A time for tears

I like to save up my tears.
Whenever sadness gets excited
And knocks on my eyelids to let her out,
I tell her,
"Come on! Not now!
The worst is yet to come."

Some people believe that this is pessimistic
But I refuse
Like I refuse many other beliefs.
Not agreeing with people makes you feel unique
And then time teaches you -
"Actions matter more than beliefs."
And you see you are just like everyone else
Which is not bad, is it?
Try telling that to advertising agencies
Try telling that to my generation
Try telling that to a data analyst
A data analyst whose dream project involves hyper-personalisation.
After all the search results are personalised
There would be fewer options for the soul to connect with.

Let's get back to saving up tears
I have this problem of deviating from the topic
Like how tears deviate from our cheeks sometimes
Like how happy memories deviate from our hearts sometimes.
Why do I like deviating?
Because deviations open up new directions
Unlike how people want their lives to be
People prefer their lives to be structured
And people prefer the lives of other people to be structured as well.
25 years old - Aren't you married yet?
28 years old - Isn't your kid walking yet?
31 years old - Doesn't your house own you yet?
But I believe our society does this
Keeping in mind the welfare of future historians.
Imagine if a historian wanted to find
The average age by when people in this generation got married
Wouldn't his life be so easy
Because of our beautifully structured society?
Our society always does what is best for the future
Though that might ruin the present in the process
Which is fine
We have enough tears to shed, don't we?

Let's get back to saving up tears
And my real reason behind it.
I get distracted pretty easily
And I forget to feel sad when I should.
When something bad happens
My heart does not react immediately with tears
It first tries to paint a positive picture of the suffering
It then tries to wake me up to all the wisdom to be gained
It then lists down ambitious goals and keeps me busy.
By the time I remind myself that
Sadness had asked to be let out,
She sets out on a solo trip
To some deserted place surrounding depression.
When something bad happens again
This whole cycle is restarted
And my tears remain preserved thus.

Is it bad to hold back tears?
I am not sure
But I remember that when I was younger
Tears helped me differentiate between joy and sadness.
Of late, the lines have begun to blur
All happy incidents are registered with a tinge of sadness
All successes are recorded with a feeling of failure
Which makes me wonder if wishes actually come true.
I had once wished that I did not feel every emotion
As strongly as I did
And now, as I see my emotions jumbled up
Not letting me experience any emotion in its entirety
I wish to be forgiven
I wish for normalcy to be restored
I wish for a few tears to flow down.

The rental agreement

I visited pain today
To renew the rental agreement
"How much longer do you intend to stay in the heart?" I asked
Pain pondered over it for a moment
"I have grown comfortable staying here for so long," He replied
I could not help smiling
Pain had been a good tenant
Saving me from unnecessary expectations
And helping me battle the regular rejections
"Well, do you have any other potential emotion
Wanting to stay here?" He asked
I was honest with him
No other emotion had shown interest
Perhaps because the heart wasn't even semi-furnished
Perhaps because the neighbor was fear
"I guess we can extend the agreement for one more year then" He said
I agreed
He asked me if I wanted to increase the rent
I didn't want to
Pain had also helped in renovating the heart
The walls now wore a waterproof coating
No more seepage problems when the tears came down
The room also had a new window built
Even the smallest ray of hope could light it up now
I thanked pain for being a good tenant
And returned home
Only to find life waiting for me
To renew our rental agreement
"How much longer do you intend to stay here?" She asked
I pondered over it for a moment
"I have grown comfortable staying here for so long," I replied
Life could not help smiling
Perhaps I had been a good tenant
After all, I had learnt a great deal from pain.

The word thief

He was a ruthless word thief
A thief who stole words that hurt
Words do hurt, don't they?
They hurt worse than wounds
Words uttered in anger and hatred
Words uttered in hopelessness and desperation
Words uttered after consuming alcohol
Words uttered before committing suicide
Words uttered during a domestic argument
Words uttered during a legal judgment
Words uttered to release pain
Words uttered to cause pain..
The ruthless word thief specialized in the theft of the last type
The type that hurts the most
The type that makes man's brain return to its beastly nature
The type that makes man's heart hold unresolved regrets
The type that makes lips bleed
The type that makes languages an unnecessary greed
The type that breaks human bonds
The type that harms health and happiness..
The ruthless word thief specialized in the theft of this type of words
The type that hurts the most
The type that is unintentionally uttered by a wife
Before her husband drives away to die in an accident
The type that is unintentionally uttered by a son
Before his father walks away to die of a weak heart
The type that cannot be taken back
Like the rain drops that cannot be taken back by the sky
Like the shed flowers that cannot be taken back by the tree..
The ruthless word thief would steal such words
And dump them in a garbage yard
To set them later on fire
The words would burn fiercely
Fueled by the flames of regret
And after they had burned out
One could always see their silvery ashes
Lying on the garbage yard like unwanted babies
One could also hear the gentle whispers of the silvery ashes
During cold nights and rainy mornings

Like the breeze's lullaby to a war-torn city

Like the ocean's lullaby to a stranded sailor
The silvery ashes would gently whisper,
"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!"

A golden plant

I came across a golden plant tonight
She smiled and shone like a shy moon
Illuminated by her charming sun - the street light
The same street light under which mosquitoes sing,
Kids play badminton, and dogs bark at beggars
The same street light that does not have a political stance
Or an economical one
For it campaigns for multiple political parties
And rents out a 2BHK flat at Rs 20,000 per month
And rallies for a trade union strike happening next week
But why talk about a street light
When we have a golden plant?

I came across a golden plant tonight
She would have put my mom's jewelry to shame
Being beautifully lit by her endearing flame - the street light
The same street light that brightens up the textbooks of poor kids
And guards the return of people to their homes late night
The same street light that sweetens up pani-puris and momos
And glistens up the sweat beads of midnight food-delivery boys
The same street light that serves as the sun to security guards
And gleefully romances balcony after balcony in the surrounding flats
But why talk about a street light
When we have a golden plant?

I came across a golden plant tonight
She glowed like the FIFA world cup trophy at display everywhere
Basking in the love of her fan - the street light
The same street light that seems to be ashamed for some reason
With its head bowed down at all times
The same street light that measures the intensity of rain
And provides comfort of a power cut all around
The same street light that waves a flickering welcome to bats
And bids a serene goodbye to sparrows and pigeons
But why talk about a metaphorical golden plant
When we have a real one?

Mirror, mirror, what do you see?

I move my hand gently over the mirror

I carefully study my reflection

My reflection looks like a different person
He does not resemble me..

When I feel tears cleansing my face
He seems to be smiling peacefully
When I feel ants biting continuously at my heart
He seems to be smiling peacefully
When I feel silence breathing upon me
He seems to be smiling peacefully
When I feel loneliness embracing me dearly
He seems to be smiling peacefully
When I feel the weight of others' sorrows
He seems to be smiling peacefully
When I feel suffocated in an empty space
He seems to be smiling peacefully..

I want to help him
I try breaking the mirror
I first use my fists
That have turned softer by wiping away tears
I then use my heart
Which has become the hardest part of my body
And only then does it hit me
I am the one trapped inside the mirror
I am the one trapped with the truth
He is living happily in the outside world
He is living happily with a lie
I want to help him
I need to break this mirror
Can someone help me please?
Or rather, can someone help him please?

Life vs Me

Life landed a hard blow on my right chin
My vision blurred, my ears started ringing
My body wanted to give up
But my heart refused
I shook my head vigorously
Splattering my sweat and blood all around
And looked at life with a triumphant grin
Life was visibly angry
It landed a hard blow on my left chin this time
I could feel blood running down my face
The pain was intolerable
My left hand was fractured
My right knee was seriously injured
My nose would not stop bleeding
My left eye was turning blind
I had already urinated on myself
There was no more need to go on
But my heart refused
I wiped my blood and balanced myself again
I taunted at life to land another blow
Life looked extremely irritated
"Why wouldn't you just give up?" It asked me
My left eye went completely blind
But I could still muster up a smile
"Why wouldn't you just give up?" It repeated angrily
And landed a hard punch on my chest
My heart stopped briefly
My body turned cold
I fell down on my knees, my right knee paining excruciatingly
When my heart started beating again
Its rhythm was inconsistent
But it would not give in easily to life's blow
Slowly, rising to my feet again
I faced life
"How do you expect to break me....
....when you were the one who made me?"
I asked, and I spit out blood that had collected in my mouth
I taunted at life to hit me again
I had an unconquerable heart
And liters of blood to spare
The fight had just begun.

A long-lost love

It happened one fine day
It had been impending for quite some time
Like the sunrise that awaits a lonely night
The walls in their house turned into pages
The clothes in their closet turned into parables
The flowers from their plants turned into poems
The house smelled like an old, forgotten book
Only that its writer
Was not the husband or the wife..
The wife lived every day painfully
But she held her pain as close to her heart
As she had held his gifts from the past
After all, her pain was also a gift from him..
The husband lived every day painfully
But he held his pain as close to his heart
As he had always wanted to embrace her
After all, his pain was also an embrace from her..
The wife and the husband were always close to each other
And also courteous and compassionate
But they failed to realize
That a relationship had to be good, not nice..
And so, their silence exploded one fine day
The silence of their pain
It had been impending for quite some time
Like the tears that await a hopeful human
The walls in their house turned into pages
The clothes in their closet turned into parables
The flowers from their plants turned into poems
The house smelled like an old forgotten book
All the unsaid words were out
And hidden somewhere among those words
Rested a long-lost love.

Too busy to be sad

Some days arrive
When our shadows shine in sunlight
Street after street, city after city
Shattering the solitude that smiles..
Some days arrive
When our rooms get crowded with unwelcome people
Night after night, weekend after weekend
Not letting in painful memories and terrifying imaginations..
Some days arrive
When a continuous rhythm plays in our heads
Chord after chord, note after note
Not permitting silence to speak..
Some days arrive
When words hold us imprisoned in reading
Page after page, chapter after chapter
Not wanting us to become writers..
Some days arrive
When nature reminds us of its unnatural beauty
Tree after tree, star after star
Not revealing the hardships of human life..
Some days arrive
When food paves the way for tasting freedom
Scent after scent, bite after bite
Far from the frailties of human heart..
Some days arrive
When algorithms and dashboards weigh us down
Data point after data point, chart after chart
Not favoring the triumph of faith over facts..
Some days arrive
When life gets too busy

Second after second, minute after minute
To sit and be sad, to shed a slow teardrop...

A melody of melancholy

A beautiful brown sparrow rests on my balcony wall
It informs me about the weather across Bangalore
I look at the sky with an eagerness for my namesake
But dark gray clouds loom large
A grateful gesture to all travelers about to tear up
As my cup of coffee turns a companion to the puddles below
The sparrow departs, waving goodbye with its wings...
I think about an old, battered story book and its torn pages
About an unused, armless action figure and its owner's childhood
A rusted, punctured bicycle and the neighboring roads
An untouched school uniform and a regularly used school bag
A non-functional FM radio and homeless radio waves
A box of broken plastic crayons and a father's locked-away accounts ledger
A forgotten wedding album and one of its lucky photos framed on the living room wall
A lonely mango tree, inside a gated community, and its regular visits from the slum kids
A childless mother and an uncared for orphan
I think about all these and I wonder
Which is more melancholic - To miss or to be missed?

I fall into a coma.

Money times money is money squared
Money times data too is money squared
I am terrified of the square in squared
It is a prison for passion
When it should be imprisoning poverty
The walls are windowless
Not different from our cars that honk away beggars
Shoo! Shoo! Shoo! Faces in plight are like houseflies
Poor housefly! It has 360 degree vision
Amazing humans! Our vision is focused
Money times money is money squared.

Math and meth keep some men happy, according to the statistics
And the trend line goes on a rapid rise
The target just got taller
What beverage does the corporate brain drink?
Smarter and smarter it gets
Without satisfaction
'Enough' and 'equality' are endangered species
Can somebody tell me the population of white tigers?
I just boarded the statistics bandwagon
Does the white tiger treat the white peacock as its equal?
Which is more beautiful? Which puts a smile on others faces?
Oh you dangerous Darwin! Look at what you have done
Dystopia's day is around though survival of the fittest keeps surviving its end
The pie chart has just two categories
Oh you sad storyteller! They are not good and bad
The small chunk is bad and the larger chunk is worse
Am I talking about the earth?
But isn't the earth flat? 
Just wait for a 100 memes and 1000 re-tweets - the earth will become flat
Science stands no chance before social media
Please! Do 'Like' this poem!

"May I help you?"
Who's that quoting Shakespeare?
"Dude! You don't know even this?! (Sara)Haha"
Now, that's my boy
Let me introduce him, or rather his opinions
Introversion - Inability
Compassion and care - Cut the crap
Humility - Head back to your hometown
Love - LOL
My boy is a proud programmer!
Who pines for poets anymore?
For (i=1; i++; i > Poets)
My boy loves his machine
It is very obedient
Unlike some people who have to be understood
Try {relationships} - Catch {reasoning}
Isn't man-machine interaction easier?
Can somebody tell me the rise in percentage 
Of man-machine interactions over the last 5 years?
The statistical evidence is arriving in a blood-red Mercedes Benz
I love the logo, and even the car
I decide to buy it for my boy, and I begin my computer code
If ( desire = Mercedes Benz )
My fingers continue birthing variables
And invariably, I fall into a coma. 

My every day Wonderland

After meetings that go better than expected
But worse than the manager's standard..
When a mail rests in my inbox awaiting a reply
That would result only in a midnight-damage-control session..
When the eyes start composing frame after frame of the coconut tree visible outside the window
Turning a blind eye to the overlapping charts in the dashboard report..
I walk to a corner and draw a magical pattern
A green hole in the shape of a word bubble opens up
"Did you respond to the client's doubt?", "Can you review this modified SQL query?", "Is the tracker tracking the daily tracker updated?"
I set up a barricade blocking these questions
And plunge into the hole, the hole of hope.

I wish everyone would get a chance to visit this world

This world where ghosts are lovable
This world where buffaloes are the most adored pets...
This is a place where ego evaporates in seconds but possessiveness persists for centuries to come
This is a place where conversations can be one-sided
Not because a partner is dominating
But because the understanding is so deep that an exchange is not necessary
Here, we blow up balloons to play with sleeping saints
And we ride behind baby bikers... Trrrrr....
Here, we worship Brain pickings and also a few nitpickings
We also fall in love with 'Aananda Yaazhai' and 'Ennaku piditha paadal...'
Rain is celebrated and so is Rumi
The Prophet is a Superstar as much as The Alchemist...
I wish everyone would get a chance to visit this world
This world where new words are birthed, and at times, poems
This world where a robot is transformed into a kid every day
Thanks to a guardian angel
A spirit who wipes away my pain and paints a widespread smile.

Colors

I was thinking about the possible ways
Of making the world a more colorful place
Celebrate Holi at a global scale every week?
Turn every building into a kid's canvas?
Increase the population of butterflies?
Grow different flowering plants beside every streetlight?
Manufacture cars and motorbikes that changed colors at every traffic signal?
Design clothes that changed shades depending on our emotions?
I liked the last thought
Borrowing ideas from 'Inside Out'
I imagined a crowded street where the clothes turned emotional chameleons
Yellow in joy, Blue in sadness, Red in anger
How many faces would adorn a smile even when the shirts turned blue?
How many faces would show calmness even as the saris continued turning redder? 
I badly wanted to walk that street
Apart from the colors, for the emotional truth
But I told myself
I would walk that street only if black was assigned for pain
How else would I get to be happily dressed in my favorite color day after day?

Contact

It is 1987

I cry and cry, rolling inside the cradle

My father understands that I want to communicate

He peeps in and offers me a tiny smile

Slowly, he leans forward and whispers something

I pause my crying

I understand his love though not his language

He had understood my want though not my language

I stare at him blankly for a few seconds before smiling

He whispers something again, and I begin laughing

We continue our conversation for sometime

Language is left languishing over the bedroom attic...

 

It is 1998

I hold his letter in my hands and I can feel his wrinkles

The paper is stiff yet the written words start trembling

The ink soaked in the paper competes with the warmth soaked in my heart

I smile looking at the two dots at the end of each sentence

"I never like using periods in my letters to you" my grandfather would say

"Why not use commas or semicolons?" I would retort

"Life needs those tiny pauses" he would explain

No wonder he loves the French and Italian films

He also loves Tom Clancy and Robin Cook

Which shows itself in his writing

Every paragraph leads to a breathtaking revelation

I love the smell of the words - the Parachute hair oil dripped words

And the smell of the wooden table that the letter had rested upon

I often get scolded by my school teachers

For using a black ink pen for the entire answer sheet in examinations

"Black ink is only for highlighting important words" they say

I refuse to change to blue ink

At least till my grandfather does...

 

It is 2007

I am on a phone call and my mother is on the other side

The eardrums reach beyond the reception levels

The brainwaves strengthen the weak network signals

My mother always speaks softly

Like how courage whispers to a bird on the brink of its maiden flight

Like how passion whispers to a man lost in a mundane existence

Like how childhood whispers to a mother arranging her daughter's scattered toys

But her silences are my precious treasures

They reach me sooner than language

They describe me her crowded train ride, her spicy lunch

And the half kilo carrots that had accompanied her home

"Then?" she would always ask

I would want to share the million happenings I had hidden from her

Inside my maturity locker

A broken tooth had been a three-day headline 15 years back

And a broken heart seems an unnecessary triviality now

"Then?" she would always ask

"Nothing more" I would reply and wait for my mother to end the call

Her silences are my precious treasures...

 

It is 2017

The WhatsApp icon lights up my dark mobile screen and my heart

185 seconds had elapsed since my previous text message

What would she have replied?

I spend another 185 seconds creating a list of possible replies

Another 185 seconds in affirming that she would have sent the most ideal reply

Another 185 seconds in fear that she would have sent the worst reply

There is a pleasure in these anticipations

Pleasure that delays clicking a button and ending the mystery in a second

Pleasure like when you have added the single missing semicolon in a 500 line code

And happily wait with a God's pride before executing it

Pleasure like when you chance upon a lovely sight

And cherish it before pulling out the camera

I believe I love texting her

More for my anticipations than for her replies

The unopened message where I love the idea of her

And the opened message where I love her...

 

It is 2027

I stand at my balcony, in my Indian flat

My partner is resting on his couch, in his Spanish home

My thoughts pause themselves as his come flooding to me

Each of his thoughts begin to get mapped to their rightful node in my network

My network expands like a floating jellyfish

As our thoughts come together, I see the big picture and also the solution

"This is great" my partner thinks

"I thought so too" I respond

No common server platform, no whiteboards, no discussions

A faulty algorithm has been debugged and solved with just our thoughts

Happily, I rub the tiny circular device attached below my ear lobe

The thousand thought networks inside my head glow in a gentle light

"I wish you guys were with me in Paris" My sister's thought reaches me

"She's lying! She's totally enjoying her vacation there" my brother's thought rushes in, bumping her thought

"Why should we be there? I am enjoying Paris as much as you" I respond,

Letting my sister's Paris-thought network in my head lighten up

"Still..." she lets float an unfinished thought

Thoughts of love and family begin to race forward and recede like waves

I pull out the circular device from below my ear

And begin talking to myself

A strange new world this is

Communication happening through thoughts and introspection happening through words...

You and I

I recall our past and I predict our future
My imaginations are clearer than my memories
Perhaps our future resembles a sad song
Their lyrics are easier to remember than the lines of a happy song..
Who were you and I?
Who will we be?
I was a leaking fountain pen smiling at you, my half-filled ink bottle
I will be an overused toothbrush longing for you, my flattened out toothpaste
I was a half-bitten eraser caring for you, my uneven pencil stroke
I will be a broken lock looking out for you, my lost key
I was a punctured tire kissing you, my empty dead-end road
I will be an ineffective malware multiplying for you, my uninstalled antivirus
I was an unwilling raindrop falling for you, my hole-filled umbrella
I will be a damaged brain aching for you, my obsolete X-ray machine
I was a forced smile showing up for you, my silent single teardrop
I will be a friendless childhood waiting for you, my loveless adulthood
Who were you and I?
Who will we be?
We were always meant to be together
Not for our purposes, only for our affection
But we are yet to be understood
Like a comedian's pain, like a celebrity's loneliness
Let us wait for our time
Let us wait for my predicted future
I see it clearer than our past
I will become a slow suicide uniting with you, my premature birth.

The writer's block

The pen has not run out of ink
Contrarily, it is so filled that it only releases blobs
I want to be a horse with blinkers
Not the housefly I am now, noticing more than needed
I look around my bedroom
The walls keep expanding, letting in ideas and images
I am yet to find the door
I take a deep breath, hoping to exhale the chaos
The nostrils refuse to open
Sense is left screaming in suffocation
I do not know if the brain is to be blamed or the heart
One seems too filled and the other, too empty
Maybe it should be the other way around
Maybe the meaning is too hidden to be found
Maybe I need to step off my masochistic mound
Maybe a lesson of life to keep the writer earthbound
As clarity ceases and confusion compounds
I offer a bittersweet smile to the universe
It doesn't seem to have learnt
It can never prescribe pain to stop my writing
Words are my way out of worries and wounds.

Can I be your O2?

I sharpened my pencil to write this poem

The lead broke and went rolling across the paper

That beautiful mole of yours - Can that go rolling too?

Your mole reminds me of the universe

Galaxies, stars and planets.. Rotations and revolutions..

Does the sun have to rise every morning?

I maintain peace with its routine for a simple reason

My favorite part of every day - Waking up before you, to see you try to wake up

Chuck your bindi. Chuck your mascara. 

That unruly hair, those un-opening eyes and that uncontrollable yawn

You are a princess all the way from the bed to the washroom.

Yesterday, during my walk, I came across a flock of birds

All pigeons but for a solitary dove

Like that single strand of grey hair on your head

Remember that day I discovered it and you broke down?

I try imagining you old and wrinkled

The affection does not diminish a bit

Reminds me of the stagnating water in our kitchen sink

To hell with all the utensils while you wash them

Why do you hold them so dearly?

To hell with the coffee mug - That beautiful ellipse is mine

Can I gift you a packet of straws instead? But wait!

To hell with the straws too. And also your toothbrush.

I have sharpened my pencil again

The pencil shavings show me an exciting version of your eyelids

Can I reroute the path to my office between your eyelashes and eyebrows? 

I have a confession - I threw away your previous pair of eyeglasses

You did not lose them at the restaurant

But the eyeglasses deserved it, spending more time with you than I do

Kindly hide away your new contact lenses

And your comb and your wristwatch and your slippers, especially your favorite pillow

I have already contacted a buyer to dispose all our furniture

I now need to worry about only one problem

How do I turn a part of myself into oxygen?

The Umbrella seller

I will be your umbrella seller
Do you want the majestic black one?
Or the bee-deceiving flowered one?
Or the Newton's-disk resembling rainbow-designed one?
I will be your umbrella seller
And I will sell you an umbrella free of cost
But make me a promise and stick to it
Never open my umbrella when it rains.. Never..
My umbrellas are not designed for showers
It should blossom like an inverted flower
Only when tears flow down your cheeks
My umbrellas are designed only for your tears.

He, she and their love stories - II

"I love you" he had said

"I can never" she had replied

Today marks the 40th anniversary of his proposal

He now lives at a hill station

Happy and healthy in a small cottage

Married? No. But he has a partner

His imagination of her

He walks and talks with his illusion

"Don't you miss living with the real her?" I asked him

On my trip to his house yesterday

"Don't you think she is real?" he asked me back

Smiling and pointing to an empty chair

I looked outside his cottage's window at the grey sky

Did the creator want his creations to become such creators?

The empty chair burdened my heart

"She is not the real her. She is 'your' her" I mumbled

Not replying, he rose and walked towards her chair

He slowly planted a kiss on her forehead

A rain drop hit the roof as his tear drop hit the floor

"I live with 'my' her because I cannot, with the 'real' her.

But thousands keep loving 'their' hims and hers, 

Despite having the real hims and hers"

I stepped out of his cottage in the rain

The gentle drizzle fell in love with my heartfelt cry.

You are my random variable

For quite some time now
When, at office, I have been asked to solve problems
When I have been asked to battle it out with equations
I have started feeling happy
Not because I have started liking Math
You know my Math skills better than my Math teachers
You know how I fumble while counting your eyelashes
I start counting them from either corner and halfway,
I lose my way and end up kissing the eyelids
So its not the Math
Its just that, for quite some time now
You have become my random variable.

On days I am asked to help with programming
When my screen can get egotistical with so many 'i's
When the algorithm can represent literature with an array of semicolons
I look at my R Studio or SQL Server with a naughty smile
Shall I assign my factor to your set of sparkling teeth?
Shall I group by your moles?
Shall I order by your favorite colors?
Your right ear is my lead, your left, my lag
I try avoiding loops as much as possible
But when I have to use them, my 'i' becomes you.

Some occasions demand data visualizations from me
As markers tumble, red, blue and black
As numerous graphs adorn the whiteboards
Like the white rangolis adorning the December doorsteps of a Brahmin agrahara
I start understanding the patterns
There exists a normally distributed graph
Happiness as its y-axis and the people in my life as its x-axis
Who do you think can be the mean, if not for you?
On happier days, the graphs get interesting
The bar graph shows me your slender fingers
The colorful pie chart, your starry eye
The bubble chart shows the purpose of your pimples
And the line chart on the rise
Captures my heartbeat as our lips hug each other..
Let us plot a graph for ourselves
I will be the x-axis and you be my y
As for the legend, let it not be a list, let it be this poem.

The wait for love

The walls of the house still smelled of new paint
The wait to smell of the sweat of intense love had been in vain..

The mirror stood brand new, reflectionless
The wait to conjure up images of beauty, stripped to the truest, had been in vain..

The bed rested calmly, the pillows solemnly
The wait to go naked witnessing wild passion, 
Not just during the moonlit hours, had been in vain..

The kitchenware lay assembled on the shelves quietly
The wait to swallow salt, sugar and secret kisses had been in vain..

The geyser hung hopelessly
The wait to be ashamed by the more powerful steam of united bodies had been in vain..

The tube lights and the bulbs vanished into the walls, dejected
The wait to remain constantly switched off with darkness preferred over light,
In search of meaning, in search of life, had been in vain..

The only survivor of all such pain had been the new car
It had waited to be fueled by reckless romance
And it had been, by the newly married couple
The only sad part of its story - It currently lay crushed under the wheels of a container lorry...