the distance

the mouth of death is wide
filled with hopelessness and decay
teeth sharp like levithan wings
a razor tongue ready to sing

stuck between heaven and hell
the limbo lounge is pretty swell
make new friends and enemies too
they're all stuck here just like you

chase the nightmares out of here
no time for love, no time for fear
speed forth, gush like life's fountain
give no fucks for joy or pain

silent, still the maw of death
filled with despair and stinking breath
the distance between the rows of teeth
there you live, don't forget to breathe

--

Obsolescence of Dreams

Dreaming neanderthals
Stars stuck on the ceiling
A planetarium in space
Spinning marionettes

Obfuscating silhouettes
Sunset, sunrise, surprise!
Dumbed, numbed, crumbed
Pry open the eyes
(the dreams fly away)

wake up, stumbling
ready to kill
coffee in the veins
so much for the thrill
(it's all downhill, from here)

the gullitone is ready
inviting, glinting, sexy sharp
shove in the head of 2016
(drop the blade)
let loose the hounds of hell
2017, we're coming

--
Keeping in tradition of bad poetry. Things that don't make sense. Fuck 2016, prime 2017 for more abuse, disuse, refuse from the get go.

What I mean is happy new year. Take it easy out there.

switchblade smile

there is a demon in me, he said
you need to cut it out for me
i can feel the demon rising rising
why won't you smile at me?

your lips sharp, hide a sharper tongue
the words that travel from your lungs
slice into me with speed and force
i bleed like a pig without remorse

your switchblade smile has done me in
they say it's a sin, i say let's begin
if this is death from a thousand cuts
then what the fuck are we waiting for

mask

beneath the hill
beside the river
in shade of willow trees
a path goes where i used to be
inside my hut
under the bed
a hole, once i had dug
i filled it up
with knicks and knacks
when i left for my king
but i come back
every now and then
to take a look at my things
i dig the earth
to see the thing
that i had buried once
the chest is ugly
bruised, scarred, filthy
opening it is no fun
but open it, i do
i look inside too
at the past i try to forget
but it sticks to me
like a leech
a hungry hungry pest
nostalgia is a bitch
i take the old rags
inhale them deep
just so i can remember
as i go back into the sewer of world
just to return here next december
my mask is true for one more year
i wear is proudly like a beast
i know i have nothing to fear
not till next year at least

Front loading nightmare

This strange creature in my room 

Cleans my clothes 

Maybe it has little goblins in it 

That survive on water and detergent 

There must be a whole city inside 

Of tiny demons that wait every week 

For their supply of filthy tributes

That they clean and spit out

I refuse to believe in electricity, sir

There is a goblin city inside this machine 

They wait and pine till I shake off laziness

And give them some dirty clothes to clean  

Every year the servicing magician comes over 

To replace goblins that have expired

He fills up the machine with a new population

That the wizards at IFB have hired

Sometimes I hear the machine tick at night 

As goblins dream of revolutions

But then I remember my dirty clothes

And shove them in the machine with cleaning solutions 

Maybe some day the goblins will emerge

From the bowels of machines all over the world 

If they don't find enough clothes to clean

Maybe they'll take over this earth. 

---

Sending poems from phone makes their text size weirdly large. Bear with me, dear readers. 

no friends

I had this friend who
would fall in love
with every girl he saw
he'd take a bus from his home to college
and every day he'd tell us
that he fell in love with a different girl
we went to rishikesh once
and he fell in love there too
with a British girl who was walking
wearing a red salwar suit
her blonde hair untied
like she was born out of fire
and my friend stood there transfixed
i've never seen someone so stupefied
so hypnotized, so mesmerized
by the sight of another person
in that moment I felt happy for him
and jealous of him too
thinking if I'd be able to ever fall in love like that
he handed me his film camera then
and asked me click his picture with that alabaster angel
clicked his pic i did (such an indian thing)
we said goodbye to that girl
and walking back to the bus station
my friend, he of the fickle heart,
fell in love with another girl

---
my only friends have been weirdos, i have no time for normal, stable people.

sand

the layers of sand are shifting
each grain, each second, each breath
piling on top of each other like corpses
in the trenches of my memories

every day is a snowflake
so different, yet same
i sink deeper and deeper
every time you whisper my name

my hourglass is broken
malware in my mainframe
my thought are vaporous mists
wafting from my heated brain

i dip my fingers in the sands
grains stick to my fingers
i can't shake them off
for i don't understand

my memories and visions are entwined
in the ball pit of my mind
what monsters pop up i don't know
should i stay or should i go

Tick

The clocks sing their song
In sync, out of tune, yet, not wrong
The ticks are telling me secrets of the dark
The song of forever, ignited by a spark

I don't understand the tongue of clocks
When they only talk in ticks and tocks
Sometimes all the clocks in house tick in sync
And then I feel a sudden need for a drink

Synchronization means a clock has faltered
It means one of them will die very soon
I'll be stuck without time for who knows how much time
And I'll know of the days by looking at the moon

The clocks keep singing their two tone song
It sounds so right even when it's wrong
If I close my eyes it almost makes sense
That I'm looking for present in past tense

---
Tick tock tick tock

aside -- some thoughts

Hello, non existent lovely readers,

I thought I'd say hi to you that's more in prose than poetry. Maybe I am talking only to myself, but maybe, there is one reader I have. And trust me, on most days, one reader is enough. More than enough, I say.

And, my one reader, for you, I write this.

I started this blog back in 2007! July 8, when I wrote the first poem here. And next year, it's going to be ten years of this blog. I don't know if I've done anything in my life for ten continuous years! It's big, for sure. I mean, for me it is. I know people have been blogging for longer than this, hell, my other blog A Story A Day is probably older than this blog. But poetry has always been a first preference for me over prose. I like writing prose, but I prefer writing poetry. I feel more at home in my set format of writing poems. Prose can go wild, poems tend to stay in their station and go places.

Strange places mostly, but places nonetheless.

I hope you're having fun reading these poems as I am having fun writing them. This year, I've written 137 poems, which is more than I've written any other year. This is seriously cool.

And why did this happen? Because of you, my dear reader. Because of you.

So, onwards to 2017 and ahead.

Stay inspired

P

sew

a thread and some dread
a needle pointy as sin
pull the skin, taut
close my eyes and push it in

there is no need for words anymore
i am too much in love to speak
sounds lose meaning when you don't listen
we can just look at each other like freaks

i will love you without conditions or terms
no expiry date on this shit, i swear
but this, i beg of you, sew my mouth shut
just needle and thread here, here, and here

make a criss cross pattern on my lips
make it pretty like pinned butterflies
there is one truth, and i've told you it
i don't want to speak any lies

i will not touch the stitches till my mouth heals
fusing the wound of my mouth in perfect skin
but even you will cringe and move away from me
when i spread my scar in a love drunk grin

---
Winter is the best time for writing strange poems.

addiction

hello, old friend
we're here again, aren't we?
just you, and me
the same old, you see

we've done this so many times
it feels like second skin
we're addicts of the worst kind
and we'll never win

so open the bottle
find that vein
spark up the flame
whisper her name

she
our goddess of misery
has come forth again
with her blessings

her fingers in our holes
she tongues out our souls
till we're flying high as pigs
in our psychedelic dreams

so you must ignore our screams
for they're screams of joy
my brain is leaking from my ears
oh boy!

my friend, the walls are closing in
we're trapped in a tiny rubik's cube
if i can solve it, we'll be free
but first reach around and gimme that lube

we're mixing with each other's colors
oh joy, it looks like so much fun
my friend in the mirror, my brother, my mother
we were but two, now we're all one

--
Roll with me. Please, roll with me.

Anarchy -- The Purge

can you hear the sirens, darling?
can you hear them come closer, love?
can you hear them knocking at the door, sweetness?
so pick your gun and put your war face on

the purge outside is the purge within
to purge the goodness we must purge the sin
all truth is a lie, everything is allowed
so, my love, shall we begin?

open the door, step into the night
prey in streets, won't die without a fight
keep your ammo dry and your blade sharp
wanna blow them up, prepare to ignite

bad mood and feeling rude
hungry, seeking violent food
weapons new, emotion crude
this night won't end well, dude

the purge has come to our door
and we welcomed it with open arms
only a fool would try to stop us
and step in the way of grievous harm

---

This is the last of the Anarchy series of poems.

Next.

Something completely different.

Anarchy -- Gash

the doctors and the nurses
looked at him and laughed
they said, sir, what the fuck
there is no treatment for this gash

he trudged from clinic to clinic
telling the doctors that he was sick
heal me please, he did beg
as the gash bled between his legs

he shoved in balls of cotton
his gloves, his hat, and his shirt
he even shoved in his sweater
but the gash continued to spurt

he tried to tape it shut
but the gash ate the roll of tape
with his fingers, hand, arm, and rest of him
till all signs of him were erased

some say the gash floats around even now
you can hear its whispers when night is dark
it's silent and stealthy like a dog
whose bite is worse than its bark

Anarchy -- World On Fire

It was clearly mentioned sir,
You were not to push the red button
Now the dogs of war are loose
Just look at what you've done

There were warning signs all over
In red, yellow, and blue
The lights were flashing to warn you
But you ignored them too

(How could you?)

Sir, you're really a snake
In the garden of eden
They wanted destruction
You freed them

Can you feel the heat of your sins yet
Feel it close enough to boil off your sweat
And your skin, blood, bones and your soul
You pushed that button and doomed us all

--
Did you miss me?