To Kill The Sun 

It falls, like unwanted feathers, like sweat. Restless and stifling, the promise of rain like salt on my tongue. Luckily, I know how to wash away the salt. 
They’re kissing, god knows which number they’re on, getting more bodily, the couple in the balcony across my window. He fists his hand in her hair, and they push with the reckless of people who know no one is watching. I shift, to dangle my foot more freely across the window I’m straddling. I ash, and keep smoking. She sees me first, in one of her twisting glances. They slow down, glancing at me with obvious unease. She whispers something into his shirt, and he shakes his head. He goes on kissing her, and I keep watching. 
I light another cigarette. I turn back and he’s waiting for me to look. He blows me a kiss, with a cocky grin. She doesn’t like that at all. She fidgets against him, while he waits for a sign of approval or encouragement from me. I give him none, and stare back at his deadened eyes with my own leaden stare. He will carry me to the ground. For now, we tread the air. The girl is going back inside. I pour another drink. 
He comes back out, a bottle later. He’s buck ass naked, and evidently dissatisfied. There’s a splinter in my thumb, and I worry it with my teeth. He’s the one watching with unconcealed interest now. He rests his hip against his railing, and lights up, nodding at me. I stare, and slosh two fingers into my glass, and raise it to him. He smiles half heartedly, and turns fully towards me, watching. We watch each other. The sky dies. 
Poor bastard. Guess we’re both staying lonely tonight.

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Wisdom 

If I knew any better, I’d see you starry eyed.  
Instead of laughing at your wit and sharing our mutual disparagement of an abundance of topics, instead of reading your work out loud in my head as I know you do mine, and having the full satisfaction of understanding as much as being understood, of being as hopeless and defeated a romantic as me- of being as defeated by your own intellect and perception as me- instead of the realization of these things, if only I had wonder instead, I could love you. I would love you. I would love you with the potency of our singleminded writing, the intensity of furrowed brows stringing words in breathing sequence, in the light of quiet sunsets of two people who understand- god, who understand! I could love you- I could! 

If only I could.  

I look at you, as you look at me. Two people who should but are plainly not meant to be. We stand on two neighboring shores, you chasing your ocean and me, drowning in mine. We hold hands in our solitude, both alone together, with love to find, and love to divine.  

Till another time,

Cookie ❤ 

Day Thirteen- The Game of No True Names 


It’s starts a day before 

I say I can’t in the morning

You say you won’t in the afternoon

-We both can 

I tell you I’m home 

When the sidewalk 

Is where I am

You tell me you’re waiting 

When you’re already gone

I pretend to be forlorn

Five years from today

Is decided by a tomorrow 

The rest of our lives, 

Like the day after 

You call me slut 

And I call you chutiya

And we pretend there wasn’t a bite

To those words 

Some days we play well

Some days we don’t go home 

Quite the same 

I wonder how long we’ll walk away unscathed 

Back and forth in this game

Where we change all the names 

©Yusra 

13.04.2017 

Day Thirteen- for the prompt by the exceptional J.R. Rogue- the game in which we change the names. 

A Glass Of You 

A Glass Of You 

A glass of you 

Just for me 

Would sustain my soul

For eternities 

But I chase you

And I taste you 

Like the traces of fragrance 

That lost its way 

A few faded moonbeams

Forgotten on the earth after

The break of day 

Like fresh water lost in 

The salt of the ocean 

A thought centered by its

Own gravity, in the midst 

Of perpetual motion

No, my heart

You would leave me to starve

And I happily would too

We lovers, seemingly,

Aspire to sink 

And you could nourish me

If you were as real

As substantial 

As the bitter words I drink 

Some nights we pour, 

We smile, and

We down

Some nights, we laugh

And

We 

Drown 

©CM

10.03.2017 

Because beer contains more calories than your love‘- Sumit Goreja

I. Am. Not. 

  

I. Am. Not. 

With those words, could I cease to be?

Would that taut thread we walk, between today and tomorrow

Tatter into nonentity?

Do the separate organs of body too rebel?

Do my muscles know when I tell

Stories, or do they just guide the words, unconcerned

Have I inked only paper? Or has my flesh 

My tendons, my cartilage also

My stories learnt

Are my nuclei content to divide and multiply 

While I lay here, staring at the ceiling in the dark 

Do the cells in me that are reborn know what it is to die 

Half new, half hastily repaired parts 

My arm twitches, lying across my forehead 

My chest heaves with unspeakable things 

Can my alveoli taste the sour tang of fear too? 

Or oblivious, they function imperturbably 

They do not choke on inspiration, as I am wont to do

I. Am. Not. 

Not after tonight 

Oh, my body will still exist 

My skin will wrinkle, my joints will creak

But this hollow left inside, I’d gambled for this 

And I lost 

My axons will revel 

In their tallying synapses 

What never has been can leave 

No lapses 

But I’ll always know how much 

I’ll miss 

©CM 

20.02.2017