If I could dial your number once more..

 If I could dial your number once more

I wish I'd dial it wrong

I wish I misdial 9 for an 8, and 6 for a 7

that way I wish, I would never meet you,

but find love in a parallel dimension

I wish this time, I'd find the wrong number

as the right one, the last one, the correct one for each lifetime

dialing 9 for a 9, and 7 for a 7

and listen to my favorite husky voice,

dipped in honey, painting my day in its hue

kissing my cheeks softly,

leaving a print like strawberry's skin

Only if I could dial your number once more,

I wish I misdial it, to get the right one,

in this lifetime, and beyond...

What does a border mean?

 

This poem is not a celebration

Somewhat  a deliberation

 

Often I have listened to the episodes of strife and hate

Narrated by my grandfather, the stories that never fade

 

About communal riots, separation and humiliation

About plundering, mental torture and frustration

 

I was a listener, so I drew my own imagination

Supported by the chronicles in movies and animation

 

I never understood the ‘why’ of it

The effects so sad, but what was the ‘cause’ of it?

 

National fragmentation and mutual disagreements

Joys and sorrows are the same, so are heart, blood, and sentiments

 

They look like humans, so do we, they behave like animals, so do we!

So, time to pause and ponder, pushing through a lack of clues, 

why this war stigma stuck to our minds like the flu?

 

Well, borders have only meant geography to me

Marked purposefully on the map

 

It breaks my heart locating divided pieces of land, 

because the books of geography and history

narrated plightful, horrific stories

 I am a clear-headed millennial born in the year 1989

I ask you, why these borders? What’s my crime?

 

This poem looked back, to many funerals and cremation

To each their own interpretation!

 

 

My beautiful wife, often said Jai

Don't say again, "I stay at home, I do nothing," he said in a determined tone.

Rashi smiled and nodded she won't.



It was an event she always looked forward to every year, she would meet Jai's friends. The yearly ritual of getting together with his colleagues and their spouses was a moment to look eagerly to, the evenings so fine, draped in their elegant best. She made a lovely updo, wore a silver and blue silk saree, and adorned her charming best for Jai's annual meet.




Said Jai, while making a left turn, "It hurts when you say you do nothing". Amidst Mumbai traffic, they happened to pass through a lush green trail of trees. While Jagjit Singh ruled the music player in the background at a lower volume, they both talked at length, occasionally reminding each other of their love for each other.



Jai still didn't feel like shunning away from the topic, and again reminded his beautiful wife of her value to his life"You turn cash into the crop I eat, you keep a check on my deadlines, you remind me about our monthly bills, you never make those PPFs suffer the penalty, however small it is. You go to and fro for picks and drops of younger one's academy, you do it all so seamlessly"


"I am just generally curious and habitually meticulous," said Rashi, being her modest self as always.


Reassures Jai, "I come home from work and go flat on my ceaseless linen, is because you 'do everything' and 'not nothing'. You do everything which is not visible, you are my force, my behind the scenes".

Popping Flowers of Glory

(Image Source: Fine Art America)

Those handful seeds                         blended in the soil

Turned into breathing bushes
With ever-widening roots

Promising a future
To me, you and every other creature

Popped out blue lilies, and yellow tulips
Rosy reds, purple orchids, and white jasmine

Every flower infusing a unique fragrance
Filling the air with floating perfume

How beautiful, it is to inhale this air
that pushes thoughts of wisdom
and sow yet another seed of freedom

Beloved to the Cigarette Smoker

             

 Hey Love!

                                                                                                                    

I passed by at five-thirty in the morning

Image Source: Pinterest

Outside your window to smell you a bit                               

All I sniffed was the cigarette smoke

Coming out from your white window

I took a U-turn again

Couldn't knock your door

Decided to leave you in Ecstacy

inhaling the scent from your cigarette

Crossing your block, my eyes turned wet

No, I wasn’t crying, I choked off the smoke

Hey Love!

Why don’t you love me?

Why don't you spoil me?

Like you are spoilt, by that cigarette?

Every step I took

I thought, why couldn’t you materialize those rings

I want no more the circles of smoke, 

but a ring slipped in my left finger

I stopped by a dreamy peach fence

Beheld a couple 

lost in each other, sipping their morning tea

My heart skipped a beat,

Dreaming why won’t you kiss me?

Like you stick mouth to your cigarette?

 Hey Love!

Conquering my head, are these wild thoughts

Open your eyes once,

look through the cloud of smoke

I was there, I am there and I ‘ll be there

Hey Love!

You go back to your cigarette every time

you quit it a thousand times,

for not more than a minute though

But tossed me away, like the leftover ash

think of me, as your cigarette

would you not come back?

just once more?