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?

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Poetry

‘Poetry is inspired;

A result of divine intervention,’

that is what they said

when I asked how.

 

Inspiration wasn’t easy to find;

The trams, the dirt and the sky;

None did any good.

 

Words were jumbled;

Phrases strewn across parchments;

And feelings left unfelt.

 

I took to the smoke;

Relied on the solace of Shiva

And the drink of the Devas.

But none did any good.

 

Then I saw you.

No it wasn’t the eyes,

The teeth or the skin.

It was the soul.

 

I said, ‘I am damaged goods;

Carry on brother.’

You said, ‘who is not;

I am here to stay.’

 

Speech was clear;

Sentences woven to perfection;

And feelings, a balm on the tired soul.

 

Now I say to them,

‘Poetry is intoxication,

but of a different kind.

It is the leap of the heart

And the bloom of the soul.

It is you.’

 

The Lady

There she was in my dream,
A canvas- a canvas done by me,
She was as ‘normal’ as any of mine can be.

Her auburn hair in a severe bun,
The black button up,
a- turtle neck,
a dog’s leash lovingly pressing
her delicate neck.
Yet she smiled- smiled through all that pain.

The old and the wise had once told me-
leave the eyes for the last,
The window to the soul,
Delicate creatures they are,
Tread lightly around them
For they- those unexplained beauties,
can well show you heaven in hell.

Kohl lined they were,
A strange hazel hue in them,
Big and bold- fearless they were
Stood out in her cold face.
Glowing like the star just before death

But wait- the emotions,
The emotions in their depths.
Something bordering between
Stubborn bliss and cynical defiance,
they haunt my dreams.
What is it about them?
I understand not.

My own creation so painfully crass.
What is she?
Why is she what she is?
I long for the day
I can conceive her with the stroke of a brush.
I long for the day
I can give her a house, a frame,
I long for that day,
I do.

I drew her hours after I had written the poem. She still haunts my dreams.
I drew her hours after I had written the poem. She still haunts my dreams.

The muse to her man

Only 19 I was when I met you;

That fateful day in spring;

When brother Andre unknowingly;

Seized my heart from me and gave you.

That day I lost all that was dear-

My sanity, my pride, my family

And most of all myself.

Yes, I lost myself to you.

Shy, petite, obedient, I was.

You charmed me by your darkness.

Your handsome face was my mirror;

And you were my God.

Ill-reputed you were;

They named you a lothario,

A womanizer, a vagabond,

The moody prince of Paris.

Yet I ignored all;

I heard not the pleas of my loved ones.

They cried out-

Dear Jeannette, to your doom you go.

But me,

I, who was in love;

Heard not the cries of sanity.

Followed my childish heart,

And came to you faithfully.

Forever yours.

Promises you made me;

Said you’d give me your name,

Your love, yourself.

Dear Modi, where did they go?

When my Jeanne was born,

All she had was an unknown father.

An alcoholic,

An artist living in denial of the world.

Yet I loved you despite all.

Sat through all your dark moods;

All your whimsical acts I bore;

All your violent rages I took to my skin.

Yes I loved you.

I was your ‘jeannette’,

Your wife, your muse.

Despite all, possess you I could not.

After all you were the artist and I your muse.

When all friends deserted you,

I was there was I not?

When the world spit on you,

You found comfort in the warmth of my bosom did you not?

Oh my Modi, my sweet love,

The web of sensual darkness

That you wove around me was now my home,

My reason to live.

And when you left this cruel world,

I left with you.

I was yours till my last moments.

Your ‘Jeanette’,

Your unacknowledged wife,

Your muse.

mid week gibberish

Go fishing with no knowledge of where
the fish and the hook should be.
Go bungee jumping with fear of height
in your heart.
Mix irish cream with black coffee
and drink it as a shot.
Wear polka dots to a cocktail party.
Listen to the radio and sing along loud
even though you can hardly get any note right.
Fall in love with some random stranger on the street
just because his eyes are like a dream.
Pack your bag on a Monday morning
and leave town for the whole week.
Switch off your phone
and speak to the person sitting beside you on the train.
Go to a circus and eat cotton candy
just because it is the thing to do.
Hug the lady who sits on the street
with her dog and bag as company.
You never know that might be the only hug
she has got in a very long time.
Call up those who really matter
and spend ages talking to them about absolute nothing;
because sometime nothing is everything.
Don’t be afraid to talk non sense;
it sometimes makes sense.
Smile freely,
Laugh loudly,
Cry passionately,
Love effortlessly,
Live like there is no tomorrow.