Of Walls and Distances

We choose the quaint old coffee shop down the street;

Hoping that the faded paint on the walls;

The soft background of Kishore Kumar songs;

The aroma of freshly prepared coffee;

Wafting from the kitchens;

Will re-ignite the old embers of our relationship.

The old world feel has a magic of its own.

We sit across each other;

Arms not folded across;

Yet amidst so many barriers;

We look at each other deeply;

Trying to find the people whom we fell in love with.

You look at me with questions;

Every time you blink,

You silently ask, “When did we lose the plot?”

And I only have one answer;

It is just that I got too comfortable with your absence.

I clasped our memories in a fist;

Fearing that they will get lost;

But the passing time loosened my fist;

And our memories continued to slip;

It was a time of epiphany;

I realised I could love you the best when you are not around;

Our distance built a wall between us;

One brick at a time;

And now we sit in this coffee shop;

Hoping its walls break down our walls.

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The Imperfect Bride

I am an imperfect bride,

Don’t want the perfect Red or White,

I revel in the Greys,

I don’t like my slate to be wiped clean,

I carry my scars on my chest,

I won’t cover my head,

I won’t cover my back,

I am as imperfect as perfect you want me to be.

I will be as crude as fine you want me to be,

I won’t change my name,

Hell, I won’t even let life pass in the kitchen.

There are roads to travel,

Words to write,

And so much more in this ever-changing world.

I will be as shameless as proper you want me to be,

Only because you want me to be a type,

I refuse to be one.

I will simply be the best version of myself,

For you, the worst. 😉

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There is no place for mad men

There is no place for mad men,

Meandering through a day full of conventions,

Bordering on the periphery of societal niceties,

Wading through pretentiousness,

There is no place for mad men.

There is no place for mad men,

Unable to fit in the mould,

Refusing to take the cure for their madness,

Roaming the streets of their mind,

To find the answer to the eternal question,

There is no place for mad men.

There is no place for mad men,

Some with a quill,

Some with a brush,

Quilling and painting their angst,

There are no takers of art,

Stemming from madness,

There is no place for mad men.

There is no place for mad men,

Born with an extra pair of wings,

Clipped from the base,

With feet tied to the ground,

There is no place for mad men.

There is no place for mad men,

Refusing to be replicas,

Finding the mould too small for their thoughts,

With dreams bigger than the space of a tyrannical mind,

They find themselves deserted and shunned,

There is no place for mad men.

Abrasive

I love you,
More than a bookworm’s love for a new book’s pages
More than a writer’s love for the quintessential ink pen,
More than a librarian’s urge to keep books in order,
More than a child’s eagerness to get chocolate,
More than a Nyctophile’s love for the night,
More than the depth of those rifts caused by my abrasive words,
I am no Shakespeare or Barrett,
I can’t write odes in praise of you,
I can just hope that my words,
Keep your soul connected to mine,
A layer deeper,
Whenever I dedicate my words to you,
Okay…