conversations with a bar tender 1

Come, let’s speak,  

Like two empty liquor bottles,  

Voices echoing in the hollow.

We who once knew fullness—  

Of time, of lust, of hunger—  

Now lost in the desperate silence,  

Words and thoughts reaching out,  

Falling into nothingness.

Left behind in the scrap yard,  

We spoke in broken rhythms—  

This, this, this, this,  

Needing to ask again and again,  

What was love?  

What is love?  

What is life?

Though we could not be parted,  

Even our shadows entwined—  

Yet we scream, we cry,  

Wondering if we’ve been abandoned,  

Left apart in a place  

Where rain falls endlessly,  

Where there is no wind, no light,  

No shadow, no moon,  

Not even a whisper of the past.

It rained and rained,  

As if everything would sink,  

Slowly, without pain,  

Until the glass doors shattered.

And now, we must speak,  

Together, like two empty liquor bottles,  

Sharing the same void.

I know a friendly serpent,  

Who splits its tongue,  

Speaking two languages, each half in tune.  

It loves, it hurts—  

It's daylight, and I blister by moonlight.  

I climb mountains and drown in oceans,  

Chasing the trace of where you dissolve.  

I spy the sun with a periscope, searching for my girl—  

She loathes sunlight, my fading, yellowish moon girl.  

She devours the moon, sleeplessly thinking of me.  

She loves me—oh, how she loves!  

She is all her love, loving everything in me—  

Nurturing my sins, my sicknesses.  

She tiptoes,  

Climbs trees heavy with sour fruits,  

Leaves dripping with moonlit emotions and sweaty sunshine,  

Green fading to yellow, daylight dying.  

She scoops the moon from the sky,  

Moistens my parched lips with her sweet saliva.  

She breathes into me,  

As she breathes into her lungs,  

And our breaths become one—  

Our oxygen molecules intertwine in the depths.  

The turbid air dissolves into mercury in our veins,  

And I grow denser, peaceful.  

The blisters heal.  

The friendly serpent hisses no more.  

We play our old childhood games,  

Lying supine on cement benches,  

While grandparents nap in the afternoon heat—  

Running through sun and shade,  

Finally declaring,  

Lying prostrate on cement benches,  

Here, I shall die.

She reminds me of everyone  

I’ve ever loved and deeply missed.  

All my childhood,  

The turmoil of my teens,  

The wandering exploits of youth,  

Incessant sins like burnt cigars blistering  

Those tender, kissed lips.  

Let’s play: Here I shall die.  

And oh, my friendly serpent,  

Lick me with your lovely split tongue,  

Now entirely out of love.

Broken shadows

The hidden paddylands of hillsides,  

Where the wind makes beds of love with ease,  

Breathing between leaves like a gentle flow.  

I lay here.  

Memories of Papa are empty bottles,  

Mamma, a fragrance of garlic.  

My fondest memory of Papa is a bottle of black vodka,  

Opened, which my uncle drank in my presence,  

After you left.  

Papa,  

We are shadows that never merge,  

Kept apart by a luminous ocean,  

Unloving, untouched.  

Slowly, slowly, we knew hurt and hate  

Would consume us like booze—  

That’s how we loved.  

Now, I feel your spirit has gone,  

And I am a matchstick exhaling its last flame,  

Drinking the dregs of black vodka.  

I sit where you sat,  

Pray to your atheist sensibilities,  

Cry out when I lose my girlfriends.  

I remember you when I bathe my son,  

When I brush his teeth, and his gums bleed.  

I remember you with every drink,  

As I sit at your desk—the same place,  

Same writing board, same easy chair,  

To write this poetry—  

A letter in broken language to you.  

Make it precise, let the body of the letter squirm.  

But I know,  

You won’t read this either.  

That’s why I’ve drunk,  

Trapped you in black vodka,  

And write everything I’ve wanted to tell you.  

You are every drop of my life,  

Though I don’t know how to live it,  

Just as I don’t know how to love you.

Before a rain would be

Before a rain would be...

How long should I be waiting

For my sea be lessened  of 

Its swelling sorrowfulness , 

Its raining 

It's been raining a while,

Till my eyes gets blinded...

All before a rain would be

Penitently I stand waiting

I wish we were just holding each other tightly

And sobbing  surrounded by deep Seas of grief 

Before a rain would be...

I kissed 

I kissed

I kissed

Before a rain would be

I kissed you like how

A sea would be warm waiting for its Raincloud bursting down,

Before a rain would be.

Before a rain would be

And the bitter saltiness

Before a rain would be.

on language of love

And there is vanish mode, there is silence, there are solo journey's, unfilled journals, unposted letters, unread poetries, shared drinks, tea moments, longer distances driven through, slow drives, random things, untouched kisses,  random thoughts, feel a miss a lot, emojis, pics occassionally, not really sure how to things...oh i am dying moments...limits of language is the limit of our world...oh no moment of any kind...just a little more things...and you are the reason for the love of the day of the day of the day of the day of the day of the day of the day of the day.......

Grown up

On a tiny slate

Where letters know
How to disappear;
With whom does the rain play alone?
No secrets; but the rain must be sad
Inside the walled houses
Live the numbness of wisdom
I wish why you can’t come inside,
Than play barefoot 
In search of insects and mud castles
You grow
You sprout
Make us wet with conscience.
Silence, please make some noise this time.

Un-Poetic

It has been a long time
Since the
Ink has done to a
paper
What spring does to
Neruda,
Because I am not
asking again
Who am I