Drunk As Drunk

Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it – our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky’s hot rim,
The day’s last breath in our sails.

Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.

- Pablo Neruda

Wish Everyone a very Happy New Year!

a Miss

I missed the moon and the stars..
a ray of sunlight…or two?
i don’t exactly remember..
but more than anything, i so missed you, yes..
i have been doing this since..last..august?
no not august..november..yes..NOVEMBER..!
it’s hard to write a poem or a song, when one is missing someone..
and more than that, if you sit down to write one,
its harder to rhyme your words.
it’s like.. pasting that pitch perfect cactus,
on the top of all absurds..
you know..in the process of missing you,
my nothingness has grown busy..
i have tried hard to find you in the hotchy lanes of day,
and in the corners of my vacant dreamstreet..
but none’s too obvious or easy to show you..
and there stops my pen…

i will now go to sleep..i am tired..and my eyes are dizzy..

Malfeasance

This Parched heart wants not
All the milk of human kindness
Just the dark cold ash
Of your once lit desire for me…

- Neha

A few shairs [urdu]

Kaash meri zindagi mein tum aaye na hote,

Aankhon mein itne khuwab sajaaye na hote,

Itna dard jo mujhe tum de kar chale gaye,

Koi aya na hota tou yeh zulm dhaya na hota,

Kaash meri tanhai mujhse roothe na hote.

–Sheikha.

Waqt dhoka de gaya mujhe lekin

Tumhari yaadein abhi baaki hai

Kitni jaldi doobta hai suraj aur raat

Doob jaati hai apne hi andhere mein.

–Sheikha.

Isi andhere ujaale mein baatein ki tumse,

Jab parchai lagta tha tumhara paas hona.

–Sheikha.

Ilzaam doun bhi agar tou kis ko doun,
Meri taraf nazar kabhi huwi nahi tumhari,
Jalte hai hum khoobsurti se itna kyun,
Mujh par nazrein tiki nahi tumhari kabhi.

–Sheikha.

Ijaazat ho agar thori der aur ruk jaayun
Saari umar nikl gayi ab saansein baaki hai

–Sheikha.

The Painter Guy

He touched her face, gently, trying to read all the lines. All the pain that she had had to go through all these years. He took his time, surveying every nook of her body, slowly gently, trying not to upset any joy… any worry that might be nestled in it. Shoulders, elbows, ankles, thighs, breasts… His hands traverse her expanse and stop at her lips.

He had everything he needed to paint her on his canvas now. He left a small sigh in the tangled mess that was her hair and shoved his canvas into the trash can. He spilled his colors and made her walk in them, caressing the rainbowed footsteps as she made her way into the gloom of his heart.

He made her stop then and slowly, with fine strokes, he began to daub her with darkness. He worked patiently, worked hard.

When he was through… she no longer existed… And all that was left was a shade blacker than black…

Mercy

One upon a time there lived a king. The king was a very kind-hearted person and was liked by all, envied by few. The people were very happy in his reign. But king was not happy, he had a serious illnes, he was dying.

…crawling in my skin, these wounds, they will not heal

I live a life
that is so desolate
so confusing
there is no hope at all.

There is death
which is so easy, so full of fear
and life
the unknown.
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The Listless Shoe

A listless shoe, right in the middle of a bustling street. There are some who kick it and laugh as they walk by, there are some who shrink away from it. And then there are those who just stand in a corner and watch.

The listless shoe.
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Kites Inc.

Dear diary

I have for long not written anything… perhaps I am growing old. And yet I am only 23. Perhaps, it’s the climate, the heat… and yet I feel so cold.

I have been wondering about my life too often. What is it that one wants from life? A permanent state of bliss, where all entropy in the world is just a minor irritation… or is it stray incidences of sheer joy which act as catalysts, encouraging us to go on forever, looking in nooks and corners of this universe to find a hidden moment of pleasure, anonymous moments of truth and beguiling stances of togetherness and love.
More

Confessions of a Hate Filled Mind

I would forgive… if I was a little more godly. But I am not. I am a mortal. And I sin. Not forgive. I do not go to temples or churches to repent or confess. I make my peace with my guilt alone. I hold grudges. Yes. I do. I hate you for hurting me. And I always will.

I am a mortal.
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Bye Bye Bangalore

The last thing I remember about leaving Delhi would definitely be the heavy sleet in which my father deftly manoeuvering the car safely deposited me to the airport. As I later disappeared into the surging throng of human bodies, I saw him stagger to the car, knowing that he had lost his daughter to the world. More

The Violence Continues

When I was younger, my grandfather used to tell me stories about Pakistan. He would tell me of the glorious days spent there, the riches, the land, the beauty and all that west Punjab was. The love that the neighbours shared, how easy trust came in those days and of course the ghost stories. No story of my grandfather’s could be complete without a mention of the supernatural. With my growing up, the nature of his stories changed. He began to finally tell me about the killings and the blood spilling that happened during the time of the Partition.
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Conversations With God

“So…? Is this the punishment for not being religious?”
“No… I mean not really.”
“Then? I mean… I know I haven’t visited a lot of temples. And I know I think of him in the only prayer I attend and I know you might be pissed because I climbed all the way to Pahwagrh and never went into the temple and I know you are irritated because I tell everyone that I do not believe in you when I secretly do… but aren’t you supposed to be forgiving?”
“Of course… but you have to remember what you believe in. Karma. You have a lot of bad Karma lined up against you.”
“What sorts?”
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Durr lagta hai tumharey har vaade se, 

Tanha hi nazar ayi khud ko hamesha se, 

Har waqt jo palat kar dekhna chaha tumhe, 

Jab bhi kehte jaane se pehle mujhse ke 

Aankhein jhapakte mein wapis ajaunga, lekin 

Ek sadi beet gayi hoti thi tumharey lautne par.

-Sheikha

Whiskey, Whiskey

He’s a little bit of the sunshine
Just before the rain
A little like this quiet night
Before the cold winds came More

Post Celebration Aftershocks

He breathes his life into me… a small breath, that takes mine away. Breath. The sweet mint in his mouth, making me lose the aftertaste of the cheap last-of-the-salary Cigarette. He does it conciously knowing that my world is going to spin right out of its orbit and merge into his. No he doesn’t love me. He has made that amply clear. But this passionate optimism that I hold close to my heart. The fierce distrust and the nausea with which I regard him as the only man for me.

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