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We quest to be

More like ourselves

But this twist Impressed

Upon us dwells

Somewhere North

Of being ourselves

And South

Of being the selves

We quest to be.




He chewed through all

Her limpid wisdom
Hushed and rhythmic 

Veiling monsoon

With sips of ice 

Water and lemon

Wishing for wine

Eyes teetering on

The glass table top 

Palm fixed to his thigh 

Fumbling feeble gestures 

Of masculinity -

He finished his meal

Cleaned his bowl

Climbed the staircase


Alone, peeling clothes 

Comatose,  lotus wilting 

Into the hardest corner

and inconsolably folding 

Dialling for some 

Semblance of symmetry


At Night

And sometimes 

Beneath the scrutiny of night  

Cocooned in a room 

Warped by darkness

Cocooned in my skull

I come to float

quite mutinously through

Atmospheres altogether hostile

And unsound

Bleeding down 

Upon myself 

Still as a stone and silent

I am conquered close to tears

By your scent and touch

And how they feel to me 

More like warmth

More like home

Than any four walls that stand 

Or ever will

And how holding you is never 

Nor ever will be enough.

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