have you ever felt
the grand performance lapsing?

like a towel being wrung out
but still soaking wet

unmoored from familiar life
floating in a different space

while others go on watching
now interested in the goings-on, now distracted by something else

(writing prompt)

popular problem

disposing of your feelings
will be a problem

that hole you’ve dug so carefully
won’t hold ‘em all

pouring in absence won’t help
too far gone now

absorbed into your blood
they will rise to your skin

and redden your face
always at the wrong fucking moment

(writing prompt)

a human life

each moment spent
every movement made

is an attempt to leave
an impression—

breath disturbing air,
touch displacing things.

in the end
only memories;

and frozen time
forever out of reach.

do not disturb

how do you leave a city once you’ve given it your heart?


maybe dilli is nothing but a city, and maybe the sound of a metro pulling out of a station isn’t supposed to make you fall in love each time you listen to it. maybe we’re supposed to keep walking into — and out of — identities, never wearing the same mask in another place (not because we can’t, but because some lives only belong to certain streets and can only thrive in the unremitting sunshine of a certain gaze). maybe i’ll come back later, as i always have. maybe my life will go on existing here, haunting all the points in space and time that will lie outside my body’s reach. maybe this is what i want. maybe the new place will be just as magical, just as heartbreakingly beautiful. maybe my heart longs to run to new places to have itself torn up there anew.


even the promise of a new love could never make leaving dilli easier. some things never change.

some others do. i’m going to pack and squeeze dilli into my favourite songs and words, force all of it inside and keep pressing until it all explodes into numerous shreds of skin and bone and muscle and blood: spreading everywhere, spreading so far in a spray of ineluctable bloody mist that i’ll never be able to escape it. and then, finally, everywhere and everywhen will be dilli and i will never have to leave again.

gotta anchor all the magic i’ve ever collected to every inch of this city.

do not disturb.

images #2

it’s raining. i’m reading things i don’t remember writing: stories, poems, anecdotes.


i remember so little of the past.

the more i try to recall memories, the more they retreat into the unknown. each time i try to reconstruct one, i add something from the present to it. i now have different versions of each, and no way of telling what really happened.

even recollection is an act of defamiliarisation.


redesigned memories are falling around me, simultaneously pushing me away from and bringing me closer to other points in time.

water never precipitates alone.