Waves!

 We are waiting on the shore to be hit by another wave. A  wave or rather waves? 

The former wave caught us together, drowned us and we drowned holding our hands together.

Inside the loop, both of us suffocated, exchanged glances as if those were the final moments. 

We realized when we touched the arid, dry, sandy ground that it was just the beginning of a chain. Chain of waves. 

The former wave, Osun, taught us how to be strong. 

Now, here we are standing legs wide apart, hands wide apart, and nothing is intertwined, waiting for the next set of waves. 

Stare

 

Everyone complained about her silence.

It made her feel that she was home finally.

So, she decided to speak.

She did! Thinking that everyone wanted to hear.

One sentence.

She saw impatience staring at her from the listeners’ brows.

She stopped with a heavy heart.

Everyone seems happy now.

I regret.

For, giving them the belief that I have talked finally.

Now on it would be my own problem if I stop speaking suddenly.

They will stare at those two butterflies as they did now.

Pondering over the reasons for my silence.

Desire

This is a poem written for desire.

About a

Desire that evades when I touch her skin.

Desire that encloses me till an inevitable juncture.

For the

Desire in her body who despite the chain of disappointments seek the desire in my body.

I have ventured the possibility of traversing the crossroads, needlessly.

It’s a pitiful sight to see you flinch as the bastard in me slays your ego.

Despite being shunned, you long again.

This is not any fucking love story buddy.

Get on! Fuck the desire in me.

Venture out.

Thirteen

I was thirteen. Teen.

A pair of eyes caught my attention.

Bus arrived.     She boarded.       I boarded.

I stood behind her.      My fingers     touched      hers.

Half  of an hour.   I reached my destination.

I  whispered in her ears. I will go now.

I got down. Looked at her.

A pair of eyes. Youth.

Egoist

Mental pictures

Forlorn appetite

Who’s to be burdened?

Brain, a divorcee,

Narcissistic sage

Nights always at its peak

Selfless body?

Nomore! Nomore

Fodder for brain

Nomore Nirvana.

Nomore satiated mental pictures.

Tabula rasa. Sleep.

A Pair

Two middle fingers on both the hands. A Pair, Equals.

3 + 3 = 2, A Pair, Couple.

They lie on each other, but in opposite directions.

They make a circle together, clock wise and anti clock wise.

They point at each other, one eastwards and other westwards. Waywards.

Eyes pleasing, a cross.

Down they face, rightwards down, leftwards down.

A Pair, they call themselves. Couple.

A Casual Elegy

Distrustful doubts

Erased expressions

Futile fancies

Exaggerated echoes

Dejected desires

-Widowed Wisdom-