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. 

Voice.

I won’t apologise

If my voice pierces your ears 

And shoots across the sky, building 

Skyscrapers, and hitching to

The clouds above, and 

I won’t apologise 

If my compelling thoughts,

Sharp as a razor, clutch 

Your heart and claw their way in,

Pumping your blood with 

My dreams, and again, 

I won’t apologise 

If you have to savor 

The flavour of my words 

On your tongue, against your 

Acquiescence on a chilly night 

Because my words 

So silver and so heavy 

Carve stones of my name on 

The ground I repeatedly stabbed

With my ideals 

When I wrapped your unsettling 

Nerves around my neck 

Like a sacred medallion echoing 

The sound of victory, so rare,

So daunting, and so loud 

That my sudden, sly blows

Might make you falter and 

Scoff at my shadow,

Waiting for my edges to smoothen, 

But I’ll let you know that 

I’m still just as unapologetic. 

Dreams.

​I realised that it’s 

Best when we do not 

“Fall” in love so much as

Let it meet at the door and 

Allow it to blossom with us, and 

Let it dress us in words that

Dance with laughter because I 

Can’t come up with a single 

Adjective to describe the 

Sheer delight of having it

Knock on my door as I 

Stand behind it starry eyed 

Watching all my dreams fall 

Into place, one by one, 

Spinning it into a story I have 

Been dreaming about ever since 

My fingers first reached the doorknob. 

Sometimes, for all our wariness, 

Dreams do come true. 

Fragments.

You would call me a fool for
Making fun of his messy hair,
His huge hands, his raspy voice,
The way he rolls his eyes and
How his shoe size can fit an
Entire town, and his broad back,
But the truth is
I like it – all of it, because
I can ruffle his messy hair
Any time, shamelessly.
His hands are just the right size
For me to envelope mine
Through them;
Or he could do the same.
His raspy voice is a weakness for
It compliments my squeaky one,
Oh, and how a little giggle escapes
His mouth each time he playfully
Rolls his eyes at me.
I like that I can hide my feet in
His shoes to keep them warm and
Then put them away
Just to spend a little more time
With him, and
I don’t mind his broad back
Because I could always climb
On it, or hide behind it;
My own safe place.
I like him for the way these
Fragments move together to
Make him who he is, and
How I like him for this,
Hoping the feeling is mutual.

E-Love.

Heartfelt words picked
With such care and time
Caressed through the receiver
As my fingertips dazzled with
Words my heart spoke,
Beamed right through the wire.

My dreams dance, rocket,
Spark in the cables,
The cords catching and unveiling
My encrypted feelings,
Sending them to the sky,
Stars shining, doubts untangling.

Each phrase dances at the
Edge of time where all
My fears fade when I imagine
All my desires melting on
Your screen in the form of
Blinks and flashes.

After a couple of beats,
The clock ticks again when
I glance at the brittle metal
In my hands which beeps with
Your text and all I see is
My glowing cheeks and
Your waiting smile.

Yearning.

Hundreds of unseen messages,
A dozen calls unanswered, and
Plenty of unread mails ended in
A night’s drinking and a
Couple of bets gone wrong,
Watching romantic movies on a loop,
From Titanic to Casablanca,
The Vow to Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Giving ways to dreamy sighs and
And frustrated cries,
Hearing Damien Rice on repeat,
Singing along off key but with
The same longing and love
That rises after reading
Jane Austen at night, and
Waking up thinking of the
Magic created by Charlotte Brontë,
Having memorised all the
Love poems by heart, till my
Energy was drained and all
My emotions rained, but
Cupid still won’t return my calls!