To Arabella

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i am coiled like a snake on the kitchen floor,

i wait for you to swing open the kitchen door,

my breathing is shallow.

soon enough the screams that i have kept hidden under my eyelids

will start to reflect in my bloodshot eyes. 

my sadness traces a chalked outline of my body, like it wants answers,

i have none to offer, except for my mediocrity,

the overdramatic stage entry of my melancholy,

i find words but they’re too heavy, 

they feel like they’ve been used to describe apocalypses and burning monuments,

they sound too familiar and i’ve forever been afraid of strangers.
i am lost like a broken seashell along the shores of the sea of your all encompassing presence. 

i want to wait,

i want to live,

i want to try to touch every ray of the sun that drowns into your sweat and every moon that has stolen your shine;

but i can not. 

my fears aren’t at the bottom of your sea,

they are at the other end of it. 

so i make myself comfortable with the insignificance of my absence,

this unsolicited abstinence;

i only crave to touch your skin without you slipping away from my fingers;

have you ever dusted off sand from sunburned forearms?

it feels like i’ve been doing it for too long. 
i’m lying, crying, spilling blood all over the kitchen floor,

i try to picture you standing at the kitchen door,

hoping you’d remind me that i’ve missed seasons of your skin and i’ll tell you

i was busy making your side of the bed, just so you could collapse like a tidal wave against my toes,

but it’s late;

for me to ask you to return, 

for me to try to get up, walk to an old telephone booth,

call my past and say,

‘tell them you love them before they forget that you do’.

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Yellow.

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You say yellow, you say sunshine; and frames from Bollywood movies. You say ‘I Love You’, you say it like you mean it. You say yellow, you say stay. You say paint me, paint us, you say come let’s take a nap. You say yellow, you say cold flames, you say flowers. You say yellow, I say stop. I say poison. I say ‘I Love You’, I say let me kill myself. 


Wake up before the sunrays reach your skin,

And I know, I know you’re here.

Keep playing with these matches, 

There’s not a lot of time left before

We turn into ashes. Wake up. 

You know, the sound of your tears as they

Trail down your cheeks, they remind me how

Our angels get drunk too, and they paint the sky

In shades of tequila. Look at me. 

Look at me, I’m shifting silhouettes for you.

Inhaling poison, grainy smoke, so much chaos.

Can you hear this thunder, hear it roar under my quivering lips?

Can you break away from your toxic stupor, just to watch me?

Watch me fall from grace. These walls, look,

These walls that surround you aren’t white anymore, they aren’t white anymore. 

Can you feel me die? Can you touch me?

I’m a feather. Wake up. Look at me. 

I’m a feather, I’m flying. 

I’m a feather, I’m still breathing.

Almost. 

Exeunt.

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​Let me pick up from where i left off

Let me finish, this time, i finish.

I start by resting down your feet 

They have been dangling in mid air for too long

To remember gravity 

Give them some ground and then

I move towards your hip

Nudging it a little towards the left so that

It doesn’t bang against the furniture as you

Dance carelessly in your bedroom

And then i hold you by your waist

As an excuse to feel your skin against mine

And to fit in all of my excuses

In the curve of your spine 

Then letting my arms find their way to your shoulders

I press down a little for they

Must be tired of standing straight

All this while, dear strong woman of mine

Sliding down your arms

With sunsets in your veins

That slip around your forearm

Filling themselves up in your fistfuls of fight

And then i detach myself at your fingertips

My nerve endings gently kissing yours

And i exhale. 

I’ve signed off every letter now,

And our bodies have had their closure.

It’s about time you leave me, honey,

Close the door as you go.

I wouldn’t want to bear with another

Incomplete goodbye.

14 Lines from Love Letters or Suicide Notes. / A tribute /

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I very recently read a blog post of this sort, and somehow gathered the courage to pen down my own version of Doc Luben’s beautiful poem that still manages to give me goosebumps. 

Apologies, in advance, if I fail to do justice to that masterpiece. 

1. Please do not stop reading halfway, I know a write a little too much and a little too ordinarily. But hear me out this one time. Please. 
2. I remember every lyric to your favourite song, they’re written in my leather-bound diary. When you feel like you’re slipping away from your own self, read them. There are pieces of me in there. 
3. Please do not leave the tap running when you’re done washing your face after having read this. There is a vein by the side of your forehead that throbs when you’re thinking too much. I always wanted to touch it. I feared you’d collapse under my fingertips so I maintained my distance. Maybe once you’ve read this you’ll let me turn you into sand. Or stardust. 
4. I love your voice but I can’t remember it anymore. As I write this I want to picture you asking me what I’m doing. Maybe I’m writing this a little too late. 
5. I know I am always before time. Maybe I’m writing this a little to early. 
6. I still don’t know your favourite flavour of icecream. 
7. Please pack your belongings and leave my memories. I’d prefer your physical presence over the frequent visits you pay me in my dreams. 
 8. Your hoodie isn’t yours anymore, it’s ours. I’m wearing it right now. I hope this one piece of clothing becomes the one you love the most. Or hate the most. 
9. I forgot your landline number again. Should I write it down 10 times and then turn it into a catchy jingle? I don’t see why I need to memorise it now. I’ve forever been bad with numbers. With the exception of the number of colours in your eyes. 
10. I love how the word forever isn’t real but still exists. Like a lot of other things. Like you and I.
11. The duvet tag is supposed to be on the bottom-left corner of the bed. I am not going to remind you again. 
12. Sometimes “I Love You” isn’t the right phrase. Maybe it’s “I’m sorry”.
13. I will say that I spilled water on this but you know those are my tears, so I won’t lie. I’m not a strong person. I need things to hold me up. Sometimes those things are other humans.  Sometimes, they are ropes. 
14. So do you love me back?

A size too small.

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nothing ever seems to fit.
not those jeans you would have killed for.
not those dreams that play on repeat.
it’s a funny story you say as his hand absent-mindedly rubs against your thigh
and tell him about the time you tripped and fell into a drain
but like always, nothing fits
not his hand in yours .
not his laughter in your ears.
not his breath trying to fill the hollows of your collar bone.
you wipe your eyes on the back of your hand
a black smudge that you know so well that you don’t need a mirror
to see how bad your face looks or a tissue to wipe it off
then again, nothing fits
not your ever ringing cell-phone in the back pocket of your jeans.
not your grunge rock playlist with the soft murmur of the wind.
not the 23 reasons they gave online for being alone.
you search the dictionary for the one word you hate the most
death
the action of dying
the state of being dead
the end of something.
it still doesn’t fit.
not the definition Oxford offers you.
not the hesitation you see in the mirror.
not the fear you have of moving vehicles.
there is blood in your mouth
loud banging on your bedroom door
one word in your head, ‘exeunt’.
nothing fits still.
not your obsession with Shakespeare as you die
not the metal you taste in your own blood
(you thought you were a rock chick)
not your bad puns with the horrified shrieks from your mothers aged body.
see,
nothing ever fit you.
not even you yourself.
but your picture somehow did
in the obituary section of the newspaper you never read
‘she was a happy child, but she wanted to be dead.’

I am War.

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So honey, this is your final war cry.
Gather the trampled bodies from under the rubble;
tell them stories of fairies with blue coloured hair,
tell them stories of fairies that have disappeared,
tell them there were souls that bled only red,
tell them there were men that craved for bread,
tell them death is a monster living under their bed,
tell them all the things you’d never have said
had I not rained like a lifetime of pain over your city
of Jasmine and Swords and Lace.
Another city that I did not spare.
I am war.

So honey, this is your starry night sky.
Look up into a heaven that does not exist;
Pray for a miracle to save you from my wrath,
Pray for the fighters on the warpath,
Pray for some laughter in all this crying,
Pray for a voice that’s promising, not lying,
Pray for a day when your loved ones aren’t dying,
Pray for a home where debris isn’t flying
around and around and around, suffocating you.
Do you really want to live?
I have only death to give.
I am war.

So honey, this is your final goodbye.
Hug your mother but beware, don’t make a sound;
I know the secret word to get into your room,
I know the magic spell to cast all doom,
I know where you hide from me when you’re scared,
I know the news headlines before they are aired,
I know you cry whenever I come undeclared,
I know you cry all day, I wish I could have cared
for your tears and not the pockets of profiteers
that eat their dinner at the cost of your smiles.
Listen, another exploding landmine.
I am war.

So honey, this is your noose, your necktie.
Make sure you wrap it tight and firm;
Keep hanging till your heart stops beating,
Keep hanging, there are rules, no cheating,
Keep hanging even when your mother screams your name,
Keep hanging and then set this house aflame,
Keep hanging there is no life left for you to claim,
Keep hanging and your brother will do the same
and so will a thousand others like you when they hear me come
disguised as terrified screams
as the sound of broken dreams.
I am war.