No, I don’t.

No, I don’t think of you.
Like I don’t think about the sun
That shines warmly on me
As I walk against the cold winds.
No, I don’t care about you.
Like I don’t care about all the sleep
That I keep losing over you
Knowing, one day, it’ll embrace me anyway.
Of course, I don’t pay attention to you.
Like I don’t pay attention to the air
That feeds my very existence
Only to feel truly alive in your presence.
I don’t think.
I don’t care.
I don’t pay attention.
I just, love.

A Text Message


There is no one around me

Solitude extends its hand out

But I’d rather be comforted

By a cold metal body.

(Or is it plastic?)

Silence wants to converse with me

But I’d rather hear the occasional “ting”

The wind ruffles my hair

The sun shines on my lips

As they curve into a smile

At the glow of its screen

But I’d rather feel the warmth

That traveled five hundred miles

To radiate from its cold metal body

(I definitely think it’s plastic.)

For a text message, is all a man can be

To a world, who doesn’t want to see.



The Orange Grass.

In a vast stretch of resonating green,

Every root tickled into fits of laughter

And tips swayed in perpetual cadency.

A little too passion a little too heat

Of the two, one swept off its feet

Like a rock crumbling into sand.

The heart charmed by munificence

Begged and yet bereft of repletion,

That every crumb yearned.

The incessant craving, relentlessly spurned.

A mediocre zephyr churns a part

At times, a hasty gust carries it away

Still more is bred in what’s left.

In the vast stretch of green

Now lies a patch of orange grass

In a fear of extermination

Harboring a flickering hope

And waiting for the green,

To someday, turn akin.


There she lay, her slender body

Tenderness within.

A smile that spoke of paradise,

Eyes that radiated affection-

A God’s face in disguise

Now just sat on her feeble body

Clutched in pain.

With every groan, a couple of tears

And every drop, my nose did twitch

Cold, she considered. Beads they were.

As I sat there stroking her agonizing head

My ailing mother, woke up from her stupor

And said “You look so unwell, my child.”