Friday, 29 January 2016

falling in love with the wrong person

come, walk into my book, a gorgeous fantasy
there are chirpy chirpy birds, and bright bright sunrises
the wind whispers poems in my ears, the trees are
green green, and the flowers smell loud like perfumes
it’s beautiful, isn’t it?
come, look at the gorgeous man, his eyes, his smile
here love is when he’s too shy to look at you
or talk to you in front of his friends
or be seen with you in public
or be caught on the phone with you
when he’s pooping alone at home
here love is when he’s so nervous to talk to you
about anything other than himself
it’s not selfish, it’s love, he sticks to familiar topics
to a life he knows, he doesn’t want to be caught a fool
if hap stance you utter a word he doesn’t understand
he’s a hero, a real one, the kind you can’t find in the real world
but you have to *understand* him, his hurt, his pain
everything that makes him like needles right now
he does not bleed you to hurt
he bleeds you because he can’t help it
come, walk into my book, a gorgeous fantasy
exaggerated streams of a dream date
and picture-perfect first kisses
the love is lovelier than love ever was
the pain more painful than when the book is closed
there is hurt that never lasts too long
and every single day, I give this story a different happy ending

Monday, 25 January 2016

On Masturbation

Dress up tonight in your sexiest outfit, or just stay in those pajamas,
or even better- wear nothing at all; light some candles, or keep all the
tube-lights on – stare at your gorgeous skin- open your
legs wide and run your palm along the forbidden territories of
the body; feel the mold of your breasts, your nipples awaken from
the alarm of the pinch, and your mouth sigh at this casual intimacy;
slip your hands into your underwear, or just take the damn thing off,
rub the length of your finger along your clitoris, feel the thousands of
nerve endings send electricity to your brain; move your fingertips in circular
motions - both fast and slow, close your eyes and blank out the world,
whisper and moan and shout any name you want (or not); feel the speed
increase, the thighs tighten, the increasing pulse, the sound of bursting
heartbeats, and keep your fingers moving till your body breaks into you,
the head spilling with ecstasy for five seconds or ten; stay still, stare at
your tummy as it goes up and down, feel the hair on your body begin to rise
a standing ovation you truly deserve for your performance tonight.

Wednesday, 20 January 2016

When Meera died, they dissected her body looking for her soul
Scratched layer after layer of her dead blue skin
Shaved off her hair, took out the eyes
Carefully carved out what was left her smile
The left hand, the right hand, the right leg, the left leg
Sliced and given to each family member to look into carefully
Doctors were called to empty her torso, her soul must’nt get lost in the mush
Of the small and large intestine, the slight smokey lungs
The heart was the most important place, stories called it the soul home
The brain was handled by a neurosurgeon for everything in there creates
What is called the soul; the grandmother walked in and said
It must have hidden in her clothes!
Out rained her closet, all the colors so bright
Duppattas in the air, patialas, and shirts
Sumitra di almost found a sweater that smelled like her
They found her 18th birthday red top, and earrings gifted by a person she truly loved
The tailor-made pair of loose, long pants, and the beloved lehenga worn twice a year
The t-shirt she wore everyday for a week, and her favorite summer shorts
They searched and searched from bra to sock, but the soul just seemed to be lost!
Dad came out with her diary, the sacred private place
She poured herself in this for so long, my Meera must be here
The pages came tumbling out, they had held her world so long
But all paa could find in there were the lyrics of their favorite song
Quotes that Kabir had shared, a conversation she once had with Uma
One entry sounded like Rudra, rough and raw, sensuous and kind
Another had Naina between the words as she went on about the depths of the mind
It held the usefulness of mom’s meditation, the meaning of her favorite word
There was background music produced by Sid, his world inside her world;
A mangled body, scattered clothes, a private diary no more
When Meera died they dissected her life, searching for her soul.


Later that year when Kabir died they dissected his life searching for his soul
What a surprise it was to find Meera as they emptied out his drawer.