When I look at you, and your Sombre curves, my eyes flitting between The slopes of the valleys, and heights of The ancient plateaus worshipped time after Time, and I see the ochre hues lining the Embonpoint. Why do I not want to know your Topography; or why Pi is 3.14 is not my concern!… Continue reading The art of poetry
Shehzadi! Fairy! My mother is calling out To me, and I have to go visit her at the edge Of the earth, not tumble down in the recesses Of the Prometheus. Wait! Did Prometheus just Eat Time, too? I feel engulfed, enmeshed in a Primitive shelter, viscous and transparent like The lichi fruits I once… Continue reading Foetus
I have collected few days in a glass Jar, and stored these days as a Charade of glitter, amongst shiny, red Butterflies that you once stole from my garden- Of columbines, You had laughed out loud at the name, do you Remember? No! Columbus didn't discover 'em, I screamed amidst a Peal of laughter, when… Continue reading A love letter
that loved asters, not knowing their nomenclature then, slept under the starry sky and thought if she could ever touch the infinite spaces my five-year-old self that loved her doll-house, and in the minutiae of a mirror broken by her father saw not the abuse, not the violence, it saw an elastic reality of her… Continue reading My five-year-old self
You might think that cuboid is a spelling Mistake, that it should have rather been a Cubicle that you see everyday, the edges as Familiar to you as the outline of the first kiss On your cheeks, as sundry as those wet days When you decide to get drenched in the rains Of December. Of… Continue reading Living in a cuboid
I stood at the old bus station, waiting For you. Or was it a new one in the old City? I foraged for answers when I sifted The grains of the sparrows, in those sepia Coloured photos, with ragged edges, trying To paste thin papers on thick boards, that Withstood the flood waters of the… Continue reading An old photograph
Red, Orange, said with the missing Rs. Ed, Oyange and Yay-yo, Yay-yo, you need an IQ of a genius to pronounce And, two out of six go out when Purple comes in Why the Rs and Ls play hide and seek with the little one The big Mum-iee fails to unde-sand!
Mum-iee, Paa-pa, the little one Calls out to us, with him around Every new day is a fun day, though Not when the eyelids are half-closed and we Look like those Komodo dragons found in The green grass, lazily basking in the glory Of the sun, making us jealous, we are sans The luxuries of… Continue reading The not-so-subtle art of parenting