With the might of my brother

‘Little Boy’ did a free-fall

And ruined a city for decades

 .

Little did I know, I will be the next

I thought I was made just to scare

Alas, but not that year and

They dropped me off in Nagasaki

 .

When Little Boy fell

It made a fire Umbrella

That day, for the second time

Humanity cried and tears rained

 .

They didn't learn the lesson

Might like that of my brother's

Can ruin humanity forever

With just a free-fall like that

 .

As I was dropped from a height

I had this secret prayer

That I should explode at good height

And I don't harm anyone

 .

I wished, if I reach the ground

I should bury myself deep inside

Without exploding or making any noise

To be unearthed later to become a monument

 .

But then, my prayers weren't answered

And I did explode close to the ground

As I exploded

Even Gods couldn't stop crying

 .

And they called me "Fat Man’’

PS : Nuclear bombs dropped in 1945 on japan were called

1. 06 aug - little boy

2. 09 aug - fat man

PSS: This poem was featured in 2021

Which I see across the nation

Elders shifting to social media

Elders not pushing their children anymore

. 

Men stepping into kitchen

Helping wives in every chore

Tasks once divided by tradition

Now divided by who’s available more

. 

Our society holds this magic

To surprise ourselves often

Diaper stations  in men’s washroom

Stand and pee tool in  women’s washroom

 .

These little little changes

Are breaking the old walls

Bringing a sweet and quite smile

As I watch them closely

Curves and the turns,

Upslopes and downslopes,

Bridges and underpasses.

 .

Unfinished roads define us,

Unfinished roads inspire us.

Only to finish those roads,

That we once travelled proudly.

 .

Why have roads remained unfinished?

Did we become weak by overthinking?

Will the unfinished road wait for us?

It may wait for warriors of tomorrow.

 .

Unfinished roads are calling.

Are you ready to pack your bags?

Are you willing it let your fears go?

And start off with the unfinished roads.

 .

Why wait for someone?

To accompany you on unfinished roads.

Those roads belong to you,

In silence, find again strength anew

 .

Unfinished roads and us,

Have something in common.

We both don’t wait for each other.

Yet , we do complement each other.

. 

Every unfinished road inspires us,

Sunsets and sunrises are calling.

Why wait for another day?

Pack up and leave today.

 .

Looking forward to you taking the lead

What would follow will be your dreams

You and the unfinished roads

Are bound to complete each other.

Or do nights hold this spell?

Is that why?

Everyone writes about nights.

 .

Why can't day take over?

Why can't sunshine vanquish?

Why do nights hold this supremacy?

When the universe is dark and cold.

 .

Enchanted nights and nocturnal you,

Have something in common.

Nights tell us stories of stars,

And you make poems from those falling stars.

 .

For Every night,

I have a wish for you.

 .

"Good Wet Night,

May your ink never dry."

What if I lose you

Like I lost myself

To my doubts

To my fears

 .

What if I lose you

The way I lost my skin

When shame couldn’t cover me

When each hair pulled away

Part of my skin every time

 .

What if I lose you

The way I have lost everything

The way I have lost everyone

What if the bond vanished

 .

What if I lose you

the way sky lost its stars

the way sun fades under moonlight

the way salt dissolves in water

 .

Finding someone is also

 to risk losing them

Losing you will be to lose myself

So confine me in a golden cage

 .

 And If you ever lose me

I know  you will find me

For we are bound to collide again

As star dusts

one day

Perhaps there I may find blessings

Blessings to write well

Blessings to live well

 .

The fear that keeps me alive

Is the same that keeps me from loving you

The fear of losing you

Has taught me to love you less

 .

Forgive me

If I could not love you

The way you loved me

There were hanging commas

Pauses that held me back

From reaching you

 .

“Nothing should bother you,”

You may say it loud

But it does

My mind keeps murmuring

Unrest never sleeps

 .

Kill me, if you can

If not, then hide me

Beneath your feet

Where blessings never end

You were my reason to sleep

Love songs make me realise

How much I miss you

 .

I still can’t write a poem for you

After all my poems are dark and half lies

And you should never be part

Of the darkness that I trade off

 .

We will meet soon

When it’s time

Short,  but we will make it long

As I will cherish breath you take

By  keeping you closer to me

 .

In your absence, my night blushes

You deserve praises made of dawn

Not of darkness where my poem belong

So I write you up

And write you out

Without your name in it

 .

You live in songs I hear

Songs I make them mine

Those ones which you call

Insane any day

Which goes on loop every time

 .

This isn’t a poem

This is a confession

Of the love that I feel

But never said aloud

And answers to all the what ifs

I go through your words,

Like lips hovering over lips,

Indulging in their moistness.

 .

Your words dress in lingerie,

Waiting to be discovered, always.

Your words awaken wild cravings,

Excitement, tenderness, and desire.

 .

Why do you hide your emotions

Deep inside those phrases?

Between your lines,

I find myself sinking deeper.

 .

Last night’s words of yours

Will keep my appetite alive,

And the moans in your words

Shall linger as whispers in my ears.

a song slipped through my sternum

and my heart fluttered,

like wings of a dying bird

I went through trails left

Along the memory lane I avoid.

 .

I wasn’t ready.

But music doesn’t wait for permission.

It undressed me slowly,

not just my clothes,

even the masks I wear

With the world still watching.

 .

Each note had a whisper I knew

It pressed against my heart

like lips that don’t ask before kissing

Heart ached but found pleasure too

. 

I sat still,

but inside,

I ached a little, but I blushed more

I cried a little, but I smiled more

A sweet storm I could handle.

 .

The song twisted the key,

To the lock on my stubborn heart

And then peace undid me

and I let my heart go

Into the aches known 

 .

Now,

I can’t hear another melody

without trembling.

The mirror is too shiny.

The world, too clothed.

 .

No more music,

not for a while.

I need time

to wrap my heart back

That had slipped out of me

Is irresistibly strong as nights grow dark

There is this void 

As this heart waits for a word

From a long lost friend

 .

Those late night conversations

Once a part of my yesterdays

Return as reminders every night 

As I long for one of those nights to return

Like fireflies returning to dark meadows

 .

Yet my longings seem irrelevant

As my past lies behind me

This urge for an intimate conversation

Is a remnant of my vulnerable  past

And my obsession with longing is just an excuse

.

I knew him as cheerful and composed,
Happy in his own little world.
I remember how you came into his life
And changed it forever.

.

You made him go crazy for you.
You made him believe you were made for him.
You made him believe you were his soulmate,
And then you left him for someone else.

.

You saw him dying,
Yet showed no mercy.
You let him die,
And seemed to take pleasure in watching him fade.

.

Killing him with a single blow
Would have been kinder.
Keeping him alive like a lifeless log
Was a crueler choice.

.

He too became a victim
Of betrayal in love.
By the way,
Who the heck said love is the greatest medicine?

.

After your chapter in his life,
He walked around covered in his own ashes.
Anger seeped from every pore,
As though he were lying upon his own pyre.

.

You killed the man I knew.
You killed him with perfection.
He was not famous enough
For it to be called an assassination,
But still,
It was nothing less than murder.

The doors to our souls opened up

Through our first long, wet kiss.

That was the day

I kissed my fantasy for the first time.

.

For me, a girl with a cigarette

Has always been sexier than a naked one.

If people can love the smell of petrol,

Why can’t I fantasize about a smoking girl?

.

I was never a smoker before that kiss,

Though I loved the idea of smoking.

I had given it a try two or three times,

Only to quit because of the taste it left behind.

.

When my taste buds met

Her smoky tongue for the very first time,

She tasted like barbecue hot sauce,

Woody, with a hint of sweetness.

.

The day we shared our first kiss,

I fell in love with her and with cigarettes.

As a matter of fact, we kissed,

And there was “Happily Smoked Thereafter”

PS : I don’t smoke anymore. I started smoking with her, but I also stopped when she left.

PSS: Not promoting smoking 🚬

Disclaimer : My dad has published couple of books (Short stories) in Malayalam.

Dad said with a smile, ‘Go upstairs and see my new writing table.’

I was coming home after two months, eager to see the place from where he had written those beautiful stories that were published last month through his latest book. In my mind, I imagined a grand desk, perhaps lined with books and papers, worthy of the words he crafted.

I climbed the stairs with excitement.

And then, I froze.

In front of the cushioned chair he always used sat an old ironing board.

I burst out laughing.

I asked him what happened to his desk, where he would always lay down his collections.

He didn’t say anything. But I understood.

He had turned the ironing board into a desk.

Just then, Dad walked in behind me and said, almost proudly,

‘Now that I’ve retired and no longer have to go to the office, the ironing board is free. So I thought it might as well surf along with my thoughts.’

We both laughed.

But later, when the laughter had settled, I realised something.

Stories do not come from mahogany desks or expensive chairs.

They come from calm minds, patient hearts, and people who know how to make room for their dreams, even on an ironing board.

Here I am, struggling to complete the first draft of my novel on a grand study table, with a laptop, an extended screen, and a few books to inspire me. However, nothing seems to deter me from procrastination.

I take this ironing board as a sign of minimalist inspiration.

PC: Pinterest

Far away from home,

You wish to dance one day,

Naked or in some lingerie.

. 

When you expressed your wish,

I embraced your thoughts

The way they were; after all,

That was some kind of a wish.

 .

When you felt I would judge,

I quickly embraced you with a hug.

I told you that day,

“It’s your wish and your body.”

 .

There is no harm, my beloved,

In being there, in that crowd,

Dancing to your tune,

With your body on a pole.

. 

I don’t know if I’m invited there,

I don’t bother even if I’m not,

But I wish your dream comes true,

May your desire strike a new note.

In love and war,

But I don’t agree with that.

It’s all fair and square

Only in a true friendship.

 .

When my friend sobbed,

She kept my hand on her chest.

I reached out for her heart,

But found her breasts instead.

I caressed them

Till she started giggling.

 .

There was another friend

Who would say,

“She is this hot,

That she is always wet.”

But then, she had been crying

Over her ex, for the last six months.

 .

As she cried without facing me,

I spooned her to comfort her.

The crying never stopped.

I slid my hand into her pants

And told her, “You were right.”

 .

“You are wet even as you cry.”

 .

She laughed without turning to me.

I couldn’t peck her on the face,

But my fingers found her cheeks there.

She blessed my fingers with a moan.

 .

I ran my blessed fingers

To my mouth to taste the nectar.

That is when she turned towards me.

As I sucked my honey-coated fingers,

That was when she hugged me tight.

With her face dug in my chest

 .

Sorry to disappoint you,

In both cases,

We never went

Beyond what’s mentioned.

 .

You might ask,

Did our friendship end?

No, we still talk.

Our friendship only grew

With those moments.

 .

To those with judging eyes,

I have something more to spill.

You see, some friendships

Have boundaries,

But luckily, a few don’t.

 .

It was the first friend here

Who taught me to masturbate,

And the second one

Was the one with whom

I watched porn for the first time.

 .

Perhaps friendship

Is not measured

By the lines we draw,

But by the trust

With which we live by

. 

What others call dirty,

We simply called our way.

And in a world

Where even lovers leave,

One by one

We remain thickest friends.

But I was asking questions,

Taking notes on sex education.

Well, at twenty-one,

I hadn’t found myself yet,

And you, at twenty-two,

Had already become an expert.

 .

We were school friends,

Not the kind

Who would hang out together.

But then, we had some spark,

Though it never progressed.

 .

We had just finished

College in different cities,

And I found you at a bus stop,

Crying over something.

I walked up to you.

 .

I sat with you

As you sobbed and told me

You had just dumped your boyfriend

And a toxic relationship.

I walked you home.

. 

We exchanged our numbers.

Every night we would text

Sorry, we would sext

Till two in the morning.

Mostly, it was just

My weird questions.

 .

“Have you watched porn?”

“Yes, even today.”

 .

“Have you had sex?”

“Yes, with my ex.”

 .

“Do you masturbate?”

“Every night, to sleep.”

 .

She would hardly ask anything.

Then she asked me these.

 .

“Do you consume porn?”

I said “Never”.

She called me a lair

I explain “I stay with family”

Not even with friends.

The nerd in me

Found it little awkward.

 .

“When did you last masturbate?”

. 

I confessed I haven’t, yet.

She said I was a liar.

I confessed I had never tried.

She asked why I wouldn’t give it a try.

I made a failed attempt next day.

 .

She asked,

“How did it go?”

 .

I said I only felt something rise,

But nothing erupted.

As per my internet notes.

 .

She asked me to watch porn,

But I would never dare

To do that at home

With ever curious

Little and elder sisters around

. 

The next day she called me up,

Asked me to rush to the bathroom,

And directed me to stroke faster.

 .

I don’t know

Whether it was the faster strokes

Or her voice that helped,

But it was a new beginning.

Didn’t know then, I would need it

Every night to sleep like she did

When she exited my life.

 .

She would invite me home

Only to help her touch her,

Without undressing me.

She only wanted

my fingers and mouth

And never my heart or other thing

 .

She would always say,

“I love you,”

To the always clothed me.

I tried taking of my clothes

But she would never let me

 .

At twenty-one,

I hardly understood

The thin line

Between love and lust.

 .

And I strongly believed

I had fallen in love,

And so had she.

 .

But the tables had turned.

She had started talking to her ex again.

. 

I thought we were becoming something,

But not something

I believed it to be.

 .

One fine day,

She met her ex.

. 

She told him

That I sexted her.

 .

He called me from her phone

And asked,

“How dare you sext her?”

 .

I didn’t understand.

Where had he come from?

. 

And we had gone

Far beyond that.

. 

She took back her phone

And told me

She would explain later.

 .

She did tell me everything,

But everything she said

Only broke my heart.

. 

I had been making

A fool of myself.

She had been seeing me often,

Even while she was talking to him.

 .

While I thought

We were becoming something,

But it seemed

Nothing had changed between them.

 .

While I was building

A future in my head,

They were only rebuilding

Their past on my ruins

 . 

You taught me many things

How to touch myself,

How to ask without shame,

And how desire could wear

The mask of love and pleasure

 .

Perhaps you never lied.

You only offered me

A place in your loneliness,

While I mistook it

For a place in your heart.

“Wake me up at 12:30h,” my grandfather says before he hits his bed.

My grandfather is 85. He usually retires to bed at 10 PM and is up before 5 AM every day. That’s his routine, but this routine is about to change for the next month.

The reason, you might have guessed it. FIFA World Cup.

I didn’t say no one loves football like Malayalis do. We don’t watch league games like crazy football fans, but you will find only a few Malayalis who do catch up on league matches. Some even try to be regular spectators of the Euro Cup.

But when it comes to the FIFA World Cup, entire Keralam is watching. It’s part of our festival celebrations.

We paint the walls of our houses (yes, houses), compound walls, and roads with portraits of heroes and national flags of foreign countries. We, for a while, forget the Communist, INC, and BJP flags and wave our favourite country flags.

My father supports the Communist Party, and my mother supports the Congress Party, but for the FIFA World Cup season, they both support football and again, two different teams. And, of course, being the rebel in the family, I support the underdog team playing in its first World Cup.

There are constant arguments and mini-fights over Messi, Ronaldo, and Neymar. If it’s not FIFA World Cup season, families and friends argue over politics.

From muddy fields to midnight screenings, we somehow find every reason to celebrate football as if it’s our sister’s wedding the next day, and we are arranging everything throughout the night in preparation.

Even the tea shops on every corner turn into stadiums. The barber puts down his scissors mid-haircut to debate whether Messi deserved that penalty or not. Everyone has a say when it comes to Football or Politics in Keralam.

As a child, I remember watching matches on tiny televisions with more than twenty people crowded into a tiny room, the ceiling fan doing nothing against the humid heat.

The world might be watching the FIFA World Cup with some excitement, but for us it’s like watching our gods or ancestors appearing as deities before us once every four years through the World Cup.

We somehow feel this is a legacy we have inherited. Even Gen Z forgets their phones for a while and gets glued to enjoying those 90 minutes with the same passion. We somehow carry this love for the FIFA World Cup in our blood.

And when a goal is scored, I’m not sure if the sound of the celebration reaches Buenos Aires or Barcelona, as the entire village celebrates.

Walk through any Kerala neighbourhood during the World Cup, and you would think you had accidentally landed in Brazil or Argentina. And I’m not joking. This is the truth. This is how crazy we are about the FIFA World Cup.

As the final whistle blows and the trophy is lifted, Keralam will keep the celebrations alive. The flags will slowly come down, teasing the supporters of the losing country. The paintings on the road and walls will fade with the rain, but the stories will linger for a while. We will talk about the present World Cup for the next four years, until we get to do it all over again.

No wonder even FIFA’s official X account couldn’t stop posting the picture below to announce the FIFA World Cup fever that’s spreading in Keralam.

.

Our love is a bait of happiness.
The day death gulps this bait,
one loses a body
and the other loses life.

.

Our love is a journey
into the meadows of an unknown land.
We may have a route map,
but we will soon be lost.

.

Why did we graduate in literature?
Was it because literature made love eternal,
or only to relish these oxymorons,
“eternal life” and “yours forever”

I still can’t write poems for you

After all my poems are griefs and half lies

And you should never be part of

The darkness that I trade off

.

You deserve the moon when it’s full

Not the fragments I stare every night

You deserve a song that’s joyful

But my poems only rhyme sadness

.

So I keep you outside my verses

Where my words can’t stain you

For I have made a home

That’s painted only from outside

.

Perhaps that is why I love you

From a distance

And leave you untouched

With the words my heart pours

Why is Hope so stubborn

Why can’t it live in

hospital waiting rooms

When someone gives up

Their loved ones

To unpaid bills

.

Yes, hope is fragile

Fragile to everyone

Desperately in need of it

With its quiet refusal

We start believing

Darkness is permanent

.

Yet , I write with new rays of hope

To live another day, to love once again

With the hope that Sun brings

I step out of bed every morning

To overpower the grief

The grief that was renewed at midnight

.

When ray of hope overpowers grief,

Even after war and conflicts,

Even after funerals,

Even after love leaves,

With that ray of hope,

We will still plant a tree,

We will still write a poem,

And will still fall in love again.