Graffiti

I tell him he is like a sponge, absorbing me into his very core. He breathes in my thoughts, impulses, tears, reflections, intuitions, desires. I paint weird graffiti on the walls of his mind, and he tells me I fascinate him. He wants to be closer to me. He wants to possess my mind. But I do not know what I am more fearful of relinquishing – my sanity or my insanity?

We talk of love and emotions, and the moon, the stars, the wind. He believes me when I tell him I love him, because I believe it too. Every moment is our moment, isolated from the rest of the world. But then the moment passes, and suddenly I am nothing and I am everywhere.

He tries to paint the insides of my mind, but it keeps wandering and slips from his grasp. And then I hate myself with a fierceness which he can only match with his anger.

Perhaps love does exist only within our minds, and what we should be saying is, “I want to love you. So much…”

Souls and mates

Time became distance. Soul mates we remain, only in memory. The ends of the world will be our years to come.

I had let time chew away the frayed ends of heartstrings. We were puppets succumbed to the very miseries of the world we used to curse.

You got what you wanted. I gave up what I didn’t want. It’s not the same thing.

I feel it cracking. I feel myself swirling. I’m suddenly afraid.

Why did I have to play the fool? Would it have hurt less if I hadn’t told him I loved him so? How do I stop myself from falling in the same trap, over and over again?

I have let time take you away. And now I cannot reach out and touch you. I can see you across the mirror, but my fingers touch only the cracked glass that reflects a broken me.

I was drawn to him because he is like me; simpler but fucked up just the same.

The universe won’t let you read me. You’d understand if you knew, wouldn’t you?

Random moods

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It’s the question that eternally haunts me: What should I believe? The words that form on his lips or everything else that he left unspoken? When our very connection was the silence of our conversations, did he say the few things he truly meant, or did he simply trust I understood everything he omitted saying?


People always want to feel special. Simply knowing themselves that they were part of something big is never enough. They want others to know it, and acknowledge it. They want to be treated like a conquering hero returning with the world on their backs. Sure, they’ve achieved something the rest of us probably never will. But it’s also true that while they’ve been away (spiraling up into the clouds) we haven’t exactly been tuned in to their frequency, listening in with bated breath as they make their dream come true. For us, life went on.

They say even a taste of fame changes you. It leaves you a different person, unable to fit in among the nobodies. They are all grounded when they start off, resolute in thinking they won’t change. And then it hits them, their first taste of the salty spray of fame. They are intoxicated, overwhelmed by greatness, pulled in deeper by the ever-changing tide and the waves. And they adapt to the ebb and flow, knowing their place will always be by the bay. ‘Mumbai meri jaan’…


“It’s not working out”, he says.

“I don’t understand. I thought you liked her. So what’s wrong?” I asked him.

“She doesn’t like me. We were only fooling around, just a physical relationship between friends. We’d always made that clear between us”, he says, trying to sound matter-of-factly.

“Did you tell her you like her?”

“Why would I tell her that?”

“Cause you like her”.

“I don’t give a shit about her.”

Rejection. It’s a hard blow to the face that knocks out half your teeth and breaks your nose. It was with difficulty that you’d let yourself fall for someone without the thought of getting too serious. Barely a day gone by and you’d begun to miss them more than you’d like to admit. The concepts of ‘love’ and ‘dating’ were beginning to make sense again. Who’d have thought you were to fall, only to fall harder, alone.

Don’t go too far

No, I don’t want him to be mine
But he goes and falls in love
As often as he does, which is often
And then I wish that he was mine

So I act all tough and indifferent
Till he realizes it’s me he wants
But there’s no way we’d say all this
Coz no, I don’t want him to be mine

If I did, one day I’d be distant
And there’d be no way to come back
So we just go on living this way
Hoping the other doesn’t go far

Conversations over coffee

A rainy evening strolled lazily
Into the open arms of a café
Where sat four spunky young lasses,
dressed in attires almost passé

The conversations were lilting
and the rain paused to listen
to the melody of their laughter –
So spirited in its composition

Their lives no longer inextricably weaved
But they embroider a beautiful pattern
on time-worn fabrics, a soft array –
of tears, smiles and tender heart’s burn

The taste of friendship lingers long
after the last dregs of coffee are gone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reunions with old friends are always the best. There’s that sense of familiarity that washes away all awkwardness accumulated with time. There’s the closeness and comfort that comes with knowing each other for so many years. These are friends who will know in an instant if something is wrong, or if you’re holding back something.

This poem is for my friends who made this weekend so much fun and interesting! Linking up with dverse, it’s Open Link Night! 🙂