An exhilarating piece I worked on.. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 🙂 
When the drums roll

And the red smoke wavers in the air, 

Your countenance kept lilting among the layers of the haze. 

Smokes of exotic grass were put to shame. 

There was a tune.. 

Bellowing in my ears as I held my gaze looking at you.

 The poise in which you pranced about on the stage could mute the entire human race.

I take a dip in the Ganges every morning only to see the sacred thread flowing away from me. 

I enter the temple to renew my spirit and faith in the morning only to walk to the brothel to witness your beauty in the evening. 

These saffron clothes don’t stick to me anymore. 

Three years after renunciation, my walks amongst the aghoris have proved to be pointing to your direction. 

Kashi is thronged with people to serve the lord and I’m here, 

Slaving to your fine movements. 

As I climb the stairs after a holy dip, the temple bells remind me of the evenings spent in your embrace. 

Silence looms over the secret life I lead. 

Bhakthi on one street and desire pulling me to another. 

I’m torn between these realms. 

The rudraksh beads around my neck remind me of your hazel black eyes. 

The kohl lined eyes are like roads leading to your warmth. 

The ash that I smear myself with, smells of you. 

The evening arathi at the edges of the river resemble your adornments and they beckon me to your dwelling. 

The flowing river of desire witnesses the fire in my loins. 

Celibacy, abstinence. 

I violated them out of my own will.

I’m an ascetic 

I’m a human. 

The duality in me seeks you. 

The conflict in me seeks the Lord. 

When the stern gaze of shiva’s third eye lands on me, 

I shall be destroyed. 

My sins only count for the bones and half burnt flesh resting in the ghats. 

I shall see no heaven or reach the lord’s feet. 

Our moans will only take me to edges of damnation. 

I prepare myself for an afterlife ,

To burn in hell.

Tears have no respite for duality. 

They say, “an ascetic must be whipped for his transgressions” 

I smile. 

And I, 

Submit.

When I see those glistening eyes, I can see the entire cosmos coming into its place, in that tiny little spot on your eye..
They dance to the tunes of my gaze and when I try to catch them doing that,
They scatter into nothingness
I find myself searching again.. In those ravines and crevices of the iris.
They turn moist and reflect the silvery Lake that I was looking for respite.
I can see myself there,
Swimming in that little lake,
Wading through those ripples,
I try to reach the shore
But the weight beneath my feet
Pulls me back into that everlasting calmness
The stillness beneath the waves leadens my entirety
And I stop..
I was lost in your dream
In that instant,
I dreamt of two dreams merging into one.

Past in its present.

Nostalgia hits you like a freight train.

A long drive across the city, 20 kms away from the place I stay, happened to be the locale where I spent 19 years of my childhood. The narrow streets which are now filled with swanky cars parked along both the sides, was once our playground. The deserted looking alley with houses unoccupied due to pathetic facilities, stand tall to scare away people like me who visit after 8 years. At 10 in the night, we drove past these places and recognizing every small detail that held our pasts together. The small shops and the fairly big super markets, the blind school and the police station. My school, most importantly, the place where I spent 12 years of my childhood, learning and unlearning experiences, mixed with happiness and sadness, learning how to build relationships and witnessing the ones that were falling apart. The winding pathway from my house to the school, mostly the stinking and reeking drain that used to cover half of our journey, talking to our friends and being a part of that small little world that made me into who I am today. Those houses, one above the other, with the open verandahs that looked so fanciful were once what we called, ‘our neighborhood’  and I lived in one of those houses, tucked in a street behind the main road. The grocery shop next to the small Park, with green shutters stared back at me with a grumpy and a grouchy grimace. I savored it all. I was in a place that no longer welcomed me, I had left it to reduce into ghostly ruins and to come back was the damnest thing to do. But I was there, nevertheless. The days I spent roaming about on those streets and cycling to all the narrow alleys were a part of my routine. A humble routine that I terribly miss. My school building, stood tall and the play ground looked smaller than it was but it was actually of the same size and the same shape. I had changed, my perception of my long lost world had changed over the years. Thanks to “growing-up”.

Coming to reality, which was mostly mixed with what I was telling you about. My ex’s place is two streets away from my school. Yes, I witnessed a wave of emotions wash over me and I was left spell bound by it all. But, that’s what life is all about. It keeps happening and taking turns in the most unfathomable directions. It’s 12 in the morning and I’m overwhelmed with my own life. I have a billion things to store in my treasure box. Experiences that have moved me and experiences that are yet to move me. I am that woman today, filled with confidence and also with no confidence at all. I stand at two extreme poles at the same time, debating about what I am doing and what I am about to do. I’m finally moved by what life can offer. Infinite at its best.

You always die the death of an old hag..
Inebriated with unsurmountable sadness
You walk around in that jazzy fashion
Swaying this way and that
Holding onto dear life, but slipping off like a slimy snail
Leaving behind the trail that abhorred everyone around you.
You stink, of that liquor that dejects the very soul.
You reek of the failures
Where did you learn to achieve that?

Those stark naked eyes
emitting psychedelic colours,
The smoke from the factories,
travelling to far off lands.
The fields, vast and lush.
Your countenance
was a palette of colours.
The paths you see in front of you,
I have travelled, My friend!
Hold onto your dear life,
For you are shrewd but the roads
are bitter and unfavourable.
Do not stare at me!
Gaze at the stars,
make them your own.
Rip them off,
the stocking cling to your soul.
The freckles grow with you,
do not hide them.
Be wise,
stare back at that blank slate.
Fill them with the colours you emit.

The cold air, has a distinctive aroma.
It is not the smell of the earth when it rains or the dried air when the dust rises.
It is the smell of the cold leaves, frosted and cringing in the thin air.
The mist that settles on it tightens every cell that makes a leaf.
You are blessed with the cold air, circling about and reminding you of the woods that are calling..
Those dark, mighty pines, wavering their heads to match the trajectory of the moonlight.
The blue effervescence clouds my thought process.
I’m left with the artist’s work.

Don’t, don’t you ever come closer.
Stay where you are and learn the pain.
I can’t hold you, I can’t touch you either.
This,
Is what I am left with.
Your presence in absence.
You can’t make it better, you can’t make it worse either.
You leave me there, in the crevices of bitter cold mountains.
Left to freeze.
You can never fathom the stinging tears that freeze even before they emerge.
You know how to turn the tables around.
You never did come closer, did you?