Tag Archives: Poetry

White Noise


Although I swore I saw red sky that night,
an army of rain came marching: every pace,
each beat, cheating the shepherd of delight.
I spoke to eyes in the even trapezium of your face,
your motorbike ticked, an impatient timer, warning
us, while we – oblivious – discussed nonsense in detail;
an embarrassing prelude to your body that morning,
lying under the oak tree, bare, a martyr in the hail.
I think about what I said to you, you to me
but cloudy sounds drown out words and voice,
and leave me slave to my lazy memory;
beaten by the supremacy of white noise.
I still wish, though many winters have passed,
those empty words hadn’t been my last.


Weeping Window


Maybe if it hadn’t been raining,
I wouldn’t have got out of bed.
to cut and slice
Deep into green rivers,
making them turn red.
I’d think twice, if I’d seen the sun
Instead of puffs of hopeless grey.
I might have made
My last breath come to life
On a different day.

But the wind just kept on whistling,
Taunting me away from sleep.
And the sound of water
Haunting me
As it made my windows weep.

I didn’t feel cold anymore,
But then
My blood ran away from my brain
And red drops reminded me
With irony
Of how I said
I hated the rain.



Summer’s gone and winter’s come,
No autumn in between.
The cuts and scars you’ve left me with
Now nowhere to be seen:
Enveloped in layers
And layers of lukewarm heat,
But those lovers know, like you know
They simply serve as self-deceit.
Your creeping cold always finds me,
Snaps and slaps my burning skin
So cruel how they lose
So unfair how you win.

Your icy hand holding mine
Chilled kisses on my neck.
You impose on any exposed
Part of me
Leaving my body a shivering wreck.

And I can’t make the cyclone end
I don’t know how it ever begins
So cruel how I lose
So unfair how you win.

Sunbleached Jeans


I thought I saw you, and almost said “hi” but stopped
In time, because I realised, like you do
That it wasn’t you, just the unlucky fool
Who had bought your clothes from the charity shop.

At once, he and I were united it seemed,
Not because we’d both had our hands
Undo your jeans,
But rather because we’d both had
A choice, yet stupidly chosen you.

Unknowingly we let you into our lives
(and our bedrooms) and close
To our innocent skin.
Unaware of how close
To hatred we’d been.

We try and throw memories away
But they just follow us anyway.
Like chewing gum on the sole of your shoe
Tainting each step we take, to
Try and make a better life
Accumulating filth
Embarrassing us along the way.

Until one day
They’re so old and rotten
That they almost become forgotten,
Like a night full of bad dreams
Just like those sunbleached, blue jeans.

D = 2-1


Why do 1100 miles seem more to you
than 2,000 kisses between us?
How can 7.5
hours by my side
mean less than 45 minutes on a bus?

Why are 2 hours on a plane
too many
against 2 years of me and you?
I just don’t understand,
how holding my hand can’t be
enough reason to see it through.

You see, to me,
those 1,523
times you held me tight
I adored, and they mean more to me
than those 100 stupid fights.

It was you that gave me 405 dreams.
What gives you the right
to end the distance
and give me
an infinity of sleepless nights?

Lemon in my throat


The black note on your piano,
you touch me now and then,
and lemon in my throat, when I hear
you’re playing her again.
Pushed aside, out of your mind,
to make room for someone new,
suddenly I find myself
second in the queue.
I’m the yellow in your rainbow,
pale against her crimson red.
Feeling blue, knowing you
filled my side of the bed.



You speak so sweet in English
to make me understand you
pausing to find the right words
every now and then.

You even try in Hindi
but it’s almost too perfect,
rehearsed so many times in your head
maybe nine…
maybe ten…

Before your raspberry lips release the sentence
that will linger in the air
for hours
that I will devour and hang on to forever
able to recite back to you, I swear,
at any given time.

How your mouth and your tone change
when they shape sugary sounds in Spanish
so familiar to you and yet so distant to me.
And, with a rush of irony
I think how they bring us together,
(as they have done, and as they do) and always will
if I have it my way:
and then suddenly you don’t say


like a mallet hitting the keys of a glockenspiel
you make a melody which
we both recognize,
for darling, your laugh is the same
in any language.