Hands

Holding hands wasn’t enough,
I had to memorize
Every cut and corner, bruised knuckles and calloused palms,
Nails, dirt, past;
He says I have small hands
His, they are too big,
So when our fingers interlock, we let gravity do its trick
And perfect our handhold;
Tickling pianos and strumming guitars,
We keep it simple, silly.

Succeeding in Heartbreak

I will not shed cliche tears,
Instead
I will try mixing different proportions of milk, cream, coffee, chocolate and cinnamon too
I will cook, prepare my own meals, not spend a dime on eating out;

I will not reminisce about the past
Instead
I will dip my hands in paint, doodle the loneliness away;

I will not eat ice cream and watch friends or a silly rom-com.
Instead
I will watch the ‘Schindler’s list’, ‘A beautiful Mind’ and ‘Fight Club’ maybe
And more, which they say one must;
We could talk about movies then, long conversations
And not the ones which go like:
You : “Hi, have you seen the Perks of being a Wallflower?”
Me: “Yes I have. I really liked that movie.”
”You: “So did I.
Me: “Hmm.”
You: “Hmm.”
I won’t check my phone for text messages. Let them pile up;
A large number will increase the probability of one being from you,
I will not use my phone much; Only when mom calls.

I won’t get drunk and rant my mess away
Instead
I quit drinking; it’s been a month already.
I plan on not drinking for a long time now,
But maybe celebrate the day you return with champagne. Or vodka.
Champagne is pricey.

I will write to you,
I’ll write often;
Instead
I will work on my book:
I’ll mention you in the acknowledgements
Like I promised.
When you come back, we will have a lot to talk about;
When you come back, I will have a lot of stories to tell;
I hope you do too;

Write love on your arms

For my unborn daughter

  1. Reach out to the sky. Put your hands on your neck and feel yourself throbbing. Rhythmically. Layers of stars like translucent blankets over blankets. Live for it.
  2. Dip your fingers in paint. Smudge the walls. Paint a rainbow, bask in its glow.
  3. Buy an expensive perfume. Fall in love with your scent.
  4. Rummage through your vanity. Wear the wine red lipstick you’ve always wanted to.
  5. Draw a bath. Pour bubblebath. Light some candles. Pamper yourself. You deserve it.
  6. Dye your hair a crazy color. Better yet, chop it off. It’ll always grow back.
  7. Call your mother. Tell her you love her. She loves you too.

Smudges of ink and mud.

The wind whispers secrets from across the oceans. Percolating to my roots,

A lover’s spat, giggling teens, a war and squeaky babies,

Casual banter, alcohol, hash, I’ve seen them fighting with shadows,

Convincing they’re worth following;

Hands clutching bottle mouths like edges of stars,

Sunshine, teeth, comets and blood;

Dew drops, acid, tears and sweat,

I’m not meant for salt, his least favorite word is pansy, he doesn’t mind gay,

Hers is almost;

Poetry, prose, fiction, honey, butterflies and scissors,

Axe, dogs and men and trampled upon, spattered;

With mud and paint, I’ve known it all;

Jumbled thoughts, I hide behind metaphors,

Music, beats and rhythmic sobs.

What you lose when you say Goodbye

Orange trucks,memories,piggy back rides,
Mid day texts and smiley faces,green snap backs,
7 year olds, curly hair and white dresses,
Hands intertwine in a zipper of prayer, purple balloons,
Wine, a friend, a lover, family;
Blue umbrellas and words of encouragement, sling bags and doodles;
I down bottles pretending their mouth is someone else’s, success at heartbreak,my eyes are raisins;
tea, almonds and cakes,
Fluttery lashes,bracelets,knuckles, and grey skies
Million kisses on the nose, teardrops, sweat and blood;
Caress, touch, breath, dew, pumpkins and fall
turquoise sky, second chances and love;

When a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.

If a dresser in your book contains his shades, break them,
If that random character who describes the scenery has his gait, kill him,
If he tells you he loves you even before he’s met you, it’s a trap,
If he refuses to let you pay for lunch, insult him, in front of the whole cafe,
If he refuses to see you off at the airport, get on that flight and never come back,
If the book you gave him when you first met, lies somewhere at the back of his wardrobe, demand it back;
Save it for your daughter. Tell her about him;
If he’s afraid of dogs, leave him,
If he reminds you of how your grandpa died, tell him to fuck himself;
Yes, kill him in all your prose,
If he lets you go, leave;
Kiss new people until the touch of his lips wears off,
Take a shower, dust him off,
Scrub away every bit of him, scrub till your skin begins to chaf,
Chop your hair or get dreads,
Wear that eyeliner, support a blue lip;
But never take him back.

Home, away from home.

The stool at the chai shop will be full of dirt, the chai,
A bit too sweet to your liking;
You’ll knock the doors to 43 shops before finding the change to your 500 bucks,
Standing still is like descending stairs, two at a time,
Walking,falling down the stairs;
Every tear is a relic for the open drain
And every second, is a memory lost;
The snakes would rather stay under the covers, as companions they’re quite shy,
And the dogs crave for human touch;
The winds love you and the winds hate you,
They bring the aroma of your mom’s kitchen
And they take away his scent.

Take the hint, Please.

We all have an introvert within us,
When walking by the boy in the black t-shirt, for the millionth time
Always blabbering away,
The moment arrives, all you can mutter is,
“So.. Do you like bread?”;
Mustering courage, memorizing words,
He makes ahead,
The moment passes by faster than a blur,
She’s disappeared now, it’s too late to run and catch up.
The boisterous boy, he has a lot to say
His thoughts flow
when his pen swirls in harmony;
We have a lot to say,
The method might be a tad bit different,
A forced clumsy chuckle, clearance of a throat, loud shoes;
Look out for those, Listen.

Delicacy and Death

Some days I’m a sucker for perfection,

Wearing the right clothes, just the right amount of makeup,

My hair the perfect blend of waves and curls,

Each inch telling its own story;

I tread with great care, each second a translucent butterfly,

My hands, claws, I’m too careful to bruise it;

The day leaves too quickly,

Leaving me under the gentle nursing of a nightmarish night;

Some days, my hands are baby like and un-harming,

Each second, an infectious cluster of deadly virus I’m unable to destroy,

Unbelievably stretched;

Tingling wrists, ringing ears, calloused feet,

Dry hair and bloodshot eyes;

Happy is long back in the past

And I’ll be long dead before the future arrives.