insomnia, perhaps?

I call you out
wandering in vacuums echoing of familiar yet unfriendly voices,
hidden hollowness in my eyes comes out as the white doesn’t glisten in the luminescence of nights,
devoid of you,
your discourses,
your words

And the inevitability of insecurities strike my soul bursting continually in flames with furious fumes of those fears i share no more
I see prescriptions for a pyre, bricks that break down no more and our distance dragging itself in serpentine spirals,
our ends meet no more,
The wind does not bring in whispers from the roof of your mouth,
The sound of your syllables is still all i wait for as the night grows old and young and dies with morrows that reek of monotony,
where consciousness robs us of conversations,
where we shield each other from our sins,
where we do not tell each anymore the traumas of trivialities of things falling apart,
letting the puzzles remain incomplete and trashing the pieces,

Our faces are too scared to face each other,
averting from agonizing actualities,

That you lose yourself in scorching sunbeams,
And i
in the acquaintance of the nocturnal hour,
where the only voices i speak and hear
are the visions
in my head,
The deeper i plunge,
the darker these circles get,
My demons make home beneath my eyes brooding over
every single flight i took,
And i go places no more,
just time,
And voices of no existence,
a dearth of all that was me and all that is you,
And i obstruct myself through oblivion
with senses i sense no more,
And i sleep with eyes open in my monstrosity under the bed,
And your ignorance illuminates
just the
darker circles
stealing the shimmers our cosmic collusion
used to make

You call me out


Let’s not go there

Forge towards the forsaken lands of broken boulevards
and lost gardens
with fruits and flowers
that remain forbidden,
let those scars screech in the silences and let the blood that rushes in your veins run wild,
let it fall over unkempt bedsheets that freeze in anticipation of arrivals of those who don’t return,
lock those lonely doors and knock no more over windows that show heaps of solitary images,
broken in their fullness,
empty in the entirety of their existences,
Walk towards the unpacified shore, kick shells no body bothers to collect any more,
let them break apart buildings and print more of those green bits of paper,
don’t keep a track of the places they map or the people they meet or the beds they sleep on as they leave,

As you lost them
in the hushed whispers of harmonies of sound too loud for your ears,
at nights where the epiphany strikes them that you are not needed any more,
Let the only thing that’s bitter be the black coffee you would make in the morning,
don’t go checking every now and then for new notifications,
You wouldn’t get any more messages.
Stop annoying through being,
Hide away your anxieties,
Conceal your tears,
Reach out not more.

Leave the phone alone,
Would you not?

They are never going to call you.


//Note to self, stop trying to reach out.


Let me paint you another picture of the modern day,
Where in reaching those landmarks of progression,
We are stuck on yet another track,
where these vehicles move about in vacuums,
heedless of those occupants that surround themselves in the stillness as solitary travellers,
where we are used to having brunches alone,
And meet in
movie theaters because conversations bring chaos,
where we rush seeing a familiarity in strange faces,
where we never realise when we lost each other in crowds circling carelessly,
where we wail our woes to our wounds which slowly learn to understand the words we don’t utter,
where we speak in silences and fancy facades
And painted smiles
Preaching over the importance of sharing stories being real,
Where we encircle those escapades that bring momentary bliss
And fear our own selves and needs,
Where we understand love through loneliness,
And harbour a hatred so strong it sends all our pursuits to the land which breathes snow,
Where we force goodbyes out of habit,
And live in vestiges of what we used to be,
Where we suffer and keep our doubts hidden in this drug called hope
we pretend to be addicted to,
where we crave for oblivion,
From that anguish which now fills our abandoned spaces,
where emptiness has found its home inside our hollownes,
Let me paint you another picture,
which you would applaud for its alliterative attempts,
Caressing the stroke of paint which bleeds its blue over one other,
where I would distance my self as a poet,
furthering in my suffering,
And you would
(p)reserve your presence in the picture I have painted.

On fearing forevers

The words you whisper
are etched at the back of my head
like those syllables
I never let soar
about how my
fears tend to know how to get the best of me in the darkness of those days
where my love for you gets intensified by your absence that haunts
the very core of my
and I find the ground beneath my feet slipping and
your name
fading in the freshwater
and the waves
taking away all those steps we have mapped and all those sand castles we have marked as our own,
where the tree which reminds you of me loses itself
in the
aftermath of autumn,
And we end up losing the sound of our laughter
to the scrutiny of those stars we have been trying to reach out to all this time,

Where a dearth seems normal,
And our eternity evades us leaving nothing but
an everlasting emptiness,
A loneliness we know not how to do away with,
where you bookmark me as a chapter you don’t read anymore,
and I mark you as a home I cannot revisit anymore,

Wherein the
Inevitability of the exiguity of this infinity strikes me,
Where the
brevity of those bewitchments asks to be acknowledged,
And in the normalcy of those very days where
Everything seems fine,

I lose my sanity sobbing,
thinking about all those times I could lose you,
And I
practice stretching my smiles
And eating up words that
in their coarse vulnerability and absolute affection
would wonder if it would be okay to ask you to stay.

Would you? ✨

//To love makes one solitary.


Kill yourself,
I would listen to the voices go about again as I find myself
Listening constantly to the
Circular chiming of the ceiling fan
that plays along with the wind that blows and witnesses my survival.
My muscles don’t move no more
And I keep my hands hidden as they shiver holding back from holding all those,
My shoulders succumbing to the weight of my own existence,
Where I can’t take my explanations for all those existences to be valid anymore,
And I seem to not be able to trivialise my tears,
Because the agonies are shattering
And I can’t scream or spill my secrets out because indifference lurks in every wall that I envy for the kind of protection they offer,
And I find my guard down and drowning along with the self that
Wonders what it would be like
Be buried alive.
And I can’t fix anymore all that’s broken
And all that’s broken wishes to not be fixed anymore,
So I shudder at silences because every breath hurts
And I get cautious with every word I say
As the epiphany strikes
That perhaps we are those monsters that our parents warned us about who’d damage ourselves beyond repair,
So I shut myself up and listen to those voices
That go on
And on
About how I don’t know how to function as a normal human being,
How I can’t control the demon that’s unleashed within my hollowness,
So everytime I think of ways to make things around me better,
I smile a sardonic smile and remind myself of the only way –
Kill yourself.


I hear them
dicing down the Lego houses where you and I used to play pretend,
Where you’d make coffee for us while I would dust away the spiders that try to weave our stories in the callousness of their cobwebs,

Where every Christmas, we would vacuum the floors of those voids everyone has left and fill them with the smoke rushing out of chimneys,
Where you’d rub my hands for warmth and I would smile at the cinder on your nose,
And we would laugh at those embers burning in an undenying eternity in the deep blue stream of sky,
Where flowers of darkness would glow in the radiance of your eyes,
And we would imagine the dusty ground defying gravity and racing to those twigs which bore no fruits,
Where the squirrels sprinted,
And you found your home in their antics while I chased cars and falling stars,
And over the smell of lilies, you would read me poems and I would write you stories
In language that would try so hard in transcending our love,
We would spend evenings looking for the last piece of jigsaw we were finishing
Because the cats spilled the soup I made and you’d rejoice because it was inedible and you’d have eaten it anyway,
I see them
Chopping the ceiling where we counted stars,
Their axes aiming to articulate why they destroy what they destroy,
But I know how no one visits this patch of ground anymore, no one cleans up the mess they create, how the squirrels have left too.

I smile in the memory of you, your absence choking me in the middle of this road I do not take anymore,
As I watch the airplanes soar in skyline and the blue dripping in orange,
I hear your footsteps approaching and I think how it’s too late now to build our home again,

So I tell myself that I would pretend there to be no shape of you nearby,
No history to remember which I would like to forget,
You smile the same smile that took my breath away,
We laugh at our apprehensions and drive away the whole night,
You offer me your heart once more,

And I cry
Because I do not wish to leave it more damaged, more deranged,
You brush away a ladybug from my hair and offer me something you say you have preserved all this while,

We finally complete our puzzle.


He tells me
his head feels heavy
with all the words that I speak
sticking in the roof of his mouth like earwax,
That my kisses seem too sweet and end up like Honey he finds his forehead drowning in,
the weight of my hands is overwhelming as I let them move over his face trying to massage his cheeks and shake His head so that those thoughts that stay in like tenants who’d even suck the blood out of parasites would leave,
But he has got so many visions,
My voice drowns in an echo so distant it loses the reality of its existence,
he tells me about the weight of that love I offer which he doesn’t want like the gum he doesn’t chew anymore,
He shuts his eyes to mine and puts hand over his ears and lets himself be indulged in the idea of me,
That hurts him more than I do,
I think he’s trying to force himself to hate me,

I don’t like him suffering so the next time I see him bandaging his broken heart, supporting his thoughts in his head and complain about the head aches,

I chop his head off.

//This is what happens when you think too much about this character of the dog-woman