Fragmented

All my yesterdays and tomorrows jumbled,

woven around your long fingers, you play a game

Cat’s cradle with my life.

The broken pieces of mist seep in

through my eyes, ears, nose, until

I am choking with uncertainty, grappling,

fumbling for closeness, finding meaning

In petty, paltry squabbles

with you.

Purple-blue dusks are the ones

when I miss you the most.

Sometimes, the room still smells of

the cigarette you held between

your lips, long after

you have gone.

You are

rose-leaves and moonbeams, the

taste of starlight from your eyes

lights the corners of the room when

the shadows are darkest.

The sunlight glides across your back,

tracing the line of fine hair. You are

golden in this light, so beautiful

that the glare of you burns on

my eyelids like the sun itself,

blood orange in the sky of dawn.

Lost Chances

I think, given a chance, I could have
fallen in love with you;
with your voice full of crackling innocence,
soft and crumbling, drawing me in intimately,
Sweet, even bittersweet.  I can taste it
on my tongue. In my bland black jeans and the smell of the city on me, I feel
unworthy of you- my lips, you see,
they don’t always drip poetry. With you, my fingers
tremble, and my camera is afraid to
capture you. Your hair and your voice like smoke,
melting into the spaces between my
throat and my words. I cannot speak of you,
and to hear others do so is painful, it
is like jagged shards of ice sticking in my throat.
They cheapen you with their words,
their “she was so good” failing to hint at the
stunning beauty that envelopes you, wraps
around you like the softest of shawls. They don’t see
your hands, your fingers, how they ooze
poetry as much as your mouth does. They feel,
but do not understand the web woven by your voice; it is so full of magic that it makes me
gasp, I can barely remember to breathe when I look at you. I know with a certainty that aches that I am unworthy of you,
you with the beauty of a half-forgotten toy lying
broken in the dust, or of that pen I used to
write a letter to an old lover that I never sent, and
stored away in a jewelled box instead.
I am unworthy,  with my hesitant smile and my words,
borrowed phrases, metaphors and images
that I gather in my arms, trying to encircle you, knowing
full well that I cannot. Your
kohl rubs off on my lips, blackening me until I am
not afraid of the dark anymore. The scent of you hits me like a heady wine, full-bodied
and sensuous,  with a tripe taste of cherry,
Tart on my tongue before it fades away. As you do,
when you retreat behind that curtain that is your home. I think, given a
chance, I could have fallen in love with you.

Hold.

You know how it feels when you meet someone for the first time? You barely look at each other because you’re so scared to initiate that first bit of contact. And then it begins slowly. One word spoken by either, you don’t even remember why or who it was, just that it was. A spark of interest, perhaps, when you realize how similar you are. And you start thinking about it. Thinking about it a little, at first, and then looking for excuses to talk. What could be more innocent?

And then you move on to the first real conversation. The first time you dare to raise your eyes to each other when you’re talking, and this time, your eyes don’t slide off into the distance, taking the easy way out. You choose to look at each other, you choose to hold each other’s gaze. It starts, then, warm somewhere inside you, all yellow and orange in its warmth, filling you, lifting you up; you begin to know each other now, and it feels wonderful. But you’re still a little antsy, a little fidgety. You avoid more personal contact now, and talking is all you do. That, and looking. Looking so deep, being looked at so deep that it feels like you’re exposed, laid out in full view.

Pivotal moment as you’re thrown together once again. No choice now, nowhere to run. You do it, now. Almost simultaneously. Reach for each other in the crowd because you’re so afraid of being lost. And it happens. You clutch at each other, and you’re holding hands. A thrill, a spark, of electricity runs through you, you look at each other, and you know now that even in finding each other, you’re lost forever. Things bloom and whirl around the two of you, and you begin to live in a kaleidoscope of infinite beauty and charm.

(https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=474509945971266&set=a.389107594511502.97735.169003533188577&type=1&theater : the other piece of inspiration for this post. Do go check this page out,it’s amazing.)

(This is a bit of a departure from my usual style, I hope you all like it! )