A peach coloured morning

I whispered a secret into your quivering lips,

And surrendered my storms

Into your quiet sea.

I locked it with a promise, made to myself.

To never be afraid of waking up again.

You smelled of caffeine and comfort.

And I knew right then-

The mornings didn't belong to the sun anymore.

The boorish truth about mornings, although,

surfaces only in the waking hour.

Ad we see our dreams disintegrate

bit by bit into ashes.

But that day was different.

Almost peach-like I were to paint it right.

In a moment of half formed consciousness,

I suddenly learnt what mother's discipline

and the world's most efficient alarms couldn't teach.

That to wake up with eyes closed 

only helps when followed by 

your tight embrace.

PRETTY PLEASE

Like a pretty bow on a Christmas tree

I sit on your lap.
Pouting furiously for the gawky strangers
to feel a little merry.

And for their kids to get a little dreamy.
Draped in colours that laugh at the state of my mind.
Garish pink like the prostitute’s blouse.
If only there was a shade for melancholy,
I’ll wear it upon my sleeves tonight.
It’s not for money or smiles
you say-
Egging me to find a real connection between us.

Reminding me of the nights we waltzed in each other’s arms

 After we sneaked off into the empty corridors of the mall.
Sure, you blushed a little but propered yourself,

as soon as we were done.
While the light inside my slowly faded
to a point, where I couldn’t even recognise myself.

It’s not your fault, you were only here for the thrills, I understand.
But what I fear inside are the days to come.
When you will be folded neatly into their trunks.

And I shall be whisked away by the wind,

In to the Christmas-less winter nights-

I call my life.