You- VI



The tiny black moles
on your face,
are the droplets
of the night sky.

And when you get lost
on the ceilings of your mind,
every time,
the room
smells like dreams.


You – V


If for one more time I’m born,
let me be rain,
and kiss your skin.


18057724_1152133181564030_3610942301013140695_n.jpg                                                [photo source: wreck/tumblr]

Falling in love and all that.


[Photo Credit: Weronika Izdebska]

Falling in love with you again and again and again is my only obsession.

I’ve loved you and for that I’ve to suffer infinitely.

What is this warm feeling that is never receding in my heart  ?

Women like seasons have come, but the sight of you is the first drop of monsoon.

My heart aches and my eyes fill up every-time a memory of your touch breezes through my mind.

Oh, how much I yearn to touch your gentle dusky skin, plant kisses on your forearm.

Oh, how you become one with the wind and bring showers of yellow flowers to my windows, how the air delights in your presence and how the earth giggles with your timid footsteps.

Oh, how can I stop crying and smiling at the same time, when the thoughts about you flood my mind ? What is this feeling of being full and empty at the same time ? Is this love ? What is this wave of melancholic sadness that ebbs in my soul ? Is this love ?

My soul is still with you. When you walk by, oh, how it tries to prance back into my body . All I can do is whisper ‘stay at home’.

Frisking for life.

He doesn’t sleep very well in the nights. He wakes up at 1:46 every night and gulps down a glass of water.


He closes his eyes and tries to shut down the buzzing noise in his head. He works as a security guard at a mall. He frisks people at the entrance, his hands lingering over men’s chests and pockets.  No clouds of thoughts drift through his head as his hands hold their bodies. Just the buzzing noise.
When he closes his eyes, he can still feel the infinitesimally small curves of their waists, the slants of their arms and the tightness of their buttocks.

When he goes back home, he holds his wife close. Breathing through her neck, he searches for that cold place of comfort, long lost. Touching her fingertips, he helplessly gropes for the kindness of love. Kissing her lips, he smothers his face into the desert sand. Sometimes, he wonders if life has slipped out of his fingertips and found its home in the pockets, wallets and arms of strangers.

He doesn’t sleep very well in the nights. He wakes up at 1:46 every night and gulps down a glass of water. He brushes his wife’s hair and like a wave receding, a subtle sensation passes through his hands to his mouth.

Only the lifeless could quench his thirst.