In March

The year after you left I prepared a banquet in your memory At our old house, of my childhood days Where we lived and where you died. But the feast turned cold The white grains of rice, the yellow dal And the aroma of curry leaves lingered faintly in air The fish you loved lay…

Twenty-three

for my friends, who are forever young

Lover

Lover, Daisies in my hair, a yellow dress Bare feet and red lips You were there Hands pressed Against my fingertips. In Spring we loved We loved like how lovers did. Lover, A blue umbrella, Crystal clear skies Popsicle sticks and ice We stood in sun Warm haze and white lies Walking in our rose…

flowers that died in march

a poem for my aunt

Scribbles – II

what I would say if you could hear me today

Metamorphosis – Seasons Part I

Winter Winter knocked at our door, You asked me to set the hearth aflame To bring out the old, woollen sweaters That I had knitted, years before; With care, three balls of red yarn, A fluttering heart and perhaps With a little more love than now. As you spoke, white vapours Escaped your thin, frail…

if you were my love

​So I have not posted in quite a while. I have no reason but the mundane excuse of how busy I was.  So this poem is just a thought, a simple reflection on love and longing.  if you were my love i would say love me under summer sun beneath dark grey clouds on quiet…

Praveka: The Choice. A poem on death and suicide.

I like poetry. Words. Poems. Life. Love. Existence. For me, all of these are interwined. And so is death.  I wrote a poem on death some time ago. It has a simple message to convey. ‘Suicide does not end the pain. It passes it on to others.’ Death is never an answer to any difficulty…