Avi

I am beyond the fleeting moments I once created for myself, and beyond the people who left without saying a word.

I will not sabotage what comes my way Papa, good or bad.

that my love for you feels like one long tiring poem that just doesn't seem to end-

that the spilled tea & milk biscuits on my bedside table reminds you of someone who overthinks to sea lengths; but still cries herself to sleep.

dear you, tell me that my mother had a face sadder than mine, but I stand a better chance at happiness

you're the cup of chai on a baarish wala din, the cup that always burns my tongue, but i chuckle and sip it anyways. like the rain that pours from monday to sunday, the rain that i secretly enjoy as i get drenched while going to college.

winters turned into summer waiting for you, and now rain will become december mornings when you come back again. something about you and the mogra in your hair makes me want to pray. pray more than twice a day for december to never end. for you to never ever take those flowers and those payals off. maybe, it was never about god and always about you. maybe you're the god i pray to, and pray for.

The Indian Museum

जब सारे ग़म ही बन गए

अनकहे अफ़साने

the ones that have tasted better parts of the sky;

the ones who've whispered sweet nothings to men with big dreamy eyes- the ones who've callously spilled spirits on themselves and not felt a thing;

the ones who believe in genies and god and magic and stars and that dead people don't become one;

they are freer than god himself : the ones who seek truth more than anything in this world- who'll quietly observe and explore the nooks of your existence and take you in wholeheartedly.