Get me some love.

Honey,

Would you run to the store at the corner of the street,

And get us some fresh love?

We’ve run out of it I think.

There’s a little bit sticking to the bottom of the jar;

But that will need some work on it.

I have already tried everything I could think of.

Can you now see if you’re any better at it than I am?

But be careful,

What if the jar falls and shatters,

And we can’t tell shards from whatever remains of our love?

We wouldn’t want that.

Perhaps we can ask funny Will to sell us some.

Replenished with the spark everyone keeps telling us to get.

Though I wonder,

Do they sell refills?

Because I can tell darling,

We are going to be needing it often,

And it will never be enough.

The Night

This night,
Spreading like a cat on its claws,
Arches down the driveway,
Knocking air out of people;
Like smoke that freezes against glass windows,
For you to slide your fingers across it,
And give me a sign.
And I will stumble out with staggering steps,
Straight into you.
Take me somewhere,
Where I cannot hear it rattle,
Against my feet.
Where I cannot watch it dissolve into the humdrum of the day.
Brutal like a pack of wolves,
It chases me to the end of the road.
Gathering men around it.
Leeeing,
Groping,
Calling me names I know not why.
Because you say,
The night sold its secrets to the day.

Aparajita

Incomplete #4

‘Will the pendant be ready by the 3rd?’
Mr. Sen, the jeweller nodded in affirmative and handed her the acknowledgement receipt. Assured, Ananya left the shop and came out of the complex.
Although it was early April, the day was nevertheless getting much too warm for her comfort. She realised that Manoj the driver would be waiting at the far end of the city centre and moved ahead in that direction.

‘Anu?’

She wasn’t sure what stopped first- her steps or the heartbeats.

‘Ishaan, you have such a voice that I can always recognise.’ She had said, running her fingers across his black curls.
‘Really?’, he had quizzed playfully.
‘And if I disguise it, Anu? I can really fool you over the phone.’
Her mellow laughter followed.
‘No you can’t! Your voice is seductive and with a tinge of smirk that cannot be hidden. I will always know it is you.’

But it wasn’t 2010 and neither was it Delhi. That it was Ishaan’s voice was beyond doubt and she turned. There he was, looking at her affectionately, waiting for her to respond.

Our story

An unsigned card beneath a shut window,
sprayed with little perfume droplets,
still waits
and the wait is eternal.
For the love way back became just a shadow,
of moments basked in moonlit glory.
That might as well,
be your story.

A half burnt letter smelling of rose,
written tediously,
in verse and prose,
still radiates,
a charred odour
and the stench is ethereal.
For the passion became so huge, so real,
that no longer the heart could venture to feel.
The ending words say ‘I’m sorry’
that might as well,
be my story.

Delusion

‘Have you ever nurtured a dream for so long that it begins to imply nothing but meaninglessness?’ She asked him, sliding her arm in his, as they sat overlooking the sunset over a distant horizon.
‘Elaborate, dear’, he replied nonchalantly.
A cool breeze brushed past the young couple. She tucked away curly locks behind her ear and smiled faintly.
‘Like holding on to memories until that remind of nothing. Like humming a familiar tune until you lose track of it. Like walking down a road you’ve trodden on so many times that all of a sudden you realize that you’re lost.’
He shook his head.
‘How can you be intrigued by things that don’t matter?’
She sighed. How deeply she wished he would see things and feel emotions the way she did.’ What matters then?’
He slipped his fingers into hers and said, ‘Ambitions, achievements, comfort, your love for me; these matter.’ She wondered if the order of the priorities in his life was reflected in the aforesaid sentence.
‘What about your love for me?’ She looked at her hand which he held firmly and tried to feel the touch but failed.
‘Don’t be silly. You know I love you.’ At this confirmation she lifted her head and looked at him. To her utter dismay, she now was looking at a complete stranger. Her words came mocking at her. . .

Like holding on to memories until that remind of nothing.
Like humming a familiar tune until you lose track of it.
Like walking down a road you’ve trodden on so many times that all of a sudden you realize that you’re lost.

Gently, she pulled herself from him and stood up.
‘Are you leaving already?’ he said.
She gazed at the crimson sky veiled in her heart’s disappointment.
‘It has been a long time coming. I must leave.’ She walked away, leaving him to his own thoughts.
The breeze blew past them yet again.
To him, comforting and mystical; to her, cold and ruthless.