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!

Shelter.

The purple umbrella moves gently,
Trying to keep the rain at bay
Making sure it doesn’t touch
The vibrant palette which gives
Colours to my day,
The purple umbrella spins slowly
To keep the sharp light away
So that it doesn’t dry the
Palette that coloured it,
The purple umbrella, yet again,
Shelters me from the autumn rain
When the sun has shrivelled
Giving way to the cold days, and
I know this because all this while
Your fingers were holding on to it,
Never loosening the grip,
Never letting my palette run dry,
Or wash away,
Like the purple umbrella was
A paper lantern to your
Starnight sky.

Colours.

Sitting under the Red Maple tree
Mindlessly playing with the fallen
Leaves, auburn skies teasing
Warm sighs, I felt bright titian
Dance lightly across my
Bare shoulders,
As I heard a whisper asking me to
Use my colours before they fade away
Like emerald memories turn into ash
When they touch summer’s gold waves,
Or before they get lost under
Abandoned worn and torn cushions,
Or get drowned in loud
Off-beat melodies,
And I began counting all the shades
Of purple in their panicked rush,
Streaks of white in the clouds above,
The yellow sun, the red rose,
And a heart so pink,
The orange leaves hiding in my hair
Waiting to turn green,
And the rainbow mist around,
Creating seasonal striations
In the colourful air.

Notes.

Her fingertips touched the keys
Slowly, like a walk in the mist
And sweetly, like her lover’s story
Strung out from his heart,
Strong, like wild fiery roads
She was so used to walking on,
And musical symphonies exploding
In a thunderstorm, confidently,
A little wildly, like sensual fire
Orchestrating from every single note,
Focused, her mind ran like
Mozart’s fingers,
Her fingers ran like
Beethoven’s mind,
And she wrote her own poem
On the keys of her piano.