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






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


Half Past Three


I love you unbelievably
As though it is a still life that I’m
Drawn into a corner of,
There’s cities and wars and happiness
And there’s you in it too
with no
Beginning nor end in sight

As though oceans skim the meaning,
Existence touches the surface
And the faint specks of black in your eyes are
The depths of years and years of nights

I love you so indistinguishably from
Any fathomable stretch of imagination
The roots are lost in incomprehension
I look around but
I don’t know how I got here

The stars settle in the creases of your smile
Absences and evanescences deny me
Or absolution
It’s not clear

What are emptinesses? What are seas?
What are galaxies between you and me?
When it’s dark and unnaturally silent, and the wind is digging its teeth into my hands, and yet
You’re still the most real thing to me at half past three
There’s a moon somewhere, or time, or cigarettes
And I look at you, and always feel a little breathless
Or maybe they all burn the same way away undefeatedly

But it’s half past three
And it’s not clear
How I got here
But I love you




Half Past Three





These winter nights.. You can’t blame me. 🙂


Half Past Two 


Sometimes, words come to you at two thirty in the night. 

You don’t know the words yet. They hover just beyond the edge of consciousness. Half of them you want to attribute to epiphany. Half of them you know belong to a fever slowly coming down. 

Words. They grow like that, sometimes. 

And you find yourself leaving a comfortable bed, shrugging off a warm blanket that you suddenly can’t breathe under. And you know that it’s simultaneously too hot there, yet too cold and too empty to be lying in, all of a sudden. And the one warm body that could possibly make any of this livable is so, so far away at that moment. You can’t change that. Sometimes, he won’t even let you change it. 

Bodies. They rebel like that, sometimes. 

So you walk out to the porch, staying on the dark side, the one the harsh streetlight hasn’t stained golden yellow. You sit on yesterday’s newspaper that the wind threw to the floor, and you learn against the wall. You’re not sleeping, you’re wide, wide awake. The dream like quality of all this is painted deeper by the words that your heart promises will come. Sometimes they do come that way. But words are capricious, occasionally on purpose. They like to needle, to hurt a little, and watch the game play out. 

Hearts. They’re much of the same. They hurt like that, sometimes. 

This night’s chill is not good. My feet are wet from the dew, and I’m coughing again. Morning will be work, no more sick days left. And yet I’m loathe to leave this bare boarded surface, where the splinter is digging under my thumbnail. Boards are not meant to gripped for comfort. 

But neither are nights. And the edges of this one are painted with promises, and words, and the hope of a warm body who will look at mine and smile, and his heart won’t be capricious even when mine is. And till the moon goes down and the stars fade away, this breathlessness will stay with me, because none of that might happen, but the words still might. Sometimes, they do that. 

Twilight and trees, sleepless eyes and empty hearts. They come together like that, sometimes. 

My heart is so full, that I may burst

At the seams of my being, but yet 

I can’t kill this thirst

I walk this knife edge, veins 

Alight with madness 

Feverish wanderings compelling me

To gamble the dredges of sanity 

Tiptoeing reality, tonight

It’s not hard to do 

Speaking in the silences

I lie in the one place you’ll never be

And I watch for you 

Half Past Two 




Stupid bug
On my bed
Go crawl on the
Floor, instead.
I already have buzzing
Inside my head

Burrowing beetle
Thoughtflies hum and
Make no sense
Buzz buzz buzz

Twinkling lights-it’s
Almost dawn
Neighbor’s cat yowls
On my lawn
-You’re nearly in my hair
Come closer if you dare
Ill squish you, bug, I swear

Carry on, bug
Carry on



I actually don’t mind bugs, but when you’re trying to fall asleep, a green yellow beetle who wants to sing you the song of his people is not a good roommate.



Another restless night
Too many words, not enough coherence to write
Condolences to somnolence, insolence to shut eyed
Indolence, this impudence, ambivalence, outright
Defiance, to every effort painstakingly contrived
To write, to write, to write!

Depart me my reason, reject all these claims
Descensions into insanity do not deserve to be- Proclaimed!
Exultant, victorious, come
Look at me
The babble pours forth in bubbling nonsense
Loquacious- look, I am crazy!
I see, I see, I see
Books like headless angels flapping around me
Rooftops in the darkness, methods to the madness
Vehemences of inspired
One simple minded, self convinced confused woman
Starving on the sustenance of anemic omnipotence

You conspired to inspire me
You forced me to think
You made me cry
All I ever wanted was a quiet moment
You and I
Two moons in the sky
Deprived of that meager solace
Have my raving soliloquy instead
I’m done, I’m almost empty

I wonder


Could I finally



For What It’s Worth


Three years ago, there was a night when I realized it for the first time.

We were lying in bed in the dark, the kind of dark that overwhelms your senses. Or, perhaps, it felt that way because we were both far too drunk to even feel horizontal, despite being horizontal. It was not our first night together, nor the second, nor any number that merits a special mention. It was just another night, perhaps remarkable because it was a strange bed in an almost-stranger’s house.

That was the first time the thought sliced so painfully through my mind, it left me crippled with realization.
We hadn’t spoken, till undressing for bed. I’d asked for something irrational, in the midst of drinks, and you’d responded in kind, maybe a little more asinine than I deserved. But we were hurt. There was hurt in the room, and silence, only amplified by the lack of light, and the sheer absence of any communication.
We weren’t asleep. On a whim, I turned to look at you, and you looked back, eyes glittering in the merest of lights coming in from God knows where. And that image is branded in my mind- not because we let everything melt away in apology, in love, in poking fun at ourselves for being idiots right afterwards. But because that was the moment in which I knew.

I knew that for as long as I lived, there would never be anything I could hold against you.
There would never be anything I would not forgive you for. There would never be another person, another living being I could love, love with this intensity, this mind numbing, brain searing, thought obliterating intensity. And I knew eve then that we were doomed, we’d always known, but I knew, God I knew, that wouldn’t stop me from loving you till I broke to pieces, no matter how many times I broke to pieces.

And I did. And I do.


And there have been many nights where I relived that decision. Many others where I lay awake wondering to myself, how could my heart have had the presumption to go and make this decision, this decision that spins my existence awry, without at least consulting my brain first. I was the logical one. The calm, near cold, outwardly warm girl who kept her heart very, very safe. And in the span of the space between two heartbeats, I’d looked at you and known, that this was the cliff I was meant to jump from. This was my oblivion, this would be my drug for as long as I lived. I would be cut to pieces in the realm of pain between it happening and it not happening, but I chose, I still chose, I could not but choose to love you.

And I did. And I do.




‘Does it hurt’, she asked softly, ‘when
A Child of Lillith falls in love
With a Child of the Moon?’ 

‘I don’t know’, he smiled, 
‘I imagine we’ll know the price of 
What we’re doing, very soon.’

‘It’s not pain that worries me’, she 
whispered back. ‘It’s the thought of knowing you,
and then not.’

‘I know’, he said, tracing her cheek, ‘but
for what it’s worth,
There are some things that outweigh Oblivion.
Didn’t even the Angels fall to Earth?’