Room No. 1111

She will come, you will come
It was just yesterday
We rolled together in that blanket full of stripes.

You had pounced on me, coming out of
your woolen grasslands.

A few deaths were assured.

A kill ought to be savored for four days.
Though it ended each day in a life;
in a hope.

I wanted to reach you
I wanted to make the grasslands, not woolen.

How I wished the window was a device
for my memory card.

Today I want you to arrive once again.

‘Adjust your shutterspeed’, my partner says.

As I don’t want to be murdered
by a dream once again

There you are.
Those stripes are golden.
You pounce.

How much I had waited for this.

You pounce but away from me.
Wait. Don’t go.

What are you doing?
Why are you following for a fading? Cries my partner

My partner –
the hotel room on the twelfth floor.

Book mine for room no 1111

Sorry Sir,

the room has been sealed.


I defy myself each time I am in for more.

Love and hate are tragedies.

The smallest ripple in a pool is a tragedy.

I overcome and evolve only when I experience
and all I keep doing is that.

No share of my brain has been left for me to eat.

I keep defying myself to remember me.

I am forgotten the day I am born

until my next womb crouch,

where things around me will be ugly,
where beauty will always be about to decay
and life will stink

but I can hold myself together
and sleep without thoughts

without even knowing I will be known.

I defy myself for the forgotten peace

between two consecutive collisions.


Will we have a shot
or have we already neglected many for a few?
I ask, as I place my eye on the tripod
Let it keep a note.

You do the same.
Hours pass by

and now we are a low explosion
suddenly blown out of a bush
I watch the souls of some leaves flutter away
getting seperated from us,
coming towards us,
passing us; disappearing.

I and you, my friend
We both just hugged as our wives,
on a roof somewhere, miles away,
as the birds flew over.

Did they feel it?
The air; the known air
May be they did
We can’t tell

Here, the hours pass slowly.

The python making its pass

on the viewfinder.


Wilderness births between those thighs
and they aren’t shy anymore to express.
Forests have a skin
Forests have truth,
is all they know and care to know
And how they are a forest too,
with trees of bones, and marshes of saliva
make them a bigger truth.

They – two beings, two travellers, two friends;
two souls in a forest
believing, combination is a hope called ‘one’;
nothingness is never empty, and
meaningless is the greatest meaning,
build a grass of depth and sit, measuring it with patience.

They touch the air.
They have come to converse with silence,
to take away some, to give some memories
as both know to endure and preserve sufferings.

Is it so?
Leaves cannot fake as humans,
they cannot be easily convinced.

I sneak in, as a slight change,
hanging as dusk;
as a Spidey on that damp trunk
Click! The flash lightning makes me silver
for a second
They noticed —
Are those their words?

Was it me?
Was it a glamour?

Why are they so interested in me
and not on those, who are burnt?

Those girls around them, now bones,
have always waited for them in Spring satins
and now they wait in Spring, without a satin.

Yes, I was there too, in that room
cobwebbing my question threads,
when the news flashed with a lightning
‘Wildfire breaks out’
I hanged down to the plug socket
The battery charger was an absence.

They take because sheds feel the need.
It doesn’t as openness helps wash
They will click, they will go
They like the new as a memory
Its new, soon becomes a petrichor

Forests are natural, they are not
They both said they love forests
and I also exist in those pair of eyes
who now see their love in posters on his wall

I look inbetween my thighs; how can forests be a truth,

when the truth in itself is a need.

‘Need’ to be kept,

‘need’ to be trimmed.


Am I one, two or three?
Or many in the vicinity of neighbors.
I perch on roofs, as poems;
on windows as dawn and on floors as dreams.

A part of me flutters when solitude turns dark.
You see houses and streets turn black
I am that cloud which rows over, assuring
The real rains will be much better.

I don’t fly away but fly into a few eye doors
Though I don’t want to,
but I realise the sky is your mansion.
The water tank on the roof, the sea
The walls, mountains;
as a part of me also nests in one of
your territories called rooms.

I stay there as a Sparrow on the bulb,
showing you
that mornings too have a’You’
like dark rains.

You don’t want confusion
and so a part of me also confuses itself,
flying in the sea
watching Salmons swim on skies.

When the parts join, two wing-tips join too
creating a sphere; creating a zero
which is also the shutter button
on their hands.

Here, two photographers out in the wild,
fight over me
They know how to frame me in stills.
If only they could capture my teachings,

then you would wake each day to a gallery
touching your live frames and praising
I would forget to exist as a bird,
becoming a companion,
and who else are companions better than skins

The calenders won’t have me.
Emotions would be flexible.

You would mix in my wind one day.

But you won’t stop.


What are hands but DSLRs
making each and every touch, a snap,
as I take a couple more with my eyes
I have girlfriends; they don’t leave; they don’t catfight
rather hold each other as memories.

The night is long
I take a few thorns
from those droopy eyes, and scatter them into a jungle
replacing them with a Sun
‘It has been long, since they went for a bath’ the friend says.

I answer ‘I have them’

and reel back a few girlfriends on the digital screen
See, they look so sexy
‘I keep coming here because of them,
and not for them’

They are wild in me and so I am wild.

‘Stop talking to the water.
The hair that you just combed are now the golden grasses
It will not be long, before I appear as a wing.
Stop freezing me in snaps,
Stop calling me a girlfriend
Don’t limit me, rather join me’

I still have a few deaths before I can join
I am all but human
and believe me, when I do
I will always leave behind a lover
To freeze us.

For who knows,
he might not be limiting you

but exhibiting
an enlarged bird.