Thoughts of a drunken lover

Intoxication prevails;
Deep down, I know of lies,
Mistakes breathing stealthily
Inside the coffin of truth,
Trying to break an illusion:
There is consummation in incompletion.

Expectations are used to their own stabs,
Love desires to indulge in this bloody act,
More often than not.
Insobriety intensifies;
A delusion defying the yardstick of cost,
Churns the body,
Keeping the mind alive.


Hiding under a blanket of smoke,
I see darkness embellished with fires
Of those who are hailed as
Monarchs of light at night.
Living corpses walk with clouds
Of tales fading into the sky;
Barely do we notice what trickles down
The corner of their eyes.
Flowers bloom on the graves of unknown folks,
The gray haunts as I walk past them,
Longing not to meet these roads
Again; they follow me.
Carved on the barks of humongous trees,
My fingers perceive grooves of promises,
Names of star-crossed lovers.
I wish them luck and pray for their bond,
Long live their camaraderie,
If not in this world,
In another one, way beyond.


I am a broken vase,
Not shattered by the wind.
Thrown away by free will,
That is my fate.
The road is unclear,
Smothered in dither.
Yet, I choose my destination
To wash away the cracks
Of Destiny.

I am a broken vase,
Trying to survive,
To put my pieces together,
Only for you.
I know, beauty is long lost,
My marks will stand out
And humiliate me often.
Yet, I will contain your flowers
With utmost pride.

Picture taken from Google images


The face tells a beautiful story,
A fantastical lie
That reflections care to ignore.
Fairytales decompose into cheap articles
On trampled newspapers.
Society screams, people shout,
The mirror stands tall,
Notices the unnoticeable,
Predicts the unpredictable,
Surmises hidden predicaments
And chooses to put a check
On reflections,
Only for those
Who are blinded by the sins
Of their deed,
The craving of their famished souls.
Some choose to see
The enthralling beauty
And set aside the rasping truth.
The rest become the mirror themselves
With their faces made of glass
And silver coating on their hearts,
To make sure that
The reflections never reach them.

This is a still from a short film.


The leaves rustled under the command
Of a known stranger,
The one who lashed the roads,
And drove away a cloud of dust,
Baring them to his harshness, 
And paid a tribute to the Night’s delineation
Of an upheaval in tranquility.

The sores on the exterior vanished
Before moisture could sympathize.
The catastrophe building up inside,
Far away from Sympathy,
Sought help from Empathy,
To which it’s access was denied.
A storm broke out in no time,
The dark Kohl lining agreed to succumb
To the rush of brine.


Silence lost in the mystery of yesterday,
Narrates a story;
Surpassing the strict check of your armoured mind
I whisper into your ears,
Of dreamy mornings in the days of yore.
I hope you never heard the sound of my stealthy steps.
Not knowing who you were,
I spent hours basking in the mirth of an unplanned misery.
I hope you never felt the warmth of my palms,
My touch lacked the capacity to stir emotions.
My eyes never revealed anything without your permission,
The shine talked about the mischief of dust.
My lips never broke a promise
Even when I was breaking into pieces,
Dousing myself in the fire of agony,
All by myself.
I just hope that this is just a hope.

Twenty four on Twenty Fourth

Hiding behind the kitchen wall,
A chubby girl eats chocolates;
She sings all day and plays with a Barbie doll,
Her restless legs now refuse to crawl.
Two shiny ponytails swing turn by turn
As her head revolts against boredom
And moves back and forth;
She says annoyingly,
“How long do I wait for March 24?”

The years,
Unable to keep track of untold stories,
Reflected on her face with utmost honesty.
That smile now beguiled some of the shiniest stars in the sky,
The teary eyes plagiarized twinkling happiness
And died every moment in the fire of a new lie.
Her restlessness has succumbed to contemplative rantings,
Yet she has her childish ways of loving herself.
A daring sweetheart with a heart of straw,
She says,
“I turn twenty four and I’m bold.
Even by mistake, don’t call me old.”

P.S.: I just turned Twenty four today and I thought of treating myself with something unique and hence, this poem.

Who are you?

Who are you?
Somebody whom I think I know
Or just an imagination,
Who claims to know me?

Are you that unearthly tuft of grass,
Lying on the ground,
Years ago,
Seemingly real,
When I rewind, it reads,
“Error 404: File not found.”?

Are you an era,
Where parody becomes the new praise,
Clarity defines haze?
A face in the crowd that stands still,
And when I look around,
I fall prey to my demons again.

Who are you?
The face of the one I see,
And the soul of somebody I feel?
Do you know who you are?
Do you belong to this unreal reality?


Hey, can you see?
The flowers of my presence,
Confide in your evening.
I try to stand strong,
Why do you shake me up?
Why do you make me sink?
Why do I die broke in your penury?

Hey, look up!
Will you please?
I see strangers,
People like you and me;
We stand quite,
They hit us like nobody.

Hey, don’t you worry!
By mistake,
I won’t tell you to anybody.
A battle you are,
Never to be fought.
I am lost in myself,
Liberated in your thought.


Flashes of light
Drowning unknown faces;
You cannot see yourself,
How can you see anyone else?
You’re lost
But you don’t know in whose world.

You don’t even know
Whether these flashes of light
That you’re holding on to
Will die out
Or just
Enbalm you for a moment.

A frizzy moment;
Scratching your nerves,
Ticking on your mind,
Preying on your soul,
Fading out in a moment.