Tongue Tied Rodeo

My verbal skills? 

A wild rodeo,

Words bounce, 

wont nicely flow.

Grammar is a puzzle, 

missing most bits

Fluent in nonsense, 

with perfect misfits!

Make your way

Comfort that silences question 

Becomes control.

The soft hand smothers

Becomes death grip.

Break the spell

Defy the charm

Only the shattered chain

Can claim the freedom whole

Know your worth

External validation

When we question our worth

In someone else's world

Without it, we shrink

To fit their view

But those who care

Don't need reminders

They reach out, check in

And show they truly see

Healing starts when we stop

Performing for attention

And preserve our energy

For love that's genuine

Heart vs Brain - again

Lust promises power

And delivers dominance

Love promises understanding

And delivers acceptance

Lust craves possession

And delivers aggression 

Love seeks connection

And delivers assertion

Lust fuels obsession

And delivers depression

Love fosters affection

And delivers direction

But this brain still chases fleeting highs

And ignores the heart's silent sighs

Find your value of X

"Iol" 

is this LOL or 

The absolute value of zero?

How did you read it?

Is your engineer self at loss?

Or your calculus mind dint floss?

In the world of interjections

Take a pause

Integrate yourself 

Differentiating the rest

Find your value of X

And let your true self manifest.

Successfully butchered it!! 

Hope - again

Hope is a habit 

We can't break

Its a gentle reminder 

That better is near

Losses

I have lost 

people in my life

some to death

many to my 

sheer inability 

to cross the street.

Losses accumulated

like autumn's fall

Some to eternity's silence

others to silence's wall.

I remained, rooted in place.

The distance between

a heavy, hollow space.

Old Love

She believed in old love, and only in old love. 

She yearned for old love, like she yearned for her morning coffee- out of habit, a comfort which made life worth living.

Her old love rode with her on the imaginary trams that crisscrossed the main throughways of the city.

Her old love held her hand while she travelled in cab, and pecked her cheeks before she reached destination.

Her old love was memories tightly knit by steady hands which believed that they will be well worn, with tales of their own to tell those came after.

Her old love was one in the morning, when there were no horns or dogs barking, when old rusty air conditioners gritted and grated their teeth in faux poetry.

Her old love was a sultry hot Sunday afternoon, lazy, contently fed, sparsely clothed, and rhythmic snores which tickled if you lay close enough.

Her old love was that whiskey bottle- lost in some forgotten corner, half-remembered on Saturday nights.

Her old love was the song from the eighties which shed its age and is shy to move in half-steps.

Her old love was letters written in cursive with haphazardly scribed words- intended to be a quip, but were adage to angst and hope.

Her old love was the poems that remain unread, stocked and locked in heavy cupboards with moth balls, lest they be pried, even if unintended.

Her old love was a name, firmly said, with no half vowels, and consonants which stirred storms in antique tea sets.

Her old love was a hard trek up the hill of ancient stones, carved to mean, to be, but now in ruins, except for those eyes, which still seem to see.

Her old love was a sketch which still she held, a t-shirt she still wore, a laughter she heard, tears that were left unshed.

Old love, where a hug was a cuddle, a kiss that stopped time, silences, words that said themselves.

Her old love felt salty on the sides of her tongue, never spoken, but never forgotten.

Her old love was a dream, which she wished was a memory.

Her old love she held like a phantom limb, never seen, but always felt.

Heart vs Brain

"Who gains a minute of life by worrying?"

So, says the brain..

While the heart's relentless screams,

Havoc squeams.

In this discord, where logic meets fear,

A rigid inertia holds us dear.

The mind's calm voice, a whispered plea,

Against the heart's turbulent sea.

Back.. I hope so..

I collect memories like others collect plastic covers – with love, care, and a hint of chaos.

Some are neatly folded, others are comfortable like a soft cotton old tshirt, and a few are stuck in the crevices of my mind, crumpled and distorded.

But they're all mine, and I'll preserve them like a hoarder preserves , obsessively.