Every time you

tell your daughter
to say yes
to that she wants
to say no to,
you teach her
to confuse
her no with your yes,
which seems like a good idea
till she grows up
and forgets to say no
to all the things
she should’ve,

-From a bad daughter.

(because rupi kaur got me thinking. Also read her original poem from which this one is inspired.)

tyranny of pictures

I think that even while one may say that a picture embodies many layers of meanings open to varying interpretations, I think it is the word that rightly spills over its full stops and breaks;  it is the word that expands through its frames; it is the word that always trolls in the park with its friends clashing and rioting, quietly, pensively, meditatively; it is a word that comes to our rescue when we see a picture, and wish to tell someone how much we like it; and it breaks my heart how our words are shrinking. How we cannot just go on and on and on; how we are saying sorry too often to others and ourselves for having talked more than ‘required’, and how our backspace key gets pressed more often when we type; how hour long cultural seminars and debates at literary events at colleges like Ramjas are violently pressed together from both sides and crushed to two lines of rhyming slogans, as if those placards could explain our hurt, our anger, and teach us what we could have learned by attending the debates and discussions that could not take place.
And now WhatsApp will not allow me to ‘write’ my state of mind.

Such is cruelty.

Bring back my words.

random number 3931

random number 3931



He took a deep breath and came close to her, overlooking knots of people strewn about him, some cussing, some getting cussed at; he wanted to touch her simply to confirm that his madness does, after all, have a real cause, like a guerrilla sliding his hand down his waist to clutch his gun and feel its cold steel solidity in the wake of an armed revolution, as if that could defy his humane doubts and plunge him into the center of his cause.

“I love you, and I feel ashamed to tell you this. You with this laugh, these fingers, these dirty pair of converse, look so human and incapable of understanding what I’m saying”.
She with her laugh, her fingers, her dirty pair of converse, drew back.
“You’re making somebody feel so loved, is that not enough for you lovers?”

random number 3931

Of Bodies

// Of Bodies

Do you think that bodies are
like bended rivers, unexpected
gusts of violent desire rushing
forth from the hidden folds of
dark curves and darkening moles?
Do you clutch these moles
like you clasp the craggy edges
of a mountain, when falling in
your nightmarish vision of death?
Do you think I’m here to save you?
Do you think I will if I were?
What changed in twenty years
that a dimpled elbow transformed
from a little girl’s hand they’d hold
when she crossed the road to
the hand of a woman you need to hold?
Do you think that bodies are
cheap shimmery glass-gin potions
of magic you’d bottoms-up and forget?
Do you think I’ll allow you to forget?
Do you think I will if I could?
What changed in twenty years
that they can no longer stand the sight
of her chest which they together
made sure would never crack?
Do you think a body is a torpedo
you can arrange to explode at a distance
from you, sans the singed embers
of grief and burning smell of anger?
Do you think a body is the unfolding
of a poetic image through a meandering
meadow, slivers of your ghastly revelation,
concrete, precise, measured, revised.

Do you think I’ll reveal you?
Perhaps, I will