Could you?

Could you live with the night in your sunny universe?

Could you accommodate a tear in your vast smile?

Could you stay awake when all you needed was sleep?

Could you fool yourself in thinking everything was fine?

Could you carry the burden of the past knowing it wasn’t one of yours?

Could you be fine for you and i both?

Could you desire when i had lost hope?

Could you hope when i despaired?

Could you be ruined for the sake of my reputation?

Could you replace your warmth with my chill?

Could you truly make me yours when i’m not even mine anymore?

Could you feel when I went numb?

Could you live with knowing that it was a path of thorns you were walking on?

Could you spin poetry from the unwritten prose i served you?

Could you?

Could you?

Between the worlds

Between mind throbs and heart aches, there is a world where sanity prevails.

Between the small cats and large dogs, there is a world dominated by affection.

Between the muddy muck and the grey sky, there is a world where the lotus blooms.

Between sky jumps and scuba dives, there is a world of hikes and cycles.

Between your ego and my indifference, there is a world where our heart strings are attached.

Key lesson learnt: find the middle path; the world between the worlds.

To the vitruvian woman

Your lips the color of my womb

bleed words that take me to the moon.

The look in your eyes set fire to my tomb

while your touch comes to me as a boon.

 

Bukowski, you say, is your lover,

you claim to be his bread and butter.

Gertrude has your heart in a cover,

your beauty, if shunned, can lead her to a gutter.

 

Life ‘came a full circle when I first saw your face,

your fire burnt my soul to the depth of my grave.

A Madonna on earth, you weren’t from my race,

had a halo around you, I could see you brave.

 

Your memories taunt me like something I haven’t got,

How I worship your feet and I can help it not.

The vitruvian man

Oh vitruvian saint,

and the master of my heart,

how your sight makes me faint,

how through me your arrows dart.

 

I have often wondered which God made you,

the secret that is your erudite bones,

how at dawn you fall like the dew,

and rise at dusk like the resonant tone.

 

To see you chant Chaucer in your sleep,

and recite the periodic table to your kids,

I fall in love with you deep.

Alas! She has already called her dibs.

 

Your beauty and her grace go hand in hand,

And i am left here standing alone in the strand.

 

 

On being happy

No it’s not a slow process;

It is spontaneous

like a cat’s jump onto the unsuspecting prey.

It is

just.

 

I’ve never felt this way before;

Or have I?

Maybe. Could be. Would be.

I am

just.

 

Uplifted, elevated and impregnated;

Sporting a smile and a funny eye.

My dog amuses me as does my sock.

They are

just.

 

Funny is the word of the day;

funny how black the black hole is;

funny how the whiskers are ticklish;

funny how the ant forgets its path sometime;

I am just

Happy.

 

And I don’t know why.

The penpal

I have an image for you;

One among many.

The rain drops and the coffee cup;

the grey sky and the wooden pane.

 

The parchment and the smudged ink stared at me,

“The end,” it said.

No clue as to why, what, where.

Just a tasteless goodbye.

 

3 years had been a long time;

It felt like decades or more.

But all it took was two words;

Was it so easy to let go?

 

I still remember the day we sang with words;

the day we laughed with the happy hand;

the day we cried with tear stains on paper;

the day we argued with drops of ink.

 

It was Moscow versus New Jersey;

Dostoevsky versus Bukowski;

Anna Karenina versus Dominique;

The fog versus the sun.

 

Separated by two seas and an ocean,

It never really mattered who looked like what,

or what color suited who,

or how one ate.

 

we lived by our words and words were our world;

but it was words that killed at last.

One article and one noun.

The end.