Note: Mature content. Not advisable for children. 

The throaty laugh, they decisive eyes,
they spoke of deception running so deep
that a ship could sink and be lost at sea,
forever. Holding that hand with the bright
red nail at the end of each finger, she bites her
lips seductively and puffs out her bovine
bosom, with the hope that by the end of tonight,
it would have been thoroughly massaged, rubbed,
cupped, moaned against, again, and again, until
no more; the moon will not witness such ecstasy
and pleasure, and yet, the stars shall not bear to see
the tears rolling down each face, as each drowns their
sorrows in muffled cries of guilty pleasure,
and hopeful lies. She was a power that could not be stopped;
moreover she didn’t want to be stopped-
she wanted satisfaction and she wanted love,
and she wanted (in layman’s language) just wild,
casual men fulfilling her needs; her needs
that were indefinite, but she knew, as faith is bound
to keep people hopeful, that in these “wild, casual men”
she’d find her man who’d fulfill her carnal wishes,
and more so, who’d respond to her reckless plans with plans
even more unbelievable. But until then, she was just a doll,
who made love to men each night with purpose in her heart,
hoping that one of them would understand that it was not sex
that she had with them, she had bared herself to them
and all she wanted in return was for them to do the same.
She wanted their souls in her bare, naked hands.

The well tailored suit served one purpose,
it drew him attention, of everyone in the room
and one could feel the heat he emitted-
and he was not just himself (his goddamning looks)
but his money and power that permeated in
the room filled with cigar smoke- a heaviness
that royalty had just stepped in; and he was royalty after all.
Successful, rich and plenty of ship in plenty of seas.
But tonight, he wanted more, more than handful,
tantalizing pieces of flesh; he wanted to satisfy someone,
he wanted to make love, to be able to communicate
with each nerve ending at between the thighs and
kiss every inch of a smooth, supple neck-he wanted
to make someone moan in pleasure, cry in pain,
explode in ecstasy, tingle every part with his tongue-
he wanted the sky to memorize the night and the
wind to take it to distant corners of the world, in celebration
of making love, of invoking the angel and the devil in you;
he wanted more than sex; he wanted a night to remember.
Little did he know, tonight he’d have it, he’d have it all
in exchange for his soul.



Euphoria clouds conscience,
adrenaline beats
blood in the veins; pulsating nerve
and breathlessness incurs 
as every nerve ending
breathes in the sight of
your majesty, and vibrance 
and the poise of your erect
spine and the stiffness
at your curvy, shallow
crevices, your hair falling
below that dented
shoulder and the
smothering skin and the ice cold
hands that are an artist’s best work,
and the lovely, lovely
plumpness of your wicked mouth,
trembling, as I 

attempt to raise you, 
inch by inch, above your bulk 
into the space, eager to 
start the new story that 
you contain.



You, me, ripped jeans,
Cigarette ash, beer, iPod.
That was seventeen years ago
And that is seventeen seconds ago.
Nothing much has changed
Except those superficial
wrinkled next to our eyes,
the rings on our third
finger and the slight
loose fat on our arms.
Nothing much has changed
Except when our song
came, we felt a tingle
imagining our future and
now we feel nostalgia
imagining what could’ve
become of you and me, us.
Nothing much has changed,
Except that our previously
clandestine meetings are
now known to our husbands.
Nothing much has changed,
Except that I’m afraid to tell
you how I still feel about
you and that you are now
afraid to hear what I may
say, even though you know.
Nothing much has changed
in these seventeen years.
It is still a small party.
You, me, ripped jeans,
Cigarette ash, beer, iPod
and our unsent vestiges
of love, received.

Your Dreams Are Mine.


I hear the thundering Clouds
And I feel the pain with which
They threaten the falling waters.
I can almost hear them say,
“Leave and all hell unleashes.”
Their words sound tough and intimidating
But all I hear is the plea camouflaged in them.
And when the waters take leave anyway,
I hear the shatter of their hearts.
And though heartbreak and despair
Has rendered them helpless and shattered,
They give in to their ego and
All hell breaks loose.
And with those falling waters they
Send a part of them, their tears,
Unstoppable they are, and will forever be.
Each tear tells a different tale,
A small piece of their love.
But each tells something common,
Tracing back to that happy time,
When the rain had said,
“Your dreams are mine.”

Pocket Stories #1


She thought there was no other way left fo her. The last three years of her life had been testing. First, the battle with rug addiction, then the divorce, the custody of her children, and now, the near moneylessness. It was enough. She stared at the razor blade in her hand.

She took a deep breath, and imagined the pain it would cause. She could visualize the blade cutting through her veins and she relished it. She closed her eyes. Just as she touched the blade to her wrist, the phone vibrated. Who would want to talk to me? She picked up her phone and stared at the message. “Your book’s perfect. Out in January, 2016. Call me asap.”

She was stunned. She stared at the razor  in her hand and cried. She cried for a long time.

*Total work of fiction. Isn’t in any way related to how I feel.*

The War.

Whipping hair from the wind,
Under the moonlit sky.
The only lights are those of our car,
And the sparkle of your eye.
The gravel crunching under the tire
And the waves of the dark mirror.
And the white foam on the sandy beach,
That is joined by the flamboyant river. 
The huge palm trees at the end of the land
In the shadows hide my kisses. 
The blissful silence silence doesn’t follow,
My longing caresses.
Ah, what a moment it is,
of pure joy pulsating in my veins,
Your laughter that echoes
In the dark, dusty plains.
But alas, your love is limited to,
The waves of sea that come and go,
And up till the last minute of the unlit sky 
And vanishes at the first glow. 
Then it’s time to say goodbye, 
And fare you well, my dear.
Last night I spend with you,
Before I leave for war,
Take care, my ever lasting love, adieu. 
For meet we ever again, it’s not sure, 
So hope and pray for the best. 
And never forget myself, or our love,
And leave to destiny, the rest.

The Last String.

Another place, another time,

There’s someone like you.

Someone there with love divine,

To share with, there are a few.

Someone hopeless, beaten to pulp,

Who’s given up everything.

Bruises he hides, abuses he gulps,

Straining on the last, unbroken string.

It’ll just take a single second.

To cut the string and relieve,

Just one thing that could anytime happen,

Which will be the end to all grieve.

This was double spaced, based on some comments and feedback that I got. You see, Grandpaww has weak eyes!

Sonnet: An Ode To The Broken Heart

This is inspired when two of my favorite bloggers and amazing poets Yusra and Phoenix wrote their sonnets. This is a childish attempt at such a great form of poetry. This is my first attempt and thus, very raw. But I hope that the next few ones are more refined and you like them just as I hope you like this one. Please click on the image to see the unpixelated version of this poetry.

Sonnet 1

” The unprecedented silence echoing weakens my ground.
My head is spinning around.
My breath plays a tune unheard, unsung.
Ragged, picking the melody of the words ye flung.
Beyond care, like physical spears,
Invoking in me invisible tears
As I stand staring at your beauty which intensifies,
It was so easy to believe your lies.
You radiated an aura so pure
To trust you, our love, it was final, so sure.
Beyond repair, it has now been broken down.
You willingly give up the most precious crown.
Wearing which you ruled over my heart.
Lost in your beauty, radiance, I don’t know where to start.”