On loop 

My eyes feast on your eyes,
Touch your lips and feel your throat throb

My head rests on your chest, then close to your heart

Ears devouring the beats making merry
Then escaping your hold my hair make way

For my eyes crawling to meet yours again
For I make merry doing this over and over again

Like music on loop, tripping and insane 

Lights

Fumes of petty intolerance

Setting flames at war 

She holds the tiny lamp in her palm

The warmth seeping into her scar

Her scar she hid from plain sight

Not darkness she sought for the wound

She carried the burning lamp on it, abright

The light, for the eye, a lampoon

An ode to the lamps
Shining. Almost blazing

Her eyes as she looks into one

Reminiscent. Almost tearing. 

Open APOLOGY LETTER to the GUY WHO GRABBED MY BUTT in the Metro 

Yesterday when you had done this outrageous act, I had grabbed your hand, inspite of the heavy rush of people pushing me inside the metro, and pinched it hard. I AM SORRY I DIDN’T HURT YOU HARDER. If that wasn’t enough for you, I stared into your eyes for long, because it was impossible to use words in that moment of shock. But when i could find the words to ask you to refrain jabbing your hands around, POLITELY, you said that you were being pushed too hard by the crowd behind. How hard is it to understand clear clean language? Could only harsh, cuss words penetrate the unconcerned, uncivilised exterior of yours?! So, I AM SORRY I WAS POLITE.
How to behave in the metro 101 for you: DO NOT GRAB WHAT’S NOT YOURS! Whether that is a bag, a hand, or a butt belonging to, or attached with a body that does not belong to your creepy self. No, i am not going to ask you whether you have sisters or a mother or lady friends, and how you should be treating them, because i am sure they must be as clueless about this horrible trait of yours as I was yesterday in the metro. I AM SORRY THEY DON’T KNOW.

 

If you did not know this before, let me be crystal clear now. NO, IT IS NOT ACCEPTABLE TO GRAB MY BUTT BECAUSE YOU CAN SEE IT! It is highly offensive, humiliating, intrusive, demeaning, belittling and infuriating for you to do so! I AM SORRY I DID NOT SAY THIS YESTERDAY
I know that there will be a lot of minds buzzing with the question, “Why did you not take the Ladies’ coach during that hour?” To that, i have a few questions of my own. Does a special coach imply that the other seven coaches of the train are not available to me because i am a woman? Does it impair my right to enter a general coach because i am a woman who dared to do so during rush hour? Should a man not be expected to keep his thoughts, his hands and his private parts in control during a public commute? 
I am SORRY that your behaviour has been outed on a public forum. I am SORRY that i did not share this last night itself. I am SORRY i will not tolerate this behaviour again. I am SORRY now women will think it’s okay to shout at disgraces like yourself.

I am SORRY, but I AM NOT SORRY.
– Fellow traveller. Woman. Human. 

I

I confess, also lie to myself

‘Cause to myself I talk easy

I am oft fearless, also spontaneous 

But I do too scare easy

I try to live, alone, also with others 

But I do run away easy

I run like a horse, also a child,

‘Cause a child I am, easy

I am wild, carefree, also needy

But someone’s need I am, easy

I am a guitar, a flute,also a trumpet

But crass I become, easy

I stare, I fight, also I cry

But then I do care easy

I am a meshuggener, in hate, also in love

But then I do love easy

Complicated to you I may be, also others, 

But for me, I am … Easy. 

Home

Relentless in your yearning to search 

For a new meaning, a cause, a new self, your soul

You fight Loneliness, fear and the society

Grow alive, torn, injured and tolled 

Your wild self outgrows your nest 

It comes home only for days at stretch

You show no mercy to its call to you

So it slips through the fingers of the nascent you

What dare you call your nest now, love,

What dare run as smoothly as your fingers on its wiring

What dare you now call as your home

When the founding piece of your being is retiring