August 6, '11

4.40 a.m. in a

Yellow coffee cup

Slumber flirts with

Their brown and black eyes

Something must have been said

Something had to be said

Fingers make love

Noses rub

Lovers, humans, they might be

And yet a green silence hangs

Over their souls and peace

Eludes them

And Marley sings

No woman no cry

Through tears in his eyes

And a hole in his heart.

too early

in the day

too many people.

8.45 a.m., new hair

look around, its the world

a red scarf, you say

"dont buy me things"

poetry is not something

i am good at.

you want to go to lunch with him

i want to hold your hand

and smell yellowed, moth-eaten books

in old curiosity shops

9 a.m., your hair looks nice.

you are like the night's sky...

imagery is overrated

may i tell you that i

perhaps am in love with you

do i dare to ?

for every step i take towards you

you remain standing, motionless

you do not come any closer

winter becomes more cruel

warming hands at a roadside fire

is not the same as warming hands

inside your skin.

you dont have everything that you want

but then i dont have you

so life trails on peeking into

the by-lanes of a this city.

10 a.m., you move closer to me

because you are cold

i move closer you to you

because it is you

my heart slips down my sleeve.