Portrait 

If I were a sketch made of charcoal,

Somewhere dark and in other places light

Written in subtle strokes; upward and downward- each separate from the other

And having been given birth to, not as a whole, but in parts 

The lips, the eyes, the freckles, the strands of my hair, the little pearls that drop from my earlobes like a snowflake stuck to the eyelash --

All drawn but slowly, with precision and wine breaks ( some beer too)

Using the fingers to shape me; the curve of my mouth, the iris within my eye, the lines on my face, each strand of hair separately drawn- to increase(or establish?) it's worth; the earrings looking like the universe

Would you feel the tears in my eyes that one of your wine breaks (or beer) consumed ? 

Harsha

May, 2015

Long-Lost Love


To all those promises that I have kept;

And the ones that you didn't.

The songs you promised to sing to me 

The time that together we never spent,

And to the  rains I wished in which we could dance.

To The violins and guitars, the candle lit dinners and chocolate bars.

Young love and beautiful odes

Labyrinthine conversations ;

Entwined roads.

If only we could have grown old together 

And memories we could make,

But now we're left with broken promises and empty evenings by the lake.

A longing to hear each other's voices and unfathomable voids,

But here's to the love that we once had,

The love of a while.

16.10.2014

KOLKATA

Of subtle evenings and street lights
Lazy roads and comforting winds,
Of old trees and familiar smells
Of conversations by the Ganges
 and of beautiful Men.
Of commas and full stops , and red terraces
Of buildings in marble and amused little faces
Of young ambition and twinkling eyes
Of budding love and morning chais.
Of park street and luncheons
Of the haves and also, the have-nots.
Of coffee and of cigarettes
Of University days,
Of a city that has history and has charming ways.
Of buildings in marble that have seen the beauty grow,
Of dinners that hold on to imperialistic thoughts
And tickets to 2 pm shows.
Of songs in gold and of the dhaaks behold;
The vermillion story -that of festive coy
The story of a city- The City Of Joy.

17.10.2014