Naina Agarwal

Skin will be cold, Ashes stay- For years and years- The soul will stray. Moon will scatter, Sun be set; Eternal be night, And that is that. Whales be gone Along with the ice, And gone will be The little Paradise. And gone will be The honey and the bee, Along with the greens, Savannas and seas. No little men Or big be left; Nuns or babies, Whores or saints Or mothers and sinners, Lovers and slaves; Skin be cold, Ashes will stay. For years and years, The soul will stray, And that is that, is that, is that.  ***

The daily humdrums,  Ignoring rhythm in monotony;  Weaving patterns in the maze,  Of those black eyes where night meets the sea. Like the sound of temple bells,  Of the rivulet, anklets,  Like the smell of ocean,  Smell of coffee, of perspiration,  Summer wind,  Song of a woodpecker,  And rain.  Take a single grave on the hilltop of a deserted island,  Or a young girl collecting sea shells, Unpainted lashes,  Illusions, and glances,  Orange ember of coal.  Twilight or Dawn. Like the colour of cactus when it rains,  Colour of void.  The death of hibiscus on the eve of its birth, or mayflies.  Of honeybee. The taste of lies on the tongue,  Or hunger pangs, blood,  Vow.  And Salt. Have you noticed the vibrations in my fingerprints? Or the horns on swans?  Mother beating her infant when he doesn’t cry? Fifty thousand mourners; Vibrations w...

Not so long ago, In the night o n the street;  I saw a star bright,  Like your eyes t hat I now see. The Lamps then suddenly In the night o n the street;  Shut them eyes,  Like a maiden i n her sleep. Then slowly in the night,  Crept the Dark o n the street;  Holding me in terror,  Like a calf i n lion’s den would be.  And maybe I’d lost  If not for that star o n the street;  Engulfed in the Dark,  Like a vessel i n the sea. But the bright of that star,  Like your eyes t hat I now see;  Showed me the path  In the night o n the street. And so I came home, Like a mariner f rom the sea;  Away from the Dark,  In that night o n that street.  ***   

I wear coffee stains, wear ink stains, lose my appetite, burn my food, spoil my lipstick, darken my kohl, bite my nails, scratch on desks, peel my eyebrows, razor my hair, pierce my chin, tattoo my waist, ignore my calls, stare at walls, hit my car, break my cell, smash my glasses, break my knuckles, feed my anxiety, eat my anger, skip Bryan Adams, skip Woody Allen, skip strawberries, skip vodka shots, swear in public, sigh in private, talk to strangers, block strangers, hate strangers, breathe cigarettes, doodle hearts, shield windows, fall off the treadmill, bleed poetry, leave the lights on, and refrain from dreaming at night. The things I do for you. *** 

They tell me of the chaos,  I see them struggling through. They pull me to be a-part, I ask them to let me work it through. I tell them of those banks, Where the fish swim in queue;  In colours of green and pink;  Atop the sky silver-blue. They tell me of the New World,  And the ongoing hullabaloo.  I tell them to wait for the Spring  When the lilies would be in bloom. Let’s go see those banks,  Let’s see the sky blue, Before the world goes down the abyss,  For we shall be carried there too.  *** 

Picture Courtesy: Anupama Sengar When a traveller on his journey Sits on the rock by the side; A mistress on the couch Removes her heels after the night; A bouncer in the club Returns home fixing the fight; A mother slowly reads The handwritten letter of her child; Then sigh silently creeps to convey feelings you can’t confess.  When a reader or a writer Finishes the book and closes his eyes; A widow or a bride Looks at stars beyond the skies; A waitress or a customer Drinks in a club on Christmas Eve; And a lover or beloved Draws patterns with fingertips, Then sigh comes in discreet to coat the silence of the soul. Love, longing, anger, and hurt; Intense ardors, exhaustion and lust. Chore of a lover; poet’s ink; Soldier’s nightmare; silence’s skin. ***

एक हाथ की टिक टिक जो अब बंद हो चुकी है, धूप का चश्मा, गले की चेन चमड़े की ब्राउन बेल्ट, नीली स्याही की एक बोतल और इंक पेन, प्रेमचंद की दो कॉपियां, टूटा हुआ स्टेपलर, फटा हुआ बटुआ, कुछ पुरानी रसीदें, परिवार की दर्जन भर तसवीरें और एक आधी भरी हुई डायरी; बाबूजी के बक्से में ये सब मिला | *** 

One more week passed away. Vicky’s desires were seething inside him; he wanted Sheetal at all costs. But a gentleman as he was, Vicky could do nothing except wait for Sheetal to respond to his boiling passions. She, however, continued with her life, focusing on her management job, keeping her career at the forefront. As for her wifey duties, nobody matched her. She cooked for him, kept the house neat and clean, was polite to his parents, never crossed the line in front of his relatives, dressed well, and smiled genuinely at his compliments. But whenever they got alone, she refrained from any physical contact with him.  Sheetal invited relatives and friends turn by turn on dinner every weekend and came across as a near perfect host; she flaunted Vicky as a trophy-husband, and held hands with him in front of the family to showcase the warmth in their relationship. On Social Media too, Sheetal posted couple pictures with romantic captions that suit the newly weds in the pu...

An educated, career-oriented girl coming from his shared Sindhi community, possessing a desirable height and complexion, Sheetal appeared to be good on paper. A photograph attached with the bio-data validated her appearance; Sheetal was substantially beautiful.  Upon their meeting at the café, she aptly fitted Vicky’s template of an ideal woman. Her personality and looks, and the overall aura charmed him, and upon returning home after the meeting, Vicky told his parents that he has chosen his bride.  After a successful movie date the following week, two more meet-ups over drinks, and numerous phone calls and video calls later, Vicky and Sheetal got engaged.  He loved her, and wanted to be near her all the time. On her part, she displayed genuine affection in retaliation. Vicky was charmed. But there was one thing he found troubling – every time he tried to touch her, she moved away. Initially, he connected it with the age-old practice of chastity attached to...

• The story is based on a recent, real life incident. The names of the couple have been changed due to privacy concerns.  "Vicky, Please!" Sheetal cooed in her cuckoo voice, imitating Shraddha Kapoor's character while watching Stree in a half-empty theatre hall, thereby, teasing her fiancè Vicky who shared his name with the male protagonist of the movie. Vicky chuckled at her remark, indicating his pleasure at the silly tease over his namesake. How could he not be! The two had met only a week ago at a café wherein Vicky’s parents asked for Sheetal’s hand from hers.  Sheetal’s brown, lotus-eyes, milk white complexion, and long, luscious hair had already garnered positive reviews from Vicky’s mother, but it was her full lips, fuller hips, lady-like walk toppled with a no-nonsense attitude that captivated his attention. Indeed, Vicky was pleased! The two instantly clicked, and the rest was history. Vicky took her number and thus, began the chain of messages firs...

Sleep, cigarettes, sex,  Time-, travel, caffeine;  Workouts, hangouts, teds,  Coco, poetry, music; Not even red lipstick heals  The damage you have done.  Those self-help books   I greased  With my k ohl l ast night,  Now burn with k aleidoscopic desires.  The wine I coated my w all with  Recalls the h eat of smash.  I w alked on the b roken glass  With my w rists painted in black red.  I suffered hell to steal the F ire  And burn the b ridges between us;  I blocked all the r oads,  And lived in a c loset;  And fed on s niffles. But alas!  *** 

Day within day, My nights are for you. Masks are for them, Marks are for you. Words are for them (elegant, adorned and embellished); Sealed with symphonies, My silences are for you. Stars are for them, And so are the flowers. Heart is for them, My aches are for you. Sighs, giggles, tears, Dark circles are for you. Victories are for them, My battles are for you. Wild, vulgar and dark, Wack, vulnerable, dope; For you are my struggles, Chaos is for you. Them stretches that I wear, Hostilities that I fear, My rules are for them, My crimes are for you. ***