dreamy World Of The Sleepy Girl

Being with you.

Darling, I have no words for you

How do I write about you?
You are a hurricane that hit my soul
When all I felt was blue
You waltz in, all true.

We’re a whirlwind, from our debut
A genesis that ends anew
But I don’t care, I don’t care
As long as I’m with you.

I want to go off the hook
So, your messages won’t come through
But how do I erase you from my skin
So, I get back, back with you

With you, it’s la vie en rose
A world where my roses bloom
But we’re sewn together with glue
And even your echo would do.

Happy Valentine’s Day to those who celebrate, I guess.

Twitter: @WallflowerBlack