This city has become as empty as the rotten dumpsters
behind the abandoned alley down on 42nd,
and a generation lost in the abyss of mediocrity,
convinced that a fucking capitalistic fairytale will fix
their bloody excuse for happiness someday,
in the most nugatory attempt at feeling the entire trilogy
of bullshit that’s been sold to them as emotions,
That shit only feeds the hopeless cynic inside
that never had any faith redemption,
or the earthly Satan’s very own gospel cry;
Sure, the empty roads of this void have been kind to me, at times;
moulded the dough in my bones;
My love for it’s clogged drain ways and alcoholic dungeons,
filled with pretentious fucks,is somewhat the neurotic
relationship with an insane women, that I never had( thank the lord that i never believed in);
she was however right as she could’ve ever been,
and the times are always changin’;
only a red wine and four legged monster gives me
company worth more than a few thrusts;
time and loneliness are old lovers you see,
they never told you about it because the truth,
like most pseudo intellectual authors of modern era,
is fucking so hated with half of a brain ;
but that’s how their proportionality works my love,
the lonelier these nights gets, slower the clock runs,
I, on the contrary, seem to be stuck between
the endless drag
of the timeless and my little own soap opera transience,
which somehow always seems to be beyond my grasp;
well, fortunately broadcast only happens on one channel,
Unfortunately, “Netflix and chill” simply isn’t good enough company.


A Broken Window of Sanguinity

There is this different breed,
social animals,
the kind that look for broken love as they stumble through suffocating clubs,
drunk on the idea of something that they think is called love.
The peculiarity of such minds rests in their sense of being,
basking in the sunlight peaking out of a tainted window.
In the future, sipping tea to a view that’s all but another
page in the books that they’ve been aching to complete.
These people are disasters of sorts, but gosh it ‘s beautiful
to see their brokenness.
Or perhaps that’s too pessimistic a way to see so much innocence,
perhaps the rest is a little beyond, a little beyond what their heart even wishes to
Naive might be the right word,
and world might be too fucked up for them,
or them too fucked up for it.
I’m no jury,
but even god can’t deny that the world would be a little more gory,
without people with such mad optimism.
dancing in the open streets under a monsoon that never comes.

The One

It’s about half past four and the song,
that is playing right now, reminds
me of night from about a year back with
such precision, that its almost daunting ;

I stand at this cafe in dim light
with my friends talking
and there she sits across the table not
too far from where i was standing,
staring right at my eyes, and I’m pretty sure
i didn’t care about what my friends were talking
in there but i genuinely doubt she gave the slightest of fucks;

A couple of pints down,
in that moment,
nothing warmed my winter fire like
the smile she had on throughout,
to be honest it was almost a little distracting,
forgive me, I’d never quite been acquainted to
what i was feeling then,
this was strange kind of happiness that i knew nothing of,
so obviously i was questioning myself about
why i stood there smiling like an idiot ;

I reminisce about this night we sat in this
restaurant having a glass of wine
while I slipped it and she was explaining me the difference
between white and red wine, and
I kissed her gently outside, in this quaint hallway,
too quaint perhaps for a young soul to take in,
and oddly enough we were just about to fit perfectly
with each other, I think i even recall her telling me that;

I have no clue why I’m writing this fucking poem a
year later, I suppose I miss what It felt like
to genuinely fall for someone, trust me
when i say that, that might be hardest thing to
ever come by;

God damn it, I am well aware that
yesterdays are all dead,
but it is absolutely ridiculous what one song can do
to a man battling insomnia,
a few hours before the sun says hello;

Eyes stuck on you

Though Bombay was not new for him, he had lived for years and always had connection with this place.Living away from Delhi for a couple of year has changed him a lot from being loquacious to a man of few words.
Lost in his own slumber he was dreaming days and nights. Fantasizing all the new possibilities. While he walked towards his lecture room alone thinking about all of his past days and hoping to for a better future. He went and sat down with his earphones on a bench.
What lied ahead was a boring lecture. The thought of it made him even more bored. Little did he know that within couple of minutes he would experience something very different.
The class vibrated a shy gossip. New people getting introduced to each other, asking their names or telling about their school and some were from same schools or some how knew each other , a scary beginning of sort. Slippery words filled the room, as he sat silently waiting for the teacher on a bench.
Barely two minutes later, the teacher entered the room.
Right behind the teacher he saw someone enter. Someone who skipped his heart a beat and let his blood sing a different song. His eyes followed a girl entering the room a bit confused on where to sit, looked here and there and chose to sit on the last bench instead. His gaze followed her as she kept her bag on the high bench with a “thump”. He stared at her. He felt everyone disappearing except for her and him. He just felt her like she was the one for him .He just felt his heart flying to her as he watched her.
He didn’t look away. He stared at her . Newton’s forces can wait. There’s some other attraction going on inside of him. “How do i look?”,”whats her name?”He was lost and he felt that his dream came true. His brain was jumbling up with questions. It was almost a minute that she came in and he had already fallen for her.
Did she know? Probably not.
Did she knows still? Probably no. But he continues to look at her and smile all the time.

Dream about a Woman

I had a dream about a woman I know, that I shouldn’t have had,
last night;
A temptress wearing skin that i could melt on mine and a stare
that grabs the innards of my beating blood, and to know it to be
so close my breath and yet so distant from battle of raw flesh;
Women like these don’t walk the streets where the gaze of the
common have chewed up on the faith that ties her brunette
head, and neither do they come in numbers enough to have to
brush the lips of loathing masses, I swear you’ll be lucky to
probably see two or one in the entirely of you arguable
existence ;
But my goodness when they do they walk with their eyes on fire,
don’t get me wrong, it’s not just perfect ass that has me here thinking,
years on, though very few things indeed are more glorious than that,
But it’s the genuine love that dance like minions around her
heart, and to know something that humble can silence that savages that sprout
in a mans darkness;
I had a dream about a woman I know, that shouldn’t have had,
last night, and it might not even have been the right kinds,and
it’s not just the lust or its jazz, but the power it has in imaging
the warmth in her hands when the night isn’t too kind;
It’ll be years and the women will come and go, a few will make
a little of what they can, and rest will shatter and step over
the pieces with their high heels taped to perfect bodies;
but I’ll still think about her on a random fucking night, because
that’s just they gasp they possess,and I honestly don’t mind it
if the slightest bit;
Perhaps she might knock on my door in a few years, or
decades, she;ll probably not,
I know I will be there to open it with a smile as genuine as she is;
She’ll love me though, and she cant deny that, of what kinds
I’m not sure;
I had a dream about a woman I know, that shouldn’t have had,
last night, and I’m not ashamed of it;
Life has a dark sense of practical humor, doesn’t it? To have
woman like these, but she’ll belong to another;
she’s the kind of woman that’ll stay by never being yours and
you’ll be too dazed by her to ever protest;
But then again, she was a dream, that I probably shouldn’t have

Look Back

It has been exactly eight months and couple of days here and there,
and i swear, whatever little wine that was left in the bottle is there still
and our unspoken language that had been hanging in the amidst the
uncertainty for a while now, was all dead,
or at least that’s what she said the last time I spoke to her ;
And yet eight months later, somewhat a little intoxicated at the bar
with her favorite drink,
All I can do is think about her and how nothing quite,
Manage to connect with the music that my heart had always sung,
as she did the way she did ;

The whole process of beating the clock on nights
This is absolutely futile and yet every inch of rationality and irrationality,
together stand and believe otherwise ;
a man at times like this can be nothing but his naked
self raveled in honesty, or perhaps that is just my truth for tonight;
Maybe I won’t think of this for a while I lay on someone
elses’ bed tomorrow night, or the day after,
but one thing that i can be certain of,
is that no a single women has made me burn alive like this,
though it might have been what seems like a lifetime
ago or absolutely nothing ago, I’ve never been too good at keeping time;
That right there is my truth for tonight, that right
there is my unwritten book for tonight;
though it might have ravaged through time and distance
and all that shit, perhaps all that is left is nothing
but smearing threads barely holding on to whatever
little that is left of this or not even that;
All I can say with somewhat sense of entirely is that
on nights like these, I sit and listen to this part
of my playlist that I love the most but also hurts
most, thinking that maybe I should have had the spirit
in me to enter the dance in a black bow-tie that night,
and somehow on these very nights, there aren’t too many
other faces that i recall;
I can’t promise a damn thing and I am never sure of much
and at times I’m too complicated for my own simplicity
but a year back tonight might just have been the most
connected I’ve ever been, happy;
It all might just be dead, ashes
but how I wish it weren’t , atleast for tonight,
I wouldn’t blame her If she never looked back,
but how I wish she did, at least for tonight;


My goodness love, trust me when I tell you it all changes;
It could happen after a year, or two;
Or it could happen in a week.
But pretty much all of it is bound change faces,
and when you lose grip of all the faces painted all around you,
a man begins questioning the concept of stability,
if anything that we hang on to dearly holds any worth at all,
if a moonless nights is just another night,or if it is when you
realize that the white ball of oblivion in the sky is all that gave
you any real company to start with.
If you come crying to me tonight and ask me “why”,love,I’m
sorry I’ll stand there with nothing but your silence on my lips;
But I can tell you one thing that shouts out a whisper from
some corner in my heart that I haven’t felt in a while,
that all that is real, or so it seems,
drowns in this superficial oceans of facades, and the truth you’re
looking for, gets lost in the crowd wearing the same fucking masks;
like a boy in red shorts losing grip of his mothers little finger on a
railway station;
all of it isn’t the easiest to take in and there is very little grace
or euphoria to it;
But such is the soul of he universe, and it attempts to tear the
insides at times,
but you’ll find your moments,
When there will be just enough bliss to over spill a drop from
the cup you can barely hold, and you’ll understand it’s not all
that bad and it’s not all that harsh. The blaze is just too
overwhelming to take in at times;
But it’s not even close to being enough to put the fire you
think you’ve lost.