r e b e l l i o n

when you have
nothing to write,
but so much
to say to another,

the white seems
so redundant,
and the pen
a spent force,

the two ears i trained to listen,
now rebelling
in this solitudinal silence,
against that very dictum,

the silly scheming tongue
out of spite,
and a lot of
gathered idle boredom,

egging them
to a reckless challenge,
to either stop
this bondage of sorts,

or to push to find
a couple more,
that are willing
to as patiently hear.



u n g r a t e f u l

you promised
you’d save me,

as you picked up
my broken pieces,

and laid them out
like a jigsaw puzzle,

each one
almost in place,

except for
the idle air between them,

and then you did
join them together

one by one
with all the tenderness,

that only you
the mastercrafter had,

put me back
on the mantle again,

only for the new me
to see you leave,

call me ungrateful
for all that it is worth,

but expectations are natural
even for the broken,

you mended me to live
and now in your absence,

the fragrance
of your glue,

and every moment,

kills me
again, and again.



i n t r o v e r t

i eagerly chase
those falling,
little diamond

in their sound,
their touch,
their magical

the fragrance
they release,
as they meet
the longing
of the earth,


when i recede
into my four walls,
with that skyless
ceiling on top,

and find one,
which has
tunnelled its way
in through,
some inherent
sealant faults,

in the reflection,
of a lonseme light,
seemingly happy,
to have found me
in my den,

i wonder why
at that point of time,
the same me sees,
that same magical drop,
but sees it 
so very differently.