I Wish I Could Tell You

It’s been a while
since I finally accepted
the end.
But my heart still aches
everytime I think
of how we ended.
And if I could go back,
I wish I could tell you:
I stayed for so long,
not because I was weak
but because I believed
in the good person in you.
And I left, not because
you stopped wanting me,
but because I no longer
loved myself by loving you.



Day 7

Try as I might
To quieten the roar
the voices in my head
smashes through the doors.

To muzzle these voices
I must give up the fight.
Give up on love
If I’m to sleep tonight.

Give up on love?
I’d sooner face death
For a life without love
Is a life without breath.

So, these voices and I
shall continue this bout
for neither water, nor air, nor your love
will I survive without.


It’s only when you’ve reached
your tether’s end that you’re
asked to be patient, and it’s
only when you’ve given all that
you can, again and again, that
you’re asked to be kind, and it’s
only when you can’t, any more,
that you’re asked to go on for
that one last mile, and you’ve
asked of me patience, and
kindness, and tenacity more
times I can count, and that’s
why I sigh when you ask me
what’s wrong, because in trying
to demand all that you can
from me, I think you forgot that
even oceans, in their vastness,
are to silent shores, bound.


I would say I want to know
your body for all its curves
and undulations and dips
and peaks, but to know your
crevices would require a
sculptor’s touch, and my fingers
are clumsy from refilling my
pen with ink all day, so I’d rather
distill your every inch into a
language only the two of us
can speak, and write you down,
each line, each frown, each
scar, further polished into
yards and yards of poetry that
I read out to you every night,
with fevered kisses as our
punctuation, and slow
rhythms to which we breathe.


Missing someone who doesn’t
Miss you, or misses you a little
Less than you miss them reminds
Me of when we were packing up
My house in the suburbs, and my father
Told me to pick up a box carefully,
For it was heavy, and I could end
Up hurting myself, and I went up
To it, and geared myself up to put
In a lot of effort, and lunged up
With the box clutched in both of
My hands, but funnily, I picked up
The wrong box, and this was much
Lighter, so I fell, stumbling on my
Own feet, and hit the ground with
My head. I remember passing out
For a moment, and waking up to my
Mother’s concerned face, and she
Helped me get up, and said something
That I wish I could imbibe, for it
Would make my heart ache a little
Less today. She said, “don’t try so
Hard to make an effort with things
Before realizing how much they weigh.”

Dear Andy

She wrote me this on my birthday. I have no words. I love you Aishwaria.

I started writing you a letter
And was halfway through it,
7 out of 12 pages, to be precise
But I stopped because it taught
Me a few lessons on how to
Write an honest letter, and
I’m going to outline them for
You here, for you inspired the
Rules for writing the ideal
Letters to a dear, dear friend.

Step 1: I started
Off with defining our relationship
Or at least, I tried to, and I faltered
Because how do you define a bond
That transcends time, and space,
And vagaries of pain? I tried, and
I stopped because defining things
Makes them too concrete, and
The beauty of us lies in the fact
That we can mould ourselves to
What the other wants and needs.

Step 2: I began
Trying to draw parallel lines out
Of the core of our friendship, and
Tried to trace the path to, and of,
Where we now are, and I realized
That I couldn’t, because no path
Could lead to what we created
A love born out of understanding
And selfishness in equal parts
Because to give as much as we
Can, we had to take from someone else.

Step 3: I charted
Out the growth of the people we
Have seen ourselves grow into, and
Often grow out of, and it took me
By surprise, because I couldn’t
Mark the people we were, and we
Weren’t, and there is where we
Are, just as conflicted, and varied
As words we wield as weapons
And sometimes as salves (thank
You for that, really, for your words
Have often saved me from myself)

Step 4: I was supposed
To conclude it with the promises
Of what the future held, and
Platitudes coated in clichéd
Promises of forevers, and
Hackneyed ideas of constants
That we both know never hold
Any stead, so instead, here I
Promise you a simple concept-
A friendship that will last till
We both need shelters from
The storms we find ourselves in.

Dreamer Like Me

This love that I’ve seen,
and everything it has been,
has fluctuated;
from being
a warm reverie,
a cold memory,
and everything else,
that is in between.

But what matters; is that despite,
all that it does, with no respite,
blurring the lines
between wrong and right,
I have remembered how to breathe,
I have remembered what I need,
I have realized love is too real,
for a dreamer like me.