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//champagne kisses//

‘to the love that shall always thrive’

  • You toasted the day we tied our wedlock
    Over a glass of sparkling, golden champagne.
    With our lips glazed with the wine
    It’s lavish taste lingering in our mouths
    We began our forever with a champagne kiss:
    ‘to the love that shall always thrive’

But the taste of this sweet wine wears off,
Easy as its intoxication
The bubbles rise
And fall to an abrupt plop
With just the remnants of its taste
Dawdling in my lips
‘to the love that shall always thrive’

  • That was over our champagne kiss.

PC: Instagram

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Dear Love,

By the time you find my note/ Half of your wardrobe would be empty/ One pretzel less in the jar/ Half of the flowers in the vase withered/ The photoframe that captured our seraphic smiles absent from the coffee table/The dishes in the sink all done/ The bed made and all of my strewn poems on the floor tidied/ You wouldn’t find the birds in the cage/ And the hamsters would’ve run away/ All of the curtains in my room changed to your favorite blue.
But don’t worry your room is still a safe haven / Your files all stacked up/ Your guitar sits on the club chair by the window where you write songs for her / And the wrist watch I gifted you on your birthday locked up in your secret drawer.
Like all of the halves I’ve taken with me, I’m taking just half of my heart/ And none of my love for you/ It’s yours/ And it shall stay with you/ Even if we’re continents apart.


From,
Someone you never cared about.

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I found this Polaroid of me and Nani
Sitting with a huge tub of ice cream
Probably from one of my birthdays,
Mom took it with the first camera that daddy bought,
Back then cameras had reels
That had to be developed into positives and negatives.
.
.
My birthday was in the summer month of July
Ice cream was an inevitable part of the birthday party menu,
Hence, daddy would bring a generous amount of ice cream
Mango and strawberry flavors for the guests
And for a chocolate fanatic like me, hazelnut and chocolate chips.
.
.
In the photograph I sat on our sofa with a chocolate smeared face, my royal ice cream tub half empty
Nani sat alongside, smiling as she held a spoonful
Me gazing at the tub, she staring into the camera
I wonder if she ate that scoop for the Nani from older days that I recall had sensitivity and would eat ice cream only after it melted.

Along with that Polaroid I found an album full of pictures
On my birthday, Nani would make a point to visit us, twice on that day
With her arthralgia joints and aching back she would walk up to the first floor
In the morning to wish me “Haphy Birthday”
(you read it right, that is how she would pronounce,
and the fact that I found amusement in her pronunciation
was another form of joy for her)
And to offer Puja. In the evening to join the family dinner.
There were pictures of all of those captured moments,
Her offering the Aarti, feeding me a slice of cake.
.
.
Those albums were like hidden treasures and
those memories like unread letters, waiting to be found
At the right moment.
.
.
We never thought of them, for years until today,
Now that Nani is no more, it is only these memories that I can reply,
There is hardly a month left for my birthday, this year, a lonesome affair it will be,
But I guess I’ll open a few of those unread letters.

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We are the perfectly weird couple,
The magical reality of my teenage dreams,
Dancing in the rain, eating cotton candies on Ferris wheel,
Kissing each other in the middle of a fight,
Laughing like idiots on our wedding night,
In all of these madness, we’re partners in crime,
In all of these madness, our love comes alive.

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My soul won’t rest
Until all of her scars heal
As she teaches herself to forgive
Of the flaws she ever had.
My soul won’t rest
Until she learns to love
Herself like the way
You never did.

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Death by chocolate ice cream
Mac and cheese with extra cheese
Cup of cocoa with marshmallows
Pakore with pudine ki chutney on rainy days.
Sleeping on mumma’s lap
Long drives with dad
Grandma’s milk tea served with stories
Late night girl talk with sis.
Hugs from behind
Star gazing under the moonlight
Little love notes stuck on the fridge
Candlelight dinners in our balcony.
Rerunning Big Bang Theory at day
And Friends at night,
Laughter over his jokes, so silly
No projects or assignments in sight for a week.
Sunsets by the beach
Candyfloss and teddies
Songs by Beatles on repeat
Reading books and poetry to my pet.
A month without the surprise of pimples
The body con red dress that fits me perfect
Varied colors of nail paints
That moment in front of the mirror,
When everything in life seems perfect.
All of these
Can buy me happiness,
Not for the entire life
But for a while. .

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Like a bug
Insignificant, oblivious in space and time
Darkness blinding any form of sight
I live in a mirage
With my insides frozen
I hide behind my reflection,
My mind a cacophony of thoughts,
Lips curved into a smile,
So prejudiced of happiness, of calm. .
.
.
Trapped am I in the memories of that night
Of bedsheets and linens and duvets
Of the sights and smells and words
Shrouds and marigolds and mats. .
.
.
The fire burns not the memories,
Photographs and their frames, so pretty of them
But that is how they resurrect
As my stomach churns tight into a knot
A pounding feeling grabs my chest wall
Will anyone reach out to my soul?
Will anyone please, hear my call?

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What if the walls could talk
just like you and me it would gossip
like aunties and good old grannies
it would tell stories of every home.
It would talk of mother cooking love in the kitchen

  • there wouldn’t be any secret recipes
    it would tell daddy how much she loves
    and how much more she cares for her home,
    it would tell the kids of every extra morsel she saved for them
    of every night spent awake in their ills
    and of every dream she burried for the sake of their happiness.
    Dear daddy would then stop worrying
    about what good his son watches while he texts his love all night
    and would secretly know of his daughter’s half written poetry,
    he would be well aware of their heartbreaks
    the walls would probably tell the kids
    that he was the real Santa on Christmas eves,
    And guess what, he wouldn’t forget anniversaries.
    For grandma, she’d be a little less lonely
    the voides that grandfather had left her with
    which we were too busy to fill,
    the lavender walls of her room would probably talk in.
    If walls could talk, wouldn’t it be great?
    It would choose its own color
    It would tell us when to paint
    It would bridge what people call
  • the communication gap.

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What if the walls could talk
just like you and me it would gossip
like aunties and good old grannies
it would tell stories of every home.
It would talk of mother cooking love in the kitchen

  • there wouldn’t be any secret recipes
    it would tell daddy how much she loves
    and how much more she cares for her home,
    it would tell the kids of every extra morsel she saved for them
    of every night spent awake in their ills
    and of every dream she burried for the sake of their happiness.
    Dear daddy would then stop worrying
    about what good his son watches while he texts his love all night
    and would secretly know of his daughter’s half written poetry,
    he would be well aware of their heartbreaks
    the walls would probably tell the kids
    that he was the real Santa on Christmas eves,
    And guess what, he wouldn’t forget anniversaries.
    For grandma, she’d be a little less lonely
    the voides that grandfather had left her with
    which we were too busy to fill,
    the lavender walls of her room would probably talk in.
    If walls could talk, wouldn’t it be great?
    It would choose its own color
    It would tell us when to paint
    It would bridge what people call
  • the communication gap.

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