Love, Less

A few meters distance
Have I traveled in red lips
A cuppa tea at 7 am
In morning just like me
Half left for a mess
I can clean
I have seen
There
I have been

He said
Winter is coming
As Coldness in lonely bed
Wakes me up perfect
For a hot bath
Braless walks on street to work
The pale rainy morning
Would have said the same
Winter had come already

So I stacked up the woods
Of old seasonal hugs
Dusted off my raggedy blanket
From yesterday’s sores

And its time to put on my winter boots
Walking with sounds
No I won’t
Call you with love
Anymore
In morning
Tak tak a friend flirted
My boots make music
Alarm sounds
My coffee cups are still at bed
Its stale and cold now

As you said
Winter has come.

Culture

Few porcelain cups

Went back to its original states

Some herbal digestives melted

On the floor of rented luxury

The tenure ends

And we go back

On fighting for our original states

Friends home

Five sticky notes

And a revolving fan

Has more pain than I am

In healed cut marks

And guitar strings

Have more stories than Mine

And what do I wait for here?

My knifes are rusty

In maggots filled kitchen

The sink stinks of weeks left over

I my walls are clean like its not mine

And I dream of the cockroach

Died almost a year ago

I wait to go back there

I wait for love

Goals or something like this

Someday, In few years later,

When I am something

I wanna stand in a rooftop and say out loud

This uneducated, forgetful, impatience liar is my man

And people will look at you with pride

And hope

Of fixing their own messes,

For trying

For loving

Make yourself the best man

– not a perfect man

Good bye, lover

I just wanted,

Like everything you chose

Over me, in my worse situation,

Your priorities over me

Those important situations

Where you had to leave me shaking

Anxious and depressed

For friends

For work

For you

I just fought for a moment like that.

I wanted to feel how does it feel

When you chose me

Over everything.

Slowly/personal

You said I am broken

From every aspects

Depressed and don’t wanna get better

You said to get up and be positive

And do something,

Something creative.

I am broken,

I am lost, scared

My shaky hands can’t hold a pencil

My anxious brain gives me nothing

But exhaustion, your need, your comfort

I want you

To fix myself

“Scared”

I am sorry I cannot create a piece of art

Right now I cannot be strong enough

But Today,

I cooked maggi

For myself

With schezwan sauce and dried oregano flakes.

-and I will change my tshirt next

Yours, faithfully

At the corner rack

Under seven month old dusts

I never dared to touch

I never bothered to clean

There it was

The love that remains

In some contacts

Archived dreams hidden well

Round beds in soft pillows

Still warm in body heat

Still messy in nicotine guilt

There it was

The love that remains

In glowing five inch screen

I looked but never dared to look

Same gibberish stacked wish

Some moments from my wish list

I have given

For the love that remains

Diabetes

What is chaos

Probably a girl with a balloon

In a group of adults

Or a piece of never heard band

At a gallery full of arts

I normally woke up from the bed

In dried out red

And a crystal had bothered so much

I had struggle loving back

For the question was asked

And the answer….

Chaos is the extra sugar

I have mixed in a cup

Out of love.

Bangalore

On a bike for two days home

Chariot paid via digital wallet

I couldn’t hold shoulders as I do

If I am with you

Away from home there we were

In blue swift on busy road

In the cupboard hand painted gifts

For someone’s someone

On littered street in clean city of dusts

And a pug I so wanted to show you

And in absence of you from everything

Will it work?

On a bike for two days home

I couldn’t notice the shifting of gears

Tilting of clutches

As I was busy to find out we aren’t free anymore.

From help desk

I sold a hard boiled egg

For next month

And some pure blood

For four days

And some protein shake

As my incentive

Stuck in my manager’s desk

Unsigned as he ran Out of ink

While he was writing bad poetry

So I thought

I will look for a new grocery shop

To sell my eggs

This time without plastic bags