change, illuminations

Measuring time


No one knows that at the gates of heaven,
the only question asked, is how you spent your time

If we knew that time is measured in page flips,
in the shadows cast by towering trees and in contentment;
we wouldn’t measure time in punctuality and habits
nor squander it on obligations and thieves.

If time keeping didn’t mean trying to contain
but to hold close what is our most precious possession

We would know, that the ladders stacked around lead nowhere
and we would walk past them with no hesitation.
Nature would ravage these unaccustomed limits
and turn them into canopies to read under.

habit, hope

On Ease

You dream of a place where your body
isn’t the way you protect yourself
where it doesn’t become
the barrier it’s made of itself.

Once in a dream you were infinite like that
everywhere you went- silhouette invisible,
you expanded into oceans, moons & mouths
there was no other.

You reached out and could not see
the edge of your hand, your hair, your breast
everything had turned to forests
claiming you, teaching you how to be.


If I am not ____________ then who am I?

“If I am not the lover, who am I? If I am not writing poems in melancholy who am I? If I am not running away from solitude who am I?”

We come to associate ourselves with certain routines we make for ourselves over and over and again. We repeat those, make them into habits, we perform elaborate rituals. How else would we ground ourselves? Like a grid paper is so much easier to work with than a blank sheet- our habits give us a structure to construct our day around.

Now that the grid is fading fast, the vast space of a blank white sheet is scarier than a dark empty room. But you put a pen to it, you start again to get structure, this time of your own choice. This time of your own making.


To call your own

Familiarity and habit
are another kind of addiction
a reassuring touch on the elbow
when most alone

A touch turns to a tug, to a shove
you won’t even know,
when there is no breath left
you with starless eyes

You will want it more and more
the wordless conversations
the routine waiting
the deceiving smile

Until that is, you open your eyes
and see a different path
uncertain, tentative
but one to call your own



As he leaves, she enters,
As she exits, he arrives,
But almost
This game is never-ending
Always trying to catch up
Never making it in time

The forces that separate are
Brighter, stronger, immediate

This boy with his diamond days
who thinks, there is always time
And this girl with her starless nights
who counts on her fingers all the time

Joined by a thread
Across the equator
Always linked
Always opposing

Always together


Out of habit


Alleys change lanes, out of habit,

Look around, find me guarding watching you, out of habit.

drawing my own sphere of protection for you.

most definitely out of an innocuous habit.

Lanes lose their ways. I won’t.

The heart turns aflutter, you catch me mumbling

chants of a secret variety.

Are you scared?

out of habit?


Threads of a day

Threads of a day

As it is, we get used to things, too easily, too quickly.

some people, some places, some trains. Some eunuchs standing at red lights.

A few hawkers selling cheaply printed disney stickers.

The big round white paper lamp with bamboo print, right over your bed.

The glittery dragon slippers.

The empty letter boxes, and howling winds,

the heavy air that slips through your fingers, and subsequently your rings.

Like genuine pashmina, or was it your grandmother’s muslin?

The empty hearts, that nothing can fill,

The gin, the tonic, the sherbet, the pill.

As it is, we get tied up, too easily, too quickly.