we, the others.

tendrils of longing
emerge from our tree-selves
in a world where they are allowed
to walk, we can only
extend coiled up fingers
to tap them on their shoulders;

but they keep walking.

in the time it takes
to re-orient directions
and face our new suns
those bright gods have slipped out of our sky

how
deep
have these feet
sunk?

how low have we fallen that
even a ray of light
seems out of reach?

layers of invisible guilt
and pins of stabbing hate
separate
gods chosen children, they
who shine in every way
and we
the forgotten children
of lesser gods
dimmed by innocence
and claimed by flaws
we
must
shrink
back
into
our
darkness-es.

watch
as these silences
envelop us

watch
as we disappear
into shadows,
crevices and cracks

watch
as we grow still
and wait
for
our kingdom
to come.

Day 51 #hundreddaysofpoetry- Stay

what is this leaving you speak about-
i will not hear of it.
rationality bends 
in the refracting light
in the eyes of a dreaming man it seems like 
i plucked you out from the stars at dawn
just before they left from my sight
your light is the wonder that swirls out and then in 
as dreams break into day 
and barely awake, 
it seems that i cant soak in enough of you-
seep into tissue
dissolve into blood
fuse into bones
melt into muscle 
do what you must
but stay.

photo taken at Navsari

Assorted Hashtags (Day 12 of #Hundreddaysofpoetry)

there should only
be a knowing of this bliss-
when your heart hovers over mine
our hands intertwine and
things just fit.
#CongruentLove

thousand other lovers
would not make me forget 
the knowing of you
#EideticFool

the void
never really stands a chance
does it?
#OnceFullNowEmpty

it's a crime that even broken hearts  manage to work just fine.
#LostCauseStillFighting

they repair themselves 
like functional beasts 
covered in scar-tissue memory
the 
#OnceBeautiful

these new hearts that see mine 
find it difficult to 
make sense 
of  this pulsating mass of reinforced muscle
#NascentTroopers

sometimes they don't even try
why should they?
let them choose 
from the bounty of the 
less broken
#BackhandedHope

Missing

Missing is a funny thing.

First you miss big things. 
Things that consume your mind completely. 
Feelings that are larger than life. 
and fuller than sighs. 
like love and the space of wanting more
of what filled you up from inside.

next, you miss subtleties. 
Small things. 
Like the shadow of birds flying across 
the sky.

A cup of chai shared before inevitable goodbyes.

And then,
there are those inner missings
like thorns poking out from the inside

Personal things.
Scent on pillows.
Shared silences. 
Presences that overlap and intertwine.
The company of someone who crossed your path. 
maybe just for a little while.

Feelings always manage to sabotage everything, like houseflies.

They never really speak, do they? 
Their presences are enough.
Silences always say so much, 
but mean nothing. 

Even if they do mean something
I tell them not to.

meaning leads to wanting 
wanting leads to waiting
and waiting alone 
leads you nowhere.

let's not wait or want, or want to wait,
what has passed is gone
there's no use adding halos to things that don't shine.

But missing is a funny thing
It always crosses that line.

Ours

meet me 
outside reality
in the realms of fantasy
where doubt evaporates
and limits dissolve 
where the air shimmers 
in the glow 
of everything 
that wasn't allowed.

meet me
in the land where we claim
ours, for the keeping.

our midnight outshines noons-
The sky breaks like an egg
spilling light, sizzling skies
from the love of our moons.