Night

chinese lanterns – popcorn – photographs
old records – mozzarella – sweatpants
heat – bollywood clinging – seabreeze
stench of rum on a collar
untimely teardrop of a cloud
a window curtained by
shadows contemplating union

culminating in a linen cove
a script – generous parentheses
suggesting a future lunge
confirmed by fingers hinging
a rain percussions for the ceiling fan
to take bass, while a duet
swells the air, repaints walls,
deafens the city for the time being

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Come

Come wrap yourself around me, like two lotuses
closing in on each other
send poetry into me and nurture my scent
narrate to me tales in Assamese and recipes
of steaming meat inside bamboo and tea inside metal
Fill me with slow hours that replenish, at each
whisper on your weightless arm, travel
across the mountain passes where my ancestors
wait for you with berries and boar pickle
Embrace me tighter, I am becoming the night
clouds hover over me and silken your forehead
A bonfire inside you crackles, on adding wood
your arms lock me into dawn, in the distance
an old train emerges from a tunnel, its song
combining with the newly arrived cuckoos in your heart

Night

12.11 am. Let it begin. Raincoats soaked,
teapots cloaked
by thick steam, the murmurs of shadows
passing in and out of their faces

Books browse the breeze, their flaps open
pages stroked and shivered
unwritten bits whispered as wants
sitting on moist ears

Like a workshop, the bed, busy and frantic
rises and falls like an ocean, whose waves
travel towards the silent coasts of windows
faraway and sleeping

Reading Aloud

Reading it aloud:
You
Your whims, your hormonal rants,
The part where you sneeze
The moment you finally cry
I read it all out, your eyes open
Like two journals on either side of your age
With you in the centre, present in the present
Mute as a photo
Out of focus

Your nights
Your breath
The bits of you leftover
In text messages and friends of friends
Even music you forgot
Comes around unasked
The wall holds your face
As you fall asleep scarred
Read it all aloud, like a play
We’re listening to each other age
The clock waits for you
The taxi drops it’s meter, the new year
Opens and calls for an encore

Roast



Friday night. Slow roast, an oven pregnant

the guest waits at your table, pouring wine, adjusting table mats
staring into the fruits and finding her childhood favourite

an untouched sweet lime

passing time
the window calls you both, you bond and chatter

wine reduces, only the residue, lingering on a future kiss

…but you miss
she watches you go blank

her eyes get filled with growing scenes 

watching them build and dissolve the breeze blows inward

the night deepens, her touch 

finds your arm



the oven ticks.

Landscapes

your hair rivers onto the bedsheet
tracing movements made by the rest of you
your eyes move nervously in a dream
viewing their own private cinema
your fingers gently tremble under a moist breeze
I plant my warmth at your feet

adrift in you earlier I discovered forested lakes
in me your voice echoed across endless mountains
eventually water-falling over my shoulder
and turning the room into its lake
then birds flew out of us one by one taking turns
as we gazed upward with closed eyes searching for a sky

collapsing onto rippled cloth you became a range of dunes

awakened by the stillness of night
I witness you take new shapes beside me
the scent of our time passing grows gradually
buttoning myself I let my palm speak to your forehead
a soft fluorescence robes you like an ocean

Whispers to a Current Flame

The curtains incandescent from a morning glow,
breathing in and out, sending luminous tides
to and fro across your face; you let them paint you.

Inside you a storm brews –
you imagine the whole of me melting in your grasp,
my body tantalised and reformed by the movements of yours.

Lying down under a humid breeze, you let my face sink into your chest,
watching the hair on my forehead flicker and reveal a childhood scar
from time to time.

With you I can be cleansed, nude, dressed, altogether;
without clothes we are robed by the summer,
with clothes we filled with the desire to uncover the landscapes
that live over us.

You devour me again and again, reducing me to the bare emptiness
of a fulfilled desire, waiting for me to open my eyes
only to undress me into a further nudity.

The evening arrives; must we go on for a walk and talk about the films we like and the poetry we left unwritten, while debating over what to try for dinner? Everyday passes as I watch you grow into a woman, scene by scene culminating into something maturer and calmer, nurturing me and using me, filling me and robbing me, coming to me and leaving me.