Rewind. 

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There’s a part of me tracing back memories, I 

Feel this heaviness in my chest; the weight of your promises on a frail, little heart. 

I love you backwards, from the 

Last day to the first. 

This way I know your favourite song before I know your name, 

Loving you backwards comes easy. 

I watch you fall asleep and then wake up into the dead of the night. 

We run towards each other, not away. 

I love you backwards because you confuse me otherwise. 

This way, I don’t write strange words on strange hearts after you go; all my misery comes before you do. 

This way, it’s a happy ending to a terrible start.  

I talk to empty rooms for days till you finally appear. 

Loving you backwards reminds me of how much I hate kissing hungrily; and this way our last kiss becomes a stoned blur and our first a heavily engraved memory. 

This way I know the sound of you saying ‘I Love You’ before you say ‘we’re not meant to be’. This way, it doesn’t hurt. 

Loving you backwards makes me want to love you more, makes me want to roll your silences and singular syllables and smoke them away into a misty morning. 

Loving you backwards, is like writing a poem to my past.

You see, loving you backwards is my answer to the void. It is all of my stupid theories about infinity burned to ashes. 

It’s my way of making this goodbye stop hurting. 

Loving you backwards is like drowning. I’ve heard the death is euphoric.

अब कैसे बताएँ ये तुम्हे

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I don’t generally write in Hindi/Urdu, so excuse minor errors and spelling mistakes if any.

तुमने कहा अब बस भी करो,

भूल जाओ के कभी प्यार हुआ था।

अब कैसे बताएँ ये तुम्हे,

तुम्हारा इश्क़ ही मेरा मज़हब है।
तुम कहते हो की गुज़र गयी

अब चाँद-तारों से सजी वो आधी-रातें।

अब कैसे बताएँ ये तुम्हे,

की सवेरा मुझे पसंद नहीं।
तुम्हे याद नहीं है अब शायद

की खत तुम लिखा करते थे।

अब कैसे बताएँ ये तुम्हे,

तुम्हारे लफ्ज़ ज़ुबाँ से हटते नहीं।
तुम तो मू फेर लेते हो,

जब मैं तुम्हे पुकारती हूँ।

अब कैसे बताएँ ये तुम्हे,

कोई और पुकार अब याद नहीं।
तुम नहीं गिनते दिन ना रातें,

ना महीने जब बात नहीं होती।

अब कैसे बताएँ ये तुम्हे,

तुम्हारी आवाज़ बिना नींद आती नहीं।
तुम्हे देख अजीब सा लगता है,

अंजान से मालूम होते हो।

अब कैसे बताएँ ये तुम्हे,

फिरभी फ़िरदौस से मालूम होते हो।
तुमने तो अब कह ही दिया,

की ये मोहोब्बत नाकाम है।

अब कैसे बताएँ ये तुम्हे,

की दुआओं में सिर्फ तुम्हारा नाम है।

Homecoming.

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I break the nib of my pen against my skin;
I wait.
For you to spill from the cuts by my wrist
Asking me to write you a letter
Because all you ever held on to
Were my words.
I wait.
For you to hold my hand
And look into my bloodshot eyes
Send shivers down my spine
Hold me
Like your five minutes of sleep
On monday mornings
Or the last drink
On saturday nights.

I wait.

For you to smile a little
Maybe sing a song
Or light a matchstick
In a dark room because
You love the crackling of these flames.

I wait.

For you to notice me
Simmering in my sadness
Bathed in lavender
And anxiety
And irony
And your name scribbled with a ballpoint pen.
I wait.
For you to walk towards me
Your lopsided grin
Dead eyes and
Dead heart and
Dead silences.
I wait.
For you to wake up
Rub your eyes and
Stretch your arms
Pull me in
Tell me lies.
I wait.
For you to rush out of this house
Cursing at the alarm that refused to go off
All skin all bones
Perfectly executed puppet show.
I wait.
And wait some more.
For you to finally come back home.