The clouds scud across the sky,
Unorganized and dark,
Embedded with dust and licked oceans,
Formless and sodden with breeze,
Culmination of ice and fire,
When they roar.
The rain drizzles and pours,
Lashing out at the fighting boughs,
And skins and bones
Of birds, cars and houses alike.
It is always raining,
It has always been raining here;
Since I can remember,
Since she left,
Since she just had to go, seven days back.
I light a candle in the darkness…darkness
That swamps the dazzling Bollywood city;
Here, the rains are waited, and detested,
Just like her and the hopelessness-
Flying termites chasing light.
Cools and yet she drains
Me, of my vital juices,
Drowning me, in the dryness of ache.
My page is lit with the candles of past,
Which can’t outshine a lost love,
That was stabbed from behind,
In the light of the day.
She is no more, no more to me,
Yet she somehow survives,
Still longs to breathe
In my sleep through memories.
The pictures are all over the place,
Somewhere there, we are virtual friends,
My being now an auburn trace,
In her name this august poison,
Sits amidst dusk and rain,
And lets me deal with the comatose
Set on her late lover’s healing,
Healing in the crypt of
Darkness on silent white,
Gives way to nocturnes,
Slowly transgressing her,
Her pink lips and tender breasts;
Phenomenal cusps of grandeur,
In every sip, at every plunge,
A novel enervated world,
Redolent of her smoldering surrender;
Imploring me to explore her.
Among the paraphernalia lies
A chess set on the table,
Already primed for sacrifice
In this positional play,
The queen ending!
The candles flicker out from
The lick of wind, and dearth of wax…
I get out of sheets, blooming red,
She still sleeps there, unknown…
I take a shower and dress.
Lockdown has ended.