Grafted Heart

Can you love a grafted heart?

Grafted it must be.
It was pale blue, tickled beat when I went to bed.

The sun now is by my window
And what that beats now, is red flame,
It thuds steel not tickles so, anymore and yes, it must be grafted.

I am lost because what's grafted beats truer than the one remembered.

I look at my fading face in the mirror and cry because
Whats grafted, is now shaming what is owned.

Body Consciousness

I have listened to my body for a hundred reasons..in my 28 years of living. But never before have I so feverishly, dedicatedly held on to my body. Held on to it for dear sanity. When the mental world rumbles, one just cannot afford to live in it. There are too many possibilities- some good some good but all equally persistent black holes that suck one's psyche in with all the tempted hypothesisations. In such events, the simple humble body of mine, it is my tripod, my refuge. I watch it breathe, I watch it move, I tell it stories of growing muscles and toning up.. and it holds me strong. Grounded.

My body makes me a tree. 

I Believe in Truth

Truth is stranger than fiction my friend.

It has wings, It makes me breathe, makes me fly.

Though the silver sword it cuts with, hurts my spine

I will take pain anyday, instead of the Fear of Flying And Knowing. 

Blink, Its a Dance.

Life it comes, lingers, never leaves, and then it comes some more
Memories upon memories, piling
Desires upon inhibitions
Even Oranges on Apple trees
Life, as it comes, swerve a little my friend.

See the sprain in my ankle as I strike a pose
So am I, for I ran to catch life head on


Hey Open Eyes, for you, a thought is a dance
Hey Wide Open Eyes, for you, a pause be a dance too
My Wide Eyed friend who lives to watch a loved dance,
To Watch the thought and pause dance.

Blink a Little.

Or one day, the dance breathes you in
And suspended, there remains no thought, no pause
No body to warm that spectator's seat.