Ailing Paper

This blank page retches

Coughs ink in your name

Which gradually seeps

Deep back

Into the extensive roots of the paper.

A poem gets stained.

This paper is clinically suffering from you.

What remains on it

Is the communicable disease of Words. 

The Hare and the Tortoise

The day the hare lost

His race against the tortoise

That’s when Terrorism started

That’s when thematically History changed.

PS: The story is more important than the moral.

Curse poem

Of course F*** is not a religious word

Neither is Shit

Nor bitch, nor crap or piss.

But when

My Love

They come out of your Kashmiri mouth

And rest for a moment on your glossy lips  

It seems as if they have been

Beatified and canonized

Forever.

For eternity and ever
For public use.

An Appetite for Love (III)

Lately

I have developed

An Appetite for Love.

In Love

I want to request all the migratory birds

To deliver your messages unhurriedly.

In Love

I want to weep alone like a child

And name it your unique brand of Love.

In Love

I want to write passionate love letters

But never deliver them to you ever.

In Love

I want to meet you after decades of tiff

And confess my countless deaths.

In Love

I want to eradicate all the miseries from the world

But die of one myself.

In Love

I want to burn all the newspapers of the world

And feed the heap to dictators.

In Love

I want to name all the jilted lovers

Martyrs of an unknown realm.

In Love

I want to pronounce Separation

As a Game of Desires.

In Love

I want to look deep into your eyes

But willingly fail to locate the epicenter of my sickness.

In Love

I want this poor poem to end

At the huge door of your elite house.

Invitation

You, as genuine members

Of Love club, all are

Cordially invited

To the marriage ceremony

Of Mr Broken Heart with Ms Suicide

On whichever day you

Would feel most depressed.

P.S. Lunch will be served to jilted lovers first. 

Burial

After burying her

Surreptitiously in my damp face

I am no longer missed

in the plots of Love.

A Very Short Introduction to Love

It

Persists...

Menu

The day we will meet 

After centuries of hunger

We will drink a glass full of our eyes

With crispy over-baked bodies.