If you ask me!!

Last night when things got dirty Backbones shrink as a narrow battery Abdomen bend to an asymmetrical clock It's needles went backward  Undoing seconds and redoing remembrance Ticking stopped for bygone minutes Like awaiting uninvited guest for an after party Pause pushed needles to poke a nearby flesh A helpless liquid spat out It resembled blood and fungus Spread all over like a cancerous candy With sweet thorns which eventually hurt And the pain came out of compulsion To bleed and not ain't an option For a lifetime the choicelessness bled Luckily there were no chances No-one chooses to bleed It's always the other way round.

The girl who hated earrings lives in my room No-one knows, just us She roams around my cupboard and scans everything Throws away those cute studs grandmother bought me. She lies in my couch and interrogates "Why does your ear need rings? She had an engagement? At 28th day you were born? What if she likes to be single? Anyone asked for permission? Noway - just default detachment"  She says it's embarrassing Punching ears just to look 'good' Isn't that awkward? As a kid when they punch, it hurts less When you get older, pain doubles Because it's not just about ears! But when I looked her closer Close enough to pickup that unibrow and blackheads I found patches of a dead earring in her lobe When I touched it, blood dripped out. 

Can we live outside the language? Without the burden of word pyramids and carefully built sentence structures with no mispelled nouns or verbs, you or me. Had a dump of grammar mistakes as a kid We dared to scribble errors With the flow of time we grew cowards Do not wanted to be mistaken ever It is easier to live that life Following someone else's path You know what's ahead, safe and quiet People be like, identical walking tombs World be like, cemetery of orderly arranged graves  Just like a poem written in meter. Language is a set of rules followed by set of other rules It backup your thoughts with norms no one asked of Thus you won't make mistakes Because you don't know what is right.

I exploit verse as a way of dealing with thoughts as I grew older with them. And at 3.00 am sharp it pops out of nowhere Pretty good time for a confession? It chokes, vomit and sometimes faint. The 3 o'clock IST makes me think about the many times I was silent, to those caring looks of my very own strangers, and the many times I could have punched their noses. The very first time we kicked the vigilant fingers of a well mannered, and the nearby aunt's 'feminist terrorists' hashtag which made us celebrities. My friend once told me he's not ok with his uncle's cuddles, I'm so sorry the UKG brain couldn't think any harder and you little butterfly deserved way better wings. Fourth grader, reading fifth news on prey-hunter-god relation, literally made me sick. Used to pray for the cerebrum to function normally unless your normal seems pretty close to fine, also you know it is never going to reach there. So I take a thought and give it an amnesia, hold on ther...

Your story too is like all stories you think it is so misleading and deceiving, this is someone else’s or a mirage, but nope! it’s solemnly yours eventually, every vague details make sense; Spend hours talking about you to myself and our conversations be like – “No, I don’t want to go through this again” you’ll repeat after me, On every yesterdays you wish you’ve never ended up in love – -in love with your grandmother’s kisses -with the clouds followed your school bus -with the raindrops fell across your umbrella -with the breeze pecked your eyelashes in your first-ever bicycle trip -with the second drop of blood rolled over your thighs -with your reflection of mine -with all residues, you’ve ever been in love without hope or agenda. It was all a game sometimes you’ve to kill what you love, to win the battle of "brain vs heart". And you became sour with people afraid to let someone else close again. Our monologue continues like- “Just one more time, it’s not the first time re...

On the eve of my demise, I woke up in an I don’t understand world. So tranquil as it’s words frozen Pictures too bright for my vision Path so fragile as no-one ever walked over Couldn’t feel any beats or breath intakes My thoughts don’t feel mine anymore, Somewhere in this untold crowd I think I see things, but you nowhere. On the day of my demise, strolling over my regrets and relish found a piece of paper with a single syntax in a language I can never decipher resembling the imposters of being alive and echoes from an unfinished poem written by this coward poet, who don’t know that letting go is better, better than clinging to something and hurting oneself. On the very next day of my demise, I was found guilty, for not being there to wipe my mom’s eyes, and every tears shedded for my reminiscence. Unable to undo any memory I ever created in you On all tomorrows after my demise I’m so sorry for being alive, alive somewhere in you.

Why am I unable to pen a cue? my notes run out of breath, I out of words pages dead and poems lost all those midnight scribbles; curl up and suicide? empty soul and unwritten lines Thoughts plugged my mind it can't respirate and is choked to death there is no moon or tune in my sky  may be the stars died in me and that's how I became darkness, dawdling in this blackhole, unlocking a hundred voids All I could see is me after myself All I could hear is the melancholy in my verses All I remember is things I shouldn't All I could write is this much..