No

No. Not with this intensity.
Not this way. Not again. No.
Not like this. Not in this manner.
No no no no. What not will i not do.
Do not do nothing. Do nothing to nullify this. Not your choice. Not my life. No.

Eternity

Traveling alone is a way to reconnect with yourself. Unless I've proved that I am comfortable with myself in all my solitude, how do I even think of living my life forever and ever?

Yet

Maybe you are my garland
Coz you choke me as you slip away
Your fragrance just a set of migraines
Your memories like the typing history on a smartphone, i cannot really get away from what I told you
Yet, i will

Starstruck

Staring at the ceiling is a promising option when your
Heart doesn't beat that
extra lub
Dub. I would
not die like
This. Chaos is more my style.
Starstruck explosion
Is this universe after all.

Prose vs Poetree

I am lazy. 

Not saying lazy people write poetry better, but we tend to think of the easiest way to crunch something into meaning. This often helps to break free from the normal ties with language. And that miracle is a poem.

Tear (flow down / and scratch) my cheek

do not mark my (sorrow / rage) in this act

misdirection is the (intention / result). did 

you (feel / notice) the pauses in your brain?

Do we split our souls when we reproduce?

where does the baby's life come from? do we split our soul and deposit them in tiny packets in the ova and sperm? then these little messengers, carrying a bit of our history float and make up a new memory, a new life. each day, with each little cell, you scrape off a little bit of your soul. and finally, when there is no more to scrape from, you drop down dead. 

Red Velvet Cupcakes

that smell, feel, taste, 

your intoxicating being

i am addicted

everyday

sniffing bits of you

savouring

teasing

devouring

to the last bit

this is how memories are made

You

Why didn't my curly hair tangle you?
Were my feet too ugly, nose too sharp, laugh too loud?
When this list gets over, tell me, why? Really

But I have a mini-you in my pocket
I cherish
All of you
All of you

The easy one

Let's talk of butterflies and clouds
and flowers and laughs and
All the good things you can see.

The audience craves for a poem they can understand
None of your mumbo jumbo will get published
Don't let them go for a dictionary or stalk you for the meanings you have scribbled.

So i talk of butterflies and clouds
And all beautiful things
and show what a joy they are
Natural topics, natural words,
only
rhymes are not my thing
Let's talk of flowers and laughs and
Happy thoughts and
Laugh our happy laughs inside.

Sorry

Sometimes, you need to apologize to yourself. For all the sacrifices that now seem pointless, for taking yourself for granted, for denying things that come naturally, for denying things that seemed too far above. Your wounds on others are easier dealt with, with words. Try coaxing yourself to believe you are sorry when you are not. Words falter then, not in this world where everything is just a syllable away

Buffet

Feed me with a cluster of colours

Black and blue ought to be perfect

You could even try variations of the red-maroon spectrum

Those might even be mistaken

For a romp in the sheets on a starry bed

bed-

lam is the planet I have become

Your sperm (subject to subjective suspicion)

And my unspeakable down-there(s)

Make the corners of our home.

Feed me papayas and pineapples

Or a garden variety kick-in-the-back would also do

The ensuing tsunami crimson

Would be the tip for your services

VAT included

Thank you very much sir, I enjoyed this meal, very much.

Eternal sunshine

The mind has its ways
To pull the past into a haze
That neither you nor I can let go of
Still we try drown it down in Smirnoff

Memories

Are scoundrels, clouding the sun
Of the present in all its fun
Nature herself tells us to forget:
Alzheimer's, dementia and the rest...
Listen, kc,
Without a future to see,
Our life becomes a purposeless rut
Without vision, the mind will shut
Vegetable existence too wouldn't matter
Without future, the world will shatter
The sunshine is what is ahead
The brightest is the spotless head.

Frozen

We have had our experiments, you and I, growing up
womb-sharers, love sharers
I know I left you out in the swing when those monkeys came
I am sorry.
I know I have let you down a number of times
and shut you out of my life
We might never be the poster kids of sisterhood

Why is it dear, that I always fear for you...
When I know you are the stronger one
Movies like these only show how much I miss that
true love
but it has always been true, I have always felt this
that your life is precious to me than mine.

Me

I'm me in one of these ways:
When my cocoon is filled with food
When my books coax me to their world
When my partner-in-womb, and crime, and consciousness retrace my life
When my memories remain just that
When my present is alien to the past or future

Mother

Mother,

Why in the age of camera rolls would you snap a picture of me with snot dripping down my nose?

Why would you let me run off wild in to the estate behind our house when you knew monkeys would bite little kids?

Why did you let me collect hailstones, bird poop, worm heads, and butterfly wings?

Thank you for letting me discover these things, for my memory is unique now, separate from the collective memory of cartoon network characters of my friends.

Love is letting me jump from a wall, scared of a dog chasing me. Love is you massaging my hurt leg with hot oil.

Pain

Do you know, that the survivors of the holocaust couldn't bear to hear the bark of dogs?

Memories barking out the cold
drip of scared sweat
When can I ever see you again?
my laugh sequenced in a slideshow
the shutterbugs caught me unawares
their candid shots caught the fear peeping

lipsticks should be red
not for seduction
but prevention
maybe then he wouldn't bite so hard

rape
is when you love, well sort of.

The Headache

It all boils down to choices. And to a large extent, the availability of these choices.

Here I have one of my friends buying a bike, and telling me how there aren't that many girls to offer a ride to in Kochi.
And why would a girl decide to not go pillion with a friend and go instead on a bus ride in the 'red devil' where the only outcome is to be groped?
Why wouldn't she ever earn 'enough' to buy a car for herself, or not have courage to drive by herself?
Why am I not cooling my head  off in the air outside, riding a bike and instead in my room writing 'feminist trash'?

Answer me, voyeurs.
Answer me, people who would never read this.

The history

These minuscule incidences, Lego blocks of indifference form no pattern visible to either you or me. Let us float away, fighting our warped wars, and let us get lost in wishful thinking, and find maybe other possibilities.

That said, let us now delete our Facebook histories.

Being an arts student

When you need to be careful what you wish for, you are in a world that is a bit too happy to give you things you don't quite need. You can then choose either of the two options: wage a war against all of this, or smile. You can either live in denial or conform.

What do arts students do?

Because we have been taught to respect the differences, we choose the middle ground. Always. Like the end statement of all debates not shown national television. Modesty is not how we clothe, it is how we think. We please too many, though we sound anti-establishment.

Dysfunctional

Of all the things we talked about, we spoke silences the best
The unnamed angers, jealousies and myriad affectations
became just another excuse for affection
and
in those moments somewhere, we discovered friendship
and mean words
and hurt each other with slanderbags
I pointed out your flaws when you laughed at mine
Our talks desperate for attention, loud, incompatible
we swim through each day, getting closer
pushing each other down.

Description

Dear guys, 

Because I forget that to lean on to your friends is the best relaxant upon earth,

Because I forget that often, the only thing you can trust is yourself,

And because after over fifteen posts, you will get tired of praising my work and start critically analyzing it,

You are the only readers of this journal to which I will write religiously, everyday.

We hereby enter a contract, and upon my not publishing something, you are credited for compensation.

Happy reading!

And as soon as you get tired of saying good things, 

Hit me hard with 

Words like pots and pans.

With love, 

Yours.