re-installed blues

Dear rain-soaked old man,

A bizarre trajectory it is, your timing.
I was sitting with my head in my hands
looking at these dirty toes, the bare ground
underneath, the sun doing no harm and
having not done any good and out
of the blue in the lightest shade comes you. 

The delight and silent slithering of your
words crawled up my feet. They did.

But I restored my act of painting those
three twigs-yellow, they shall be wind
chimes I told myself an hour ago. And
half painted, half begun, half way done-
I broke them twigs. I threw the smoked butt
and lungs half in heart laughed at us both.

I guess we have all been lost somewhere
in these dull,commercial smells and sighs. 

So kathmandu's recent rain and days have
caught you in their midst? Oslo still pounds
beneath me.You spoke of rain, the cold, the
white beneath the blue while I have tales of
maybe sixteen tears I shed today thinkin
about home, the one that the world induced.

Home where the heart was, home where the
wifi don't work, home where the dogs lay, home
where garbage man comes with a whistling
finesse; yet when I am there I lay trapped in
the dust, the sound of horns, the lack of
light, the lack of trams and lack of sci-fi sights. 
Khai, I am in a strange turn right now. To
know what to do, where to be, how to be
and why it has to be is there- knowledge
is in abundance, but I just can't manage my
way around my own self. It is so very, very
strange - to be your own enemy and not fight. 

So today when I hate myself oh so very
much, in so many ways I read your words
and think- yes, darkness can be shared.

Remember, you mustn't  breeze through 
these clinical lines and smite. I did not intend 
to rhyme but I happen sometimes. 

Bombastic Soda Freak 

heart is not a linear matter

he patiently sits
 for me to melt and ease;
as if his affections were made of heat 
and steel. in a letter, this week, he wrote
how he lives and memorizes every sight 
of kisses that my lips once planted on him.
life may be cold he said but until the
 yellow flowers live in that Japanese porcelain
he shall without grumbling wait. 

wait for breath and stars to fade.

erotic task of depression

we comes back from away and dark 
because in the morning 
lover slowly tells soft stories of nightmares 


It had been a while since you lied to me. So a total surprise it was not
hearing you say allthosemagneticallymundanethingsonceagain.

In response, I found myself getting even more attracted to you. 

And all this does not make me want to slit my wrists- my sanity again. 
We live now, saved by the grace of inescapable romance hurling at me.  


Absence of space denotes one large breath.


Absence of one large breath indicates lack of space in your head. 


This morning 
when the charcoal fanged stings of longings
 hit me 
in between my legs and emotional breath,
 I stoned myself to a noir comedy death. 

No wonder those words I uttered for you
while I lay there, now 
taste like stale bread. 

Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas. - Einstein

no exit

tonight lust is ill aligned 

there is no fit so diminutive 
where it could ease into a fall,
or a squeeze. because suddenly
lust is so winsome with eager ways.
oh, do stay away. 

but look at it
pretty please look:
a general man
a gullible gorilla
  a sarcastic kitty
a misunderstood tea lady
 a rococo fiasco
a pencil strummed shriek
some borrowed lines 
 a second-hand trick   
the fragrant flags
some common likes
some silver bling
some wooden shine
a suede attitude
the cursory timeline
a photoshop'ed enigma
unmanned attitudes
forget all impressions.

you are so complaisant 

May your day be ripe and important

If nostalgia were a religion,

I would pin myself as the purported atheist;
fighting in the dim lit chambers where
they worshiped air whose
feelings never roused questions. .
But This Is Such Vile Lies.

Because I know we are

waiting unfazed and ubiquitously
hanging by the smell
of the famished air
that once bruised our breath.

Eric T.White

meat moving days

beautiful come, beautiful go
your pink tongue and love's excuses galore
peachy pineapple puckering poses
please don't hold your naughty horses

a promise in the horizon says 
bring me, beat me. master play,
wooden wind chime is what boyfriend stages
love letters without a whip? please go get some lonely sleep

oh vile slices of high,
wide vile slices of petty and pretty high. sans 
sinuously grand loneliness makes for an inside attire
and now we shall ride out. or stand still here to die?

beautiful come, beautiful go

anticlockwise: eraser malady

I wish I could hold your giant hands right now
and slowly rub my face with it, with an anticlockwise rhyme
so that time would rearrange the cells in our bodies
that have preserved memories like formalin,
against your wishes and mine. 

Gastão de Magalhães

to adore you is to quit being complacent

or not?
'your hair is a dead bird's nest',
he thinks but says not a word to her.

'I hate your shoes like it's made of foolishness', 
she feels and might say well edited verses in its interest,

'you left me alone and walked off that night'
he reminds her, and reels in sadness.

but the landscape of romance insists
 that you chose not love or pain but you 
polish your swords to hunt down preys, and bully
 mild affections saying 'you think too much', and you
hang up the phone during the middle of a grand sentence
and spit on noses & rub word wounds.
oh you must. but

to adore, to be reminiscent, to dream together
to love- remember. remember to dare
and become non-complacent like a maladjusted glove
that starts to fit slowly, so
let me violently be yours now

tarna kumar

pardon me

last night,

I was supposed to make pasta and fish for dinner, I did not.

I was supposed to head to the gym for an hour; that didn't happen.
I was supposed to look up tutorials and make myself a nun's habit ( in white), but it wasn't to be.

this morning,

I was supposed to fix some breakfast but I nearly burned down the kitchen again.

I was even supposed to call mom and chit chat for few minutes, but then I couldn't even endure my own voice.
I was to get up early and start cleaning my room for the party tonight, but hey I am still in bed.


I am supposed to be wearing my glasses but I have my eyes closed.

While I am supposed to breathe long breaths, I am choking on oxygen.
And am I not supposed to dream about you? But here I am wide awake, refusing you. 

suddenly I am down

how did you get here?

did images of abandoned mornings
and kisses without tongues 
strap you like anchor
to sink you?
did words,
careless and tiny
like swallows, smolder you to ashes?

from where did you inherit the fall ? 
was it the head or the heart ?
or was it the sequins of secret lust?

did you squeeze 
your breast on your way 
down like it was made of marshmallows?
did you lose your sense of direction 
like that time you nearly
drowned ?

down is not out, you must not close your eyes. 

can you see anyone?