Skin

Skin

How do I love myself? –
A draggled mess of rotting flesh
Gift-wrapped in a pretty package
Of plastered smiles and frayed dreams
And absurdities –
I have measured my highs
In varied stages of ecstasy
And one of them even made me believe
That my indifference is leading a double life
Torn between

My 2 A.M. self and 6 P.M. beliefs
When my skin changes colour,
Like dull Autumn leaves
No Spring or Summer could be
An Antidote
Or Elixir.

What would you know?
Of violence painted as battle scars
Of monosyllables cloaking my S.O.S
Like a magic trick…
And tomorrow
I won’t look at my hands and wonder
Why my fists weren’t firm enough
To hold back the vestiges
Of our meaningless sighs.

18 February 2018

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Soliloquize

Soliloquize

Sometimes…
I seek thrills and frills
In motley distractions
And amnesiac pills –
I roll up into a ball of lies

My heart, a bulbous paperweight
Is a poltergeist in disguise.

For I have the soul of a wretched magpie
Obsessed with your gemstone eyes.
And I bleed…and bleed…and bleed…
Inside.

Love’s slow death
One gasp at a time,
My tongue grows numb and asinine
In your mouth, I swallow words
And make a count –
I keep a memorabilia of your frowns.

For you mauled my thoughts
With a carving knife.

Unsystematic tales
Have me wrecked in two –
I repeat my sentences till they sound
Like you.

14 February 2018

Combustion

Combustion

For every utterance
Would raise a smoke
And I, emaciated from the lack of
Warmth,
Would slowly creep into the furnace
To find my home.

I have cold feet from nightmares
Where I’m falling into an abyss
Of your seduction, your words moisten
My inner thighs –
I’ve stopped looking for distorted mirrors
In the eyes of strangers
Who force my nonchalance
Into tight-fitting clothes
And put me up for show.

I rise in smoke –
An oxymoron.
For in this deafening silence,
We are alone together, tracing outlines
Of our nameless failures
Packed in little boxes with felt pen labels –

We have climbed into the box,
To feel its teeth, sink into our flesh
Tearing us apart,
One memory at a time –

We have toyed with the idea
Of combusting
Our petty narratives
To smoke.

4 February 2018

Mermaid

Mermaid

My edges, once sharp,
Blurred,
When I saw how melancholic your
Skies turned by evening.

I collected your clouds
In tiny satchels and paper bags
And read them like tarot cards –
Your face, in all its mirth,
Was paler than mine
In its sunset hues.

You should see,
How in my lunacy
I crave for your hands to lift my thoughts
And create little Plasticine dolls –
Do you know how much I’d give up,
To go up in smoke?

I dread on the days
My curtains weigh heavier than
The reproaches I hurl at myself
To make my skin bulletproof to your indifference.

I am a mermaid –
My body,
Is torn by halves
Into a minefield and the deep, blue sea.

18 January 2018

 

Wanderess

Wanderess

There was a girl who wanted
A ticket to the stars.
With a galaxy in her lungs, and peppermint eyes
She rummaged through dumpsters
Of ashen faces that spoke a bunch of decayed lies.
And on certain nights, she let out
A strangled cry.

She played with marbles,
And wholesome words
For which she apologized –
There was a girl with creepers of clichés,
And an obsessive need to spell her name
In case you missed the ‘Y’.
Her kisses tasted like echoes
And question marks from quoted lines.

Along the edge of a spider’s web
In an aquarium full of fireflies,
She smoked her lover’s cryptic words
Soaked, in a vat of contradictions.

We’re receding…receding…
To lilac Springs
In Technicolor,
And paper cranes
With broken wings.

28 December 2017

 

image courtesy: Sourav Chakraborty (https://www.facebook.com/Isglad?fref=hovercard&hc_location=chat)

A Farewell Note

A Farewell Note

No, I don’t think of you anymore.
My memories have turned into pulp,
Soaked
In a clogged sink of broken smiles and practical solutions
That I clean out everyday so that
My whimsical fancies can still flow
Unhindered.

My kitchen counter is a diary
Of songs I stopped singing midway
And tears I couldn’t hold back –
I still cry on some days, in this city that feels like
The arms of a new paramour
With some vestiges of the cologne you wore on the last day
We made love.

Each time I rewind my memories,
They become a little rusted
A little faded
A little tattered on the edges;
I remember how you scorned at sentimentality.
I still listen to your songs on some days
And try to sing my own
But I can hardly identify my voice anymore.

I left a part of me with you on the last day we met
And maybe, it still haunts my favourite bookstores and cafés.
I’m not returning to you, not now
Not ever…
And even if I do
I’ll be your déja vu
You wouldn’t know where to place…

24 December 2017

Three P.M.

Three P.M.

[I]

Smoke –
Against your throat –
Creases, and an obscure
Curvature, juxtaposed –
A punch of
Citrus and cherries;
I buried my nose –
Your lips, promising no eternities
With your mouth, sucking my rationale
Right out of my throat;
My lust, dripping lazily
Between my thighs
Right up to my toes.

Your wall, a billboard
Of lives you want to lead
Of lies you want to believe;
A few more puffs and swings
A little more
Inebriated and crazed,
Leaving, a bitter taste in my mouth that
Made your tongue taste
A little less
Of cigarettes and regrets.

[II]

If my half-stringed sentences made sense,
You, my love, would see right through
My blunt ends, impersonating a double-edged sword –
I have played Russian Roulette this one time and it has
Stuck on to me, like an addiction,
Like I have been addicted to my memories,
Fast-forwarding them to the point that they have
Corroded beyond recognition.

When we exchange words, is it more like
A monetary transaction? –
Your utterances, carefully rehearsed,
Convey stilted facts in the garb of honest musings
While I so naïvely, rambled, along this unequal barter –
I bartered away my –

I have lost count, really.

[III]

Our bodies heaved, and fell
Never, in sync
But, in rhythm
When I suppressed my moans, it was only to let my body
Dwell in its ecstasies –
(As if perfumes have stayed loyal to the glass bottles
That had them encased.)

With a cigarette dangling from the
Cistern of an unused mouth, I
Crave for your stories from when you were a boy
With a heartbreak you tried so hard to make sense of,
You sewed it on your sleeves –
The carcass of a failed experiment.

I have trust issues from the day I saw my mirror lie to me.

 

 

1 November 2017

 

Picture Courtesy – tina-modotti-black-white-photography