Routine

A Tanka.

Just by the window 
seated in the moving train
I wait a while for
my thoughts to run through the streets
of all the sand castle dreams

Messiah of My Words

I see my words wander through the crowds

They sniff at the coffee shop

To see if you are still there

Mingled with the smell of mismatched filter coffee

I see them wandering through the corridors

Peeping through the half-closed doors

And grilled windows, making sure

That they won’t miss your rare visits

They seem to like the way you casually feed them

While you just sit there

Talking about yourself

Frantically waving your arms around

Adjusting your hair

Wiping your eyes beneath your glasses

And sometimes about the world

How it is rotting

How you see people smiling towards their deaths

How you hope that there is redemption

How you are saddened that a messiah is not at hand

How you dream about being the messiah

But just look down at your feet when you are back here next time

My words lie there faithfully

Waiting for your caress

Waiting for your fingers to run through the furs

And for the treat that you always carry around with you without even noticing

For my words,

You are the messiah they are waiting for

Chatting

Like the railway tracks 
running parallel to each other

kissing one moment

and missing the next

we wait on the other side -

missing and reminiscing -

for the green dot

for the drop sound

for the blinking light

You Are.

You are a recurring taste in my mouth

A song playing in loop in my head

A rhythmic beating in my heart

You are bright blue in my dreams

A rising moon in my starless sky

A vision in my waking hours

You are the dreams of my past

A momentous relief of my life

A storm in the pits of my stomach

You are an ache unexplained

A mark of words unremembered

And of thoughts unthought. 

Anticipating a Goodbye

The day I fly away
you'll think all the sweet words
I whispered in your ears
were all a big lie

the stories I made up
so the nights will be longer
that the magic will linger

and on one of the sore nights

when the gift of remembrances haunt you

you'll ask questions

answers for which I never had

and will never have

know that all I know 

is that I love you, truly.

Karmic Injustice

This is a guest post. It is unusual, yes. But this needs to be shared. Karmic Injustice was a coinage that we stumbled upon together. Urmi and I. These beautiful words from the painter partner describes what she was going through at that point and what Karmic Injustice means to her.

When we coined that phrase, I didn’t realize that I would have to use it so many times later. When I first said Karmic Injustice, it was just about me and one story. Now, 6 months later, it’s me and countless stories. As every friendship crossed a milestone, a new story was unveiled. And with every new tale of pain, my heart broke a little bit more.

Karmic Injustice... It’s just this. A word to describe the woes of those who have no woes. Like me. With my perfect life and happy endings. Karmic Injustice describes that which makes my existence unjustified. When so many around me cry, I can neither share their worries nor can wipe away their tears. Karmic Injustice is that itch in my heart that yearns to find out why! Why the world is so fucked up. Why can I be allowed to laugh when so many cry. Why need someone stay hungry while I nibble my dessert.

My mother assures me that there is justice in fate. That my happiness is not to be tainted by guilt. And yet, I cannot have faith in some reasoning that remains elusive and invisible. Karmic Injustice defines not just the tears of those unfairly punished... but also the first world problems of those who shed no tears. 

Oh... to dream of the day when I can just pluck the petals of my happiness and spread it all around...

Hanging by a thread

On a thread we are tied,
ear to ear.

The same rhythm throbbing in our heads,
flowing through our veins
and the same thoughts streaming through us.

With shared dreams
and forgotten heartbreaks,
in a piece of music -
we love.