Monochrome.

If there’s one thing I’m sure of
It’s that this world is grey,
Like a black and white photo that’s
Out of focus,
Capturing a colour palette coloured in
Different shades of grey.
Never knew that loneliness came in
So many hues, and grey had a variety
Of its own.
The gardens, the road I walk on,
The skyscrapers touching the monochrome sky,
Everything is grey.
There’s no exception.
I’m hopelessly trying to find my purpose
In this black and white photo, but
It’s in vain.
You found me in this city of grey, and
“Good morning”, is what you said, and
I kept looking for the “good” in that “morning”
Only knowing that there isn’t one,
With every “good morning” comes a
“Good night”,
A period,
The end of a sonnet,
The last line of a ballad.
Your voice was like the rainbow after
A heavy downpour, and
I hated basking in it because
Rainbows weren’t supposed to exist
In a world of grey.
The husky nature and the velvet drawl
Of your voice haunted me for
Days,
Weeks,
Months,
Maybe even years,
When I finally figured out that
Your voice is colourful.
It was a scary realisation,
I was terrified
Because you gave me a palette
Of colours I didn’t know existed, but
You were still silver.
The silver lining to my grey cloud,
The only exception to my grey dreams,
The only one to paint my city golden.
I fell in love like autumn leaves,
Easily
Swiftly
Smoothly,
You were my purpose in the
Black and white photo, that
Now had found its focus.

Anchor.

If I were to describe our relationship,
Normalcy isn’t the word I’d use, but
Not because we lack it, but because
There’s so much more to it than a
Mere routine. It’s not normalcy;
It’s a balance.
You’re my 2am text message, and
You’ll be my 3am phone call
Whenever I’ll be drowning,
Not knowing how to escape it,
Only knowing you’ll be there,
Or if I feel like something is missing,
You’ll be that one phone call.
There’s pin drop silence in my room
Right now, it’s also almost midnight, but
Here I am, penning this down while
Listening to your song covers, and
Laughing at your distorted pictures
On my phone.
Your birthday is near, and I wish

I Could be there
In person to tease you relentlessly,
But I’m afraid I won’t be,
And I apologise,
For being distant lately,
For not being a good friend,
A helping hand,
Who promised to be there
Till the end,
And beyond.
A shrill, warped voice inside my head
Tells me
You wouldn’t wait, and you’d get tired,
Of waiting,
Standing,
In the dark, and
I wouldn’t hold it against you
If you do.
It’s strange writing this to you,
For you,
Not knowing where it’ll lead to,
Or how it’d end, but
You’ll always be my anchor,
That one phone call.
Here’s to crossing another milestone
In your life, and
For many more to come.

Confusion.

My mind was a whirlwind of
So many contradicting emotions
At the same time, that
I felt chaos consuming me.
Baffled and clear,
Bewildered and lucid,
My thoughts were ambiguous and coherent –
Confusion was the only note the voices
In my head could reach, and
I felt I was in the corner,
I felt I was in the spotlight.
We kissed last night –
You and I,
Your heavy breath mingled with
My exasperated one,
Marking the silhouette of my mouth.
With every stroke of your tongue
Against mine, I kept losing
My ground, and
All the nerves in my body and
All the enunciations in my mind
Made me question if it was just
Our lips that met,
Or more?

Rebellion.

Have your ever felt like you’ve
Wanted to be insatiable,
Unobtainable,
Untouchable,
But your wings are glued to your back and
Your tongue is tied by the invisible thread
Binding your words, or
Have you ever felt like screaming your heart out
Lyrically and passionately,
But weren’t able to find the “appropriate” word,
Or the “correct” synonym,
Because I have.
I’ve wanted to be reason I’m awake at night,
The reason I’m haunted by the all the words
Choking my throat,
All those thoughts I’m swallowing, and
All those beliefs trying to claw their way out
In the form of a free verse,
Without being stopped by rhymes,
Or the correct punctuation,
Without being told my sentences can’t
Reach a page they don’t belong to.

I want my words to roam around,
To string themselves into stanzas
Freely,
To lose themselves in the world of passion,
And to morph into a book of beauty and
Strength, without any shackles.

I want my stanzas to reincarnate as
A free verse.

Stars.

Like a young swan
I swim in the middle of the night,
Reciting poems as I float,
Whispering to the stars above and
Trying to convey my dreams to them.
Dreams of helping me get some rest,
Some peace,
Just some sleep.
The water’s so deep that
I look around for a window
Or a portal to teleport me
To the stars in
My flesh and bone,
And into the mantle of their
Burning lights.
The stars, so out of my reach
Call me, enrapture me,
Hypnotize me with a cautious
Calculated gentleness, and
I keep floating, struck by a sudden and
New found charge,
Possessed with knowledge I never knew
I knew, and
Reaching out to the stars
As they reach out to me
Engulfing me in their flames.
Now I’ve found a home
In the stars,
Hoping they’ve found one
In me, too.

Ink.

​The blank white page

Brushed against my fingers 

That held the brush, 

Dipped in a colourful ink, and 

All my inspirations came down 

Running, 

Splashing, 

In front of me, in the form of 

The arch of your back, 

The curves of your valley 

Kissed by the setting sun, 

Dimming the contours of your shape, 

Teaching me a whole new language. 

My mind drew the image of 

Your black locks, 

Resting on your face, 

Lighting up from the rays

Pouring through the curtains, and 

You were marvellous, 

We were beautiful. 

The twenty year old ebony table 

Carved with your memories, 

Firm, 

Battered, came into view, 

The wood peeling off, 

Yet so prosperous, 

Crucified, 

On the brink of solitude. 

My soul sang songs in this new, unexplored, 

Yet familiar language, and 

My mouth sighed its consonants, and 

My mind narrated the beautiful tale, 

But my hand still didn’t move an inch. 

Words.

​In a parallel universe

If people were words and 

The world was a book, 

Each day would be a new page 

Rustling, 

Turning.

Each event would be like

Ink spilled across the pages and 

We would notice

Big, fancy words 

Sipping green tea, surrounded 

By its aroma, sitting 

In an elegant plaza, dressed 

In rich, ironed suits, talking of

Intellect and philosophy in

Their posh language and voicing 

Their bold opinions, scrunching their

Noses at

Tiny, little words running 

In the corner, playing,

Jumping, 

Tripping and enjoying themselves,

Living each moment 

Freely, 

Innocently, and 

Interrupting the on going 

Sophisticated discussions –

Their honey filled laughter 

Pushing the posh language aside, and

Finally the big words would 

Crack a silent smile, proud 

Of the sound of the ringing laughter 

Spreading warm hugs in the 

Chilly winter season.