Am I allowed to feel?

If it’s okay,

To kiss you like we are in a dream, about to wake up,

Then I’ll hold you up against the wall and do that.

If it’s okay,

To talk about the stars making weird shapes,

While we desperately want to fall asleep under them,

Then I will create a canvas of shapes as far as your eyes can stretch in a gaze.

Look that’s a heart, I mumble sheepishly.

If it’s okay to stand on rooftops and feel the wind on our faces,

Drive a skyfall across my skin,

I’ll want us to fly.

To test these shallow waters that keep us inches in trepidations,

If we are permitted to love,

I will dive in still for answers.

Do we sink or stay afloat?

And now I know that I am okay.

It is alright,

To talk about what is not important,

At one in the silence of the night,


It is allowed,

I am allowed to feel.


Have some faith.

I don’t find answers in your faith,

But you do.

And maybe we can go on living like that.

Maybe I can stop sneering at your traditional ways

 and you can keep from the thought that I worship the devil.

I don’t.

For I’ll need faith for that.
Carry on,

If you find peace,

You head bent over in front of idols,

And deities.

Books and shrines.

Mountains and rivers.

Fire and the sun.

I am but a blot on another dot,

In a cosmic space that boggles my mind,

And I tried faith to give me the hope that

There still was some hope left for us.

I am but moving towards death like you,

Trying to avoid the inevitability,

Trying to make sense in the truth that,

I am not worse off than you.
I have seen you shrug and brush off a tragedy as

The will of the Lord,

And resign to the cajoling that,

In the end,

The faithful ones shall attain redemption,

While I’ll be queueing up at the gates of hell.

The faithless,

And yet neither you nor I are saved from the end.


Tell me feelings are,

Made of lumps in my throat.

Made of an uneasiness that springs around my heart,

When you go on,


On about what I do,

How I hurt you,

How I never listen,

And all of this in a spiteful breakdown.

On about what I think,

And everything I have ever chosen when I could.

Why should I speak at all,

Everything I say will be used against me;

so I don’t.


Hoping against hope,

Wishing we didn’t collide into one another,

And neither collapse into a disastrous indifference,

I wait for us to come back to you

And me.

Through my days,

Your eyes smile through dimly lit corridors,

Shadows of light that I keep from filtering in,

Onto my scattered thoughts,

Spill all across the expanse of my memories of you,


I will sing songs that liken us to lost stars,

So that I know this can be ethereal.

And beyond my control is this world where we, bereft of gravity to pull us to one another,

Drift apart,
Over news and cups of tea.

Wake me up

Wake me up,

When the sun isn’t so brutal outside,

And I don’t feel it burning a hole in my skin as I walk.

Wake me up when they have stopped looking for me.

When it’s dark outside for as far as you can see,

And you will know not a soul cares for where I have been,

When their gazes savor of a hungry voyeur,

Wake me up from eternal sleep.


We’ve been around.

These starry nights,

For as long as I remember,

Lying on our backs- you and I.

We have been around these faces peering in and out,

Of photo frames,

Like shooting stars that disappear,

Before you could get used to them.

And long enough we have danced to the songs,

That have been around us, 

Swirling and swishing like skirts on a loop.

I know we have been around like travellers on a time lapse,

Moving too fast into doom,

Yet each day such an excruciatingly endless wait to it.

Do you remember 16?

At 16,

Wondering what I was going to be,

If any of the growing up was still left to do.

Trying to have my own love story,

Which I did,

When all Kumar Sanu numbers made sense.

At sixteen being the rebel that I think I was,

To what end,

I have no clue.

At sixteen when the new boy in the neighborhood gave me a rush,

And made me talk about him,

Albeit in a hushed voice.

When your brother at sixteen smells of hair setting gel and too much deodorant.

When your next door girl is too young to be wearing so much make up,

According to you though.

When you are worried to death if your son gets into an engineering college next year.

When you keep your eyes on the road,

Your ears on the door,

Dinner’s cold.

Oh when will he be home?

At sixteen,

When you hold your brother’s bloodied face,

Rest him on his lap,

And watch him close his eyes forever.

I am sorry we have failed you as humans,

My brother.

Reason rests where it’s louder.And not where it’s dead.


We are unsure,

If there ought to be an outrage,

At murder by the masses.

And why is that so?

Maybe because we want somebody to point our fingers at and scream:


And because the mob,

Might have one of our own.

And let’s not be blown away be emotions yet.

An eyebrow raised,

You pick up on the news.

Oh, just some man beaten to death by the crowd.

You assume, that between one and many,

Reason rests where it’s louder.

And not where it’s dead.

We are unsure,

If one murder is one too many.

Aren’t we doomed as well?

Our own houses are not on fire.

On our chariots led around by horses high on ego,

We attract offense like magnets

It sticks to our skin and clings like a pin on its head trying to balance the act.
We, flushed in our sweltering self worth,

Cry out loud and are joined by the crowd.

Like magnets.