ego

every day, an hour before sleep is due
ego deserts me. and i am left lying on the bed
curled up
with unsure thumbs and fingers
twiddling with the cellphone.

the day after,
ego wakes up
with cocky erasure
of memory of ever having felt needy.

ego! you beast!
you deserter!
stay true or let alone.
what good is an undulating pride.
what good is an undulating faith.

breathe

i am the little air particles
jostling, fighting to be breathed in
by you.

breathe in,

silence
every cell of my body
taught with anticipation.
darkness and questions
groping for the past to bludgeon open the future.

breathe out,

sight of your smile
bellows me upwards in bliss.
i dance and i sing
and i land gently on your skin.
caressed
flooded with love
we are blind to time
finding eternity of bliss in a moment.

for a moment to dissolve into another
for the life on a roll forever
i am the little air particles.

scream and shout

i want to scream your name out
loud
loud as i can be
to feel it rolling out of my tounge
to feel it leaving my throat dry
my face twitching with anticipation
that my shout may be heard by you
that with every subsequent shout you come closer
until i need to shout no more
whisper no more
until the breaths intertwine and its noise is all we can hear

bastard

our love
was a bastard child
you were strong
and held your earlier one to your bosom
with strength of mountains

the merry little one
you wish could have
remained in womb
never to come out.

you refuse to kill it
and wish to keep it away
the bastard has a soul too
it would rather die than be orphaned

let it crawl back
into you and dissolve
in your heart
it will be reborn
on the new day
of someone else.

born again

i tell myself that i
covet you
a disease that can be undone.
but my symptoms
make me fear of something terminal
of love requited
in uncertain measures
and of love in spite.

of possibility that
had been erased
but for the
intertwined lives.

another flower must bloom
on the grave of our memories
i must die
and be born again.

we

the heart feeds off
the notion of you.
its a parasite
it pumps venomous thoughts into me.
my pride
chisels you off the heart.
flake by dead flake
i am reduced
life less alive.

the present cleaves
the past bounds.

pride can only pry off
so much...
the rotting remains,
the imagined threads
now keep us in a sickly embrace.

tangled and apart.
dark and in limbo.
we, do not make a 'we'.

a part of us buried
slimy, unhappy
its hands trying to grasp
in two different directions.

- Ajinkya Pawar