Melancholy.

September 28, 2011 § 3 Comments

Clear blue skies
and sunny days have
no meaning. When desire
and shadows of ‘success’
billow and writhe you
like serpents around
your neck.

Surely some tenderness
waits in the fingers that
touch mine, assuring that
things happen for ‘good’.
Hollow assurances that
but, give a false sense
of security.

Churned mind, nuzzling
whatever appears to be comforting.
Even if temporarily. Loss
of dimension and sanity,
bruised ego, and a broken
heart.
I have done little but
bleed since the wound
of this place opened up.

Whose hand casts the
spell that diminishes pain?

Am i?

September 27, 2011 § 6 Comments

As my heart races under
goose bumped skin,
tell me if i’m too weak
to devour every
word that comes out
of your mouth.

Or say if i’m not.

Send me.

September 25, 2011 § 10 Comments

Send me that moonless night you couldn’t get through
And the poems you wrote for her when she loved you.
Send me that song you sang for her, each time you met
And the image of those eyes you can’t forget.
Send me those memories you’ve wrapped in green
And the times you told her to come back, in vain.
Send me that pillow you’d cried on when she left
And the feeling of love-lost that slowly crept.
Send me that night-star you wished upon
And the pain-stuck smile you carried along.
Send me all of those times you wanted her back
And that part of your heart, she’d hacked.

I’d take them all, set ’em ablaze
and bury the ashes.
Come with me. There
must be someplace
for two mad people.
We’ll find it.
Come.

Stranger.

September 23, 2011 § 16 Comments

She stares at the stranger
in the mirror. And she
is stared back at.

The stranger with a raised
eyebrow. And blood
shot eyes.

Longing- her story.

September 21, 2011 § 2 Comments

She stands in the verandah
looking at the rain caressing
the ground. She can, but
only think of him.
She loved the rains best
when he was around and
she knew she’d just have to
ask. He’d come. Always.

She kept it under control
all so that he does not feel guilty
for going. He didn’t want to, either.
But there were nights,
and long-long nights. When she wanted
to be held. And just whispered to.
But she only found herself
lying there in bed, satiated by a
phone call.

He’d return one of these days
and she’ll dance in the rain again
and kiss the violet skies.

’til then she covets and longs
and aches and dies for him.
Every minute.

Where Am I?

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