Lullabies and Lovesongs

Lullabies and Lovesongs

In a cesspool of decaying horrors,
Should I remain adrift?
Or sink?
You have decked me up like one of
Your
Miniature dolls,
And left me
On the shelf.

Why are you fading away?

By midnight, I grew tired
Picking pins from
My hands
So I don’t scratch off my dreams
In my sleep.

Are you leaving me to go to the other side?

An artist on the streets,
Performing contradictory feats
How long should I remain adrift in vain?
I quote dead poets in sighs
While my lovers stare, surprised;
I’m a shapeshifter, altering my skin.

Should you go away, love?

There is a song, stuck in my mind
And I’m trying to buy more time –
Trying…
Trying…

Dying.

21 June 2017

Ellipsis

Ellipsis

Storms.

I’m gulping mouthful of lies,
Clinging on to a fistful of hopes
Like dew drops on mangled spider webs,
I’m decorating my

Sores.

Each night, when I pull over
My thin sheets
I’m trying to hide
My invisible scars
That won’t stop resurfacing
In nightmares of old cassette reels,
Crammed of delectable

Heartbreaks.

Old habits swing on uneasy strings.
Broken clockworks sing no tune;
At wee hours of dawn,
I’ve forgotten what
Ambiguous skies look like
Since fear made me
Close my windows.
Every autumn, I’m
Erasing your imprints from my

Blackboard.

Dithering,
As showers in Spring
I’ve lost count of months
And your name is a distant
Ring, woven of forgotten thunderclaps
In untimely rain

22 April 2017

Tell-Tale(s)

Tell-Tale(s)

All my silent cries
Are two edged daggers,
Peeling the walls of
My throat
One swig at a time

While the stars danced
To vile tunes –
My melancholy was the crowbar
To force open
The drawers of self-loathing
And anxiety.

Purple nights crept up
Behind old walls
Of shadow puppets, playing out
Ghastly scenes in past tense;

You dwelt comfortably
In plagiarized tales,
Mimicking my skin;
Each night
I find myself,
Renewing the lease
Of your stay.

When I run out of metaphors,
There is Famine –
Gnawing,
At the cornice of my
Failed charade,
Or making love
To the tunes in my head –

I cannot tell.

22 March 2017

 

(Motel (2015), Clem Crosby Image courtesy Pippy Houldsworth gallery)

Midnight Letters

Midnight Letters

Orange sunsets from crumbling porches
Take me miles away
To lanes, doused in perfumed memories
Of old books and damp walls.
Like dust specks on spider webs,
I have decorated my fermented thoughts
With arbitrary imitations
And follies,
Pretending they were of imperative consequence.

How long does it take,
For a memory to go stale?
Even paper boats come with
Expiry dates.

I’m an accumulation of cities
And I cannot wipe away
The stains
That clings on to my identity.
I am a slave
To this symbiotic equation;
I cannot dissociate from this obsessive need
To feed off your existence.

Don’t be afraid
When I’m uncontrollable on some nights;
I take time to recuperate
From nightmares;
For they have me pinned down at gunpoint,
As they sew their shadows on my back
Like a black cape.

18 February 2017

(image source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/248894316882654168/ )

White Noise

White Noise

Watch me
Dissolve….
Resolve…?
A residue or an excuse?
Gnarling at the very
Core
Of where it all began;
A handful of foam.

Have you tasted oblivion,
Perched on the
Edge of your lips?
I have taken swings
From the same bottle
With different labels,
Convinced my stupor
To adore the
Mayhem
In alternate realities.

Waking up with hangovers
In odious daylight,
Eyes besmeared with
Illusory tales,
Written in flashes of laughter,
Patchwork of peeling memories;

It is easy tuck
A suicide note
Between unsuspecting folds
Of bargained contentment.

I have
Crafted to perfection
My caged existence;
What remains are wisps of
Fragile Tales,
Like accidental perfumes
In cheerless alleyways.

8 February 2017

F r a g m e n t s

F r a g m e n t s

I am fine.
I have been fine for quite long

Now.

I cannot                    recollect when
The                                                       drape around my head
Cut

Out

All

Air

Supply.

 

 

This is easy.

To not

Think
Things
Through.
Dis man tling one thought from                           another;
Who would have
Thought?
Meandering through each fold
Stifled a different voice
An unspoken

Tale

Was gasping for breath
Crying for                    help.

 

 

Why do we crave to have our tales heard? Understood? Believed in?

My lies could be
Harmless truths
My

Consciousness

Had

Me

Believe

In.

 

 

We all have
Our fire escapes
Depends,

On how far
You

Want to

Escape.

Do you see me now?
I am a

Fragmented

Shell,

Going

Back

Forth

Taking up identities.
Cleaning up evidences.
Convincing myself, hard,
That this is

Home.

Amidst the wreckage
Of                         blatant                   follies

Palpable lies.

25 January 2017

Home

Home

But for a rusted lock.
A broken door.
A shattered pane.
Are you willing to forsake
That which you have been calling
Your home
Down to this day?

Yes, I still hear the winds at night
Wheezing noisily.
I hear my pillows whisper,
‘She let her dreams leak
And succumb into moist patches;
Who sleeps like that
Next to enemies each night?
With nightmares warped
From sun-danced dreams?’

But believe me when I say,
That I tried to sew them
With threads of self-indulgent beliefs.
Though I knew;
I could see the bursting seams.
How could I not see?
Scattered toys with sharp ends,
Piercing my feet…
Familiar walls with peeling paint;
You cannot paste them back
Or collect them like memorabilia.

You sweep them.

Under the rug, maybe?
Until next time…

How do you desert a place
You called home?
A home, assembled from skin and bones.

21 December 2016