Bottled Up Thoughts

They say love is exceptional, hard to find, and harder to feel. But maybe, love is just simple, soft, and almost see-through. And for love is not always hefty promises, expensive gifts, and dinner rides.  Love is aloo-tikki and dining at crowded tables.  Love is bonding over pickles. Love shines over white daisies and hand-drawn sunflowers. Love is the face behind golden eyes and butterflies. Love is having a liking about ghosts, baby penguins, and podcasts. Love is laughing at the lame jokes and commentaries at the auditorium. Love lies deep under the taunts and tussles over movie picks and daily snacks.  Love is the morning alarm with extra cuddles when snoozed. Love is the first chai and boatings on a less scary evening. Love hides behind cracking the sleepy texts and after-sleep whispers.  Love is talks and telepathies over texts and video calls. Love is the shoulder on a moonless night. Love hugs you tighter when you're the most broken. Love is this one smile wo...

Here we are, on a one less lonely night. Baring love, love, and endless conversations -about water bubbles, beers, and busses. It is this moonlit sky that we share, even when miles apart. The stars have a new spark today, like a newly-wed longing for the spouse to return home. //Home// Sounds strikingly synonymous to you. You are home. We lie there, let time lapse As silence emerged victorious, in the clash against a million things to voice. Somewhere on this road of relief, I watch you fall asleep - slowly first and all at once. Eight whole seconds pass between your inhales and exhales, you are adorable. //Love// Could everything I feel for you, be held hostage in a mere four-letter word? Gently I kiss, drawing out metaphors between your amateur dimples and the moonlight over your cheeks. Drowsily you hold my hand tight and I wonder if you know every time your skin finds its way to mine, my heart nearly explodes into a thousa...

  Yellow is the warmth of the sun softly sliding  - through the windows of your room, Gently kissing your forehead  After a long night's sleep.  Yellow blends well with the butterflies  tickling your abdomen before the big day at work, beneath deep layers of sweaty palms  and breath-in, breath-outs. Yellow hides itself entirely within the bustling crowd at the stadium, - in your hometown cheering for your favourite team. Yellow is the shade spread  all over the kitchen walls that spot a mother feeding her children - a little more than what's left for her.  Yellow smells like caramel popcorn at the movies - medium-sized with butter on the sides, rightly settling your sugar cravings. Tucking a lone strand of hair behind my ear,  he asked 'what colour is yellow?' I held his palm and placed it over the daffodils  - we planted on the twenty-fifth birthday of the born-blind man I'm in love with, Briskly he smiled until his eyes gleamed.  ...

  One day at a time, it's supposed to take 21 days for something to shape into a new habit. I'd ask, How long would it take to break one? You'd shown places so beautiful I never imagined of. Addiction, was what you were called by 'em all yet you felt like home; Rapidly intoxicating layers of my body, and then my mind. Who knew you and I, weren't meant to be? So I went on to give up on you. Day one And I'd started looking at the world Far beyond your eyes, distinctly in despair. Toxic thoughts and tiring times, your presence was all that my skin craved for. Six days straight I howled in pain, draining denial with my tears that rolled down every night. For the next one week, Agitating voices echoed all day long eternally whispering how perfectly we fit in together like forgiveness was all you desired. For now, I know you were an awful dream by and by that I chased absurdly. In the four days that followed Th...

  The girl who loves you admires roses a little more than your morning face. The girl who loves you, shoots questions bluntly, about triggers, trips and trees; to your friend lists and favourite sweets.  She adores the way you spark a smile, soon after you see her.   The girl who loves you, adorns a puppy face, -all cutesy, to get you sing a song; or skip a sour pill or two when sick. This girl sing songs, writes poetry, and asks too many questions bluntly, when she misses you the most.   Her love for you, is daunting, yet comforting; like the added layer of chocolate chips on Vanilla ice-cream; Like the first sip of coffee on a lazy morning. You for her, feel like home, all warm and cozy. You for her, is someone worthy of all good things of the universe.                                    ...

 Two quarters past 5, We sit there, watch the sky lay a saffron lilac spread, As if setting the sun asleep After a long day. Slowly as things unfold, Like some layers of insecurities And of love; You felt like the courtyard Of some old fort, With such high walls None could ever break into. /Time lapse/ A quarter past 8, We walk by the footpath as our shadows follow, Like it's just you and me  in this whole world. One of the stars falls by And we watch it still. We talk of the silliest, of the adorable springs, And of the lush green plants. Of failing a subject or two, And of lives and death. /Time lapse/ It's three quarters past 9, Another star goes down. This time I see it, I make a wish To always stick by you, thru your thick and thins. Stick by you like the Ursa major  and it's seven stars, that we spot each day. To stay constant in your sky Blooming white daisies  and greeny plants, All year long. -J.

Goodbyes are the saddest part  even of the greatest stories. Hard to voice and harder to leave. They say we never give enough time for a loved one's departure. So I turned you into poetry keeping you alive between the lines. Now I think of you in multiples of twelve. Twelve minutes past our first meet, we exchanged nervous smiles  across the beds. In the twenty-four hours that followed, We bonded over a million sicknesses  and sour soups. I faintly remember, It took you thirty-six failed trials  to rightly pronounce my two-syllable name. Forty-eight hilarious jokes later, we knew we were stronger  than our illnesses combined were. Lying in the critical care unit for sixty days straight, we now wake up to pills and hopelessness or mostly the latter. Admiring our seventy-second sunset you told how when young, sunsets fascinated you the most; I couldn't un-see that spark in your eyes. The eighty-fourth sunshine set me free from that room which forever s...

  A story it is, of love And only love. In the land of charm left unexplored by 'em all, lived two lovers; Sharing love somewhere between Chocolate chips And Nutella jars. The air smelled of bliss and beauty, As the moonlit skies watched them dance barefoot; to the songs- Of their beating hearts. Across the street Stood the love poems I have ever penned down: awwing at this tale, of love, And only love. For they, Were more than just two young girls silly in love, Rising high above the hushed whispers, And gender limits. Now Red, is the dearest tone no more. In seven striking shades of love, they soaked the otherwise greyish skies, Relishing pride like never before. Like how few of John Green's infinities, are bigger than the others; An endless story it remains forever: Of love, and only love.                               ...

  Had I met you in the 70's, you'd be farther away  than  just a few clicks on my phone. Maybe we'd end up in the same library exchanging smiles across the table; Smuggling polaroids & flowers between the pages. For me, you would have been more than just my love at first sight; maybe you'd feel like home. We might perhaps bond over star gazing under the same sky - at different places. Maybe you'll manage to cycle a dozen kilometers just to see me - at the slightest chance you get. The next week as we meet at our usual spot, while  'Chura liya hai tumne jo dil ko nazar nahi churana sanam...' plays across the street over a radio, You'll tell me how beautiful my eyes were and I look aside blushing. Maybe time would feel the slowest, when waiting for your letter at the threshold, for straight four days. On a finer day, one of us might possibly be brave enough To admit their feelings And end this silent ...