My turban, is Sandeep


when the traffic stop

is empty

of egos

assumptions and

banalities, and talk

and talk

and construction of

hero’s on 6 o clock



my blue turban rests proud

fiercely clasped together

each fold a time stamp

an assimilation of stories


as my head fell to a

nameless shadow,

gently, it fell

very carefully

to allow my turban

to stay still wrapped

wrap after

after wrap

after wrap

7 meters of blue

in a tidy wrap, still

my jewel, my crown

brandishing it as

it ebbed to the earth

my blue turban

postures proud, still wrapped

stubborn like me, a blue

provocation on that street

just where my swagger

plunged and lay, fallen

caught in the trap

of another coward

at a traffic stop


I want you to know

my blue turban nestles


still wrapped

stubborn like me

not dead, it is



*Sandeep = enlightened one




before you go to bed tonight

before you go to bed

tonight, will you

take stock of me, you

us, ours?

the encroachment

of our ghosts,

their clinking voices

singing into glasses


with our receding



before you go to bed

tonight, will you

promise, to continue

this ritual even when

I am more fragile

when tomorrows lose

their guarantee, when

I accept finally that, the

etymology of thyroid systems

is as important, as implications

of latin word roots


before you go to bed

tonight, will you

pledge allegiance

to me even

when the moon

will no longer, be errant

branches no longer

fall in bluish tiptoes

through our windows

while we toothless

will chew on a shared

orange, an accumulation

of pips shrivel, will collect in

a bowl, at our bedside

next to a dish with my

new prosthetic smile


before you got to bed

tonight, will you

journal, this night

my love bites, confused

almost a shadow of their

stains, my scarred breasts

the nearly calligraphic abyss

on your chest, quietly formed

like the waning moon exactly

where my head still rests

testament to 10,000 nights

measuring the irreverence of

29 years, meanwhile

I will  continue to pick

with my fingers an unceasing

silence into the hairs on your

chest, graying now

in touch still mine


before you go to bed

tonight, will you

recall our stories, retina

received memories

before cataract

sets in, to be cauterized

just for old times’ sake

gather light, into

our eyes, speculate

as we did, brewing coffee

before we box them

into our arthritic

skies, toes twirling

as they will touch

through old socks

cozy, colorful, conciliatory

randomly picked from the

bottom of our closet drawers,

never being pairs again


before you go to bed

tonight, will you

take stock

of the rhythm bristling

within our hearts, near

arrhythmic now, also

of my purple silences

the radio repeating

one last ghazal, in sequence

to your snores, they purr

back and forth, familiar

in their psychedelic




saying, to me, darling

while you sleep

I am right here, near

come quieten me,

once you exorcise


daily burden

into your potions


motions, emotions

just be careful, dear

don’t trip the edge

before you go to bed




every september



they say time heals

in aggregation it does

but there are those

individual moments

or things, one or two

that come

unstored, unmoored

from where they have

been stored, in cold

and dark places,

lingering, they

sneak their way into

my pores every

once in a while

rattling my panes

as they escape me

weary of my

curfew zones

every September


your laughter

silently fuses

into my ear plugs

sufi music,

harmonic pendulum

whirring cars, all

seem inept, when

every so often, you

still laugh loud into

my ears, it is so irritating

till it isn’t

every September


that chicken patty

those crumbs, you

leave scattered, deposits

around your plate,

on purpose of course

bread crumbs

in stories

always lead

to dead ends, a story

is perfect, till it is

not anymore

every September


your hand, as it lingers

around Laika’s neck

her clipped hair

black, bleak, bristling

as if aware, of what

is to come, soon

dogs know

before humans, they

sense a miniaturized

life vision, Laika carried

the burden of our future

every September


and then shoes

sneaker shops, many

in malls, bedazzled

your countenance,

I smirk, you never

learned to tie your

shoelaces, fraying

often I find myself

gazing at boys, aching

to tie their straying


every September


more than the

laces, the thumping

steps, sounds

exasperate me,

steps you strode

your steps are big

have direction, effortless

a dance

like quality, sure-footed

like the horses

you rode

every September


they say time heals

in aggregation it does

but then memories collide

like the opposite

sides of a tunnel

zooming past,


each other,

eyeballs fixed

ruthlessly drowning

into their own wells


until images fuse

into smothered nights

every September




‘Is it true, we can only love so much?’: Four poems by Kashiana Singh


Bengaluru Review

Mouthful of Cloudbursts

 Feather soft droplets, uncertain and fickle
Surprising sounds, glassy sheets of revival
Gushing in to announce a transparent arrival
Initiating an odorless ovation, trickle by trickle

Rooftops lay flat against a tiptoe dance
Hummingbirds listen transfixed, in pleasure
Flapping grief, into a euphoria of collapsing treasures
The wet night sings to darkened drapes, in a trance

Particular aroma of a lightning struck earth, engulfs all form
Undulating color draws patterns of seagull wings, dark sky
Desire ruptures itself, comatose beside leftover boxes of Thai
Heartbeats rescue each other, inhaling a moldy smell of the grass

Howling death sounds, drown raging kisses
Purple streaked canopy, plunging empty into black eyes
Crushing raindrops, into mocha keeps passion in disguise
Pittering and pattering, a pulsating remorse passes by

Soaking into its torrential depths
lusting between sunset and sunrise
Streams chant seductively to themselves
Breaking horizons, into a bellowing bronze

I inhale the petrichor…

View original post 585 more words

When you pray

When you pray

You stand like a painting

Brush strokes, straight lines

Perpendicular back, a royal blue

Brown deep eyes brewed like

A barbecue of truth, marinated

With the anguish of life, grated

And squeezed, a penetrating

Lament, Your kind hands

Weaving fingers, interlocked

An antique courage, palms

Cupped into a void, open

Into which we endow, unalloyed

Our wishes, questions, poems

Like the summer rain that falls

Into our receiving senses, healing

The rise and fall of your voice, is

Courage, serving as your witness

You inhabit the air, boundless

In grace, holding your tears

Tightly behind your teeth

You pray, the rest of your words

Travel, flowing unabashed to

Spaces within us, a nectarine

An obstinate yearning

Yearning picks at bruises

slow slender movements

scars on each petal, my

memory, still fragile and

recovering an en bloc

extraction of my innards


Self medication heals

clumsily, it tranquilizes

breaks news, hovering

as petals fall like corpses

into their last piles, breath

devoured by a crass earth


Balms permeate a calm

wrapping into habitation

slowly, a formalization of

mourning, petals in bowls

of silence, measure loss

more adequately than pills


Sorrow has a nutty obstinacy

a fullness that evades tears

but brings a strange warmth

to the stillness of presence

and a nagging, ache that

whispers of being undead



The drowning

The drowning

I became


I breathed


I learned


I dreaded


I regretted


I brimmed with attention

I listened

Water urged me to put my ear to songs

Of sea shells, sea urchins, sea shores

They sung on repeat a human checklist of caution

They begged me to become water and choke on myself, for one day

No plastic straws in my turtle noses

No riff raff from beaches in my whale bellies

No hazardous bottles of party waste

No clouds that bled poison in rain

No human discharge polluting my bed

No leaking pipes feeding oil to my fish

No detergent toxics creating dead zones

No devastating impact on mating routines

No sunscreen eating my coral architecture

No lonely deaths to my beautiful jellyfish

No debris disturbing my wind patterns

I became water

I became water

I drowned


TSL prompt inspired – Whispering waves