Wednesday, February 6, 2013

First Crush

The throbbing stars
suds of soap
raised hope
of a shiny night.

Type-cast moon
like a vagabond
stealing light
from the curried glow
of the lamp post.

Rainy noons
and misty nights
take us up the
terrace steps
the drill…
first crush
breezy chill
the look, the wave
and doe-eyed blush.

The distance
and the soul in it
the speechless talk
the flighty thoughts
that unattended
rolled in it
the puff of air
the cigarette smoke
across the chimney
and road between
the stealth, the flair
unheard, unseen
and oh!
the best friend’s envy.

Come back
and fill
the vacant spot
the curried dot
washed off
since long
and patted smooth
with spotless new
neem-clean buds
'Gin return to me
the vagrant moon
and starry suds.


  1. This one makes me nostalgic. Reminds me of speechless dialogues which now have become monologues

    1. Put some soul into your monologue and it shall become a dialogue again.


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