Craving Life

Even if ruins stink of rotten antiquity, poor’s hands and mouths still search for treasures in ruins, and one dense night they get to lick one or the other edible pearls and deposit them in their box of ‘everyday’ . There’s always hope in gutters; there’s always a bright possibility lying wide awake before the…

To Symmetry

We are selling a piece of ourselves everyday. It better be to those who are willing to buy. Or else, there’ll be an apocalypse. I think that’s where all the walls started to be built. The partitions and curtains, substituting see-through umbrellas. The particles learnt the concept of ‘excess’. Our emotional state needs emotional nourishment,…

To a Bitter Truth

A queen’s daughter is not a queen. A king’s son is necessarily a king. A queen’s son is again necessarily a king. A king’s daughter may not be a queen. Royalty is sexist, congenially speaking. Like the rest of the anti-feministic reprobates. If you’re an anti-feminist, you’re a threat to normalcy. You should join the…

War

The hands that clapped for art also touch a child’s genitals. Are the hands dirty? Or clean in intellect? Humanize humans and save the chores of logistics. Humans are beautiful from an acute angle. Do no tilt your head. You’ll meet the ugly facades. You may like that. You’re a human after all. Layers of…

The Dystopian Emergence

Dogs are degrading to humans. They have real problems now. The male wants to rape the women. (Now that he has a full functioning brain to exploit) Dogs ambled along a long way to meet their destiny. And in fear, willing to self-destruct over anything. The humans they used to adhere to the ground of…

Yours, Red

The freshly-nibbled red on your lips calls out for identity chills. Not the name and sex on the burnt paper you like to carry around your neck. Your name pretends to own your persona. Tricky scrabbles don’t alter the coal mine in you. Still everyone should change their name(s) once in a while. To dash…

Lunacy

Only a lunatic can smell the flowers. Would you practise madness in order to smell? Would you nurse insanity for nature’s sake? Did you prepare the unacceptance speech for the spectators? Your neatly trimmed French cut needs to be modernized Into the bushy beard of unbidden guests we call insects. And the insects mingle with…

The Prey

Read aloud the last ten pages of sacrifice. The subdued ones. Myriad layouts of grief. The burnt ones. Rainy day fiascos. The glaring afflictions you muse on to celebrate. Let yourself go to the abysmal abyss, The scented clouds of expensive angsts, Gather your miseries inside the Pandora’s Box Bitter bits of ‘my life is…

The Part We Don’t Want

The curtain goes up and we dream, Not the poet’s suave rhapsody of liquor and bravery. Poet’s contemplation is a myth of the memory. Lost tears won’t be taken to World’s end, Supremacy’s lullaby won’t cost you a dime, Freudian brewing won’t come in handy. You dream when you dream of sexuality You moan and…

Republic Day

There should be a home within a home. A window, an attic or something akin to it. Or, if a closet works out for you, that should be fine too. A place to drive away yellow noises. To surround yourself with life as if you’re reclining on the soft carpet of a reverie. Detach yourself…

A Snap of Delirium

People are living since the very moment they were forced to by nature and its whims. People are trying to live since they were introduced to art and its catastrophes. Some people gave others reasons to live. Some accepted it on the verge of becoming another artistic relic. How do some people live without experiencing…

Dawn

The last time I noticed the giant clock at the station, it was 10:40 pm. The time I am stuck at is 5:04 am. Dawn. The beginning of sun-scented streaks of daylight that I never even experienced. It’s the sunset that mattered. The hide and seeks; how the orange piece of dream would hide altogether…

A Festival of Light

A palette of crayons dancing in the naked rain. More than ever, I see immobile verses in motion. Light and heavy. I see the long islands of people illuminating the sky lanterns only to part with its light. With the shadow of an old sun comes the dawn of a new moon. And with the…

Sugar Pie

I’m swapping the slices of a huge sugar pie. Uniformly menaced slices. Proportionately cremated on each side. I swap them today, then the day before tomorrow. Each time trying to replace it with a larger slice. An impossible itinerary to a much bigger outcome.   I look outside. A white-caped lamp post heading north-west, Accompanied…

Monotone

There may not always be subjects or the sheer hypocrisy of a form. But there’s always convulsion in monotone. Even the most explicit sky comes with the tail of a knocked-up rainbow. The stack of clouds rules out the humdrum sky over the horizon, turning themselves into another white streak of monotone in the end. The…

All the Colours

How do you grasp a canvas in the finite span of a day? Like the faded shadow of a half-built Goddess, the fluffy red ripping the leaf of clouds in the middle of a sundown, the tiny ripples of smoked sky facing the contaminated river, the white on the sundial. The first of the month…

Music on My Mind

The solitary gush of feelings is pouring out on my headphone at the brink of another evening. Blame the guitar The Eagles has been playing for quite some time now. Another guitar is being played in my neighbouring room by a girl of my age. Two distinct chords. Two different fluxes of rhythm. Yet they’re…

Insignificant

I’m surfing the music that parts its way from the most conventional tempo, motion, rhythm; every piece of it except the form of music itself. Everyday we’re moving another millimeter closer to death and scariest of all, life. We’re losing another day to death and gaining life through experiences. A parallel journey towards the dawn…

All about Tonight

I wear a denim hat every night jamming with baggy t shirt and outgrown shorts, while indistinct favourites lie on my bed. A second-hand Ayn Rand, The Beatles echoing through the see-through deep blue curtains. A nerdy minion, enraptured by the brown cover of a book, is slipping out of the bookmark at page 80….

Another Story

A circular road breaks off the daily race of human conventions and floats against the stereotypes of the century. A narrow path diverges from the daily hankering for fuel and defiled breaths of thousand people lurking in daylight. On its right, the kitchens of mediocre momo joints dole out the waste of last ten decades,…