Life, death and landslides

My left arm is a nuclear holocaust
My right arm heals everything.
These pills underneath my tongue like bombs
Will explode in your mouth, while the
Only thing in your mind will be my words
Only my words, nothing else.
Love is a religion which I chose
Not to believe in, but
I know Amma won’t call me an atheist
Because religion isn’t God and also
Deep down I know she doesn’t believe in love either.

Mornings are brief love letters
Written to a flower by death.
How is it that you walk into a funeral
Numb as a daisy and
When you leave you bloom
Into an orchard of sunsets.
And with every one of your smile
You kill a man or two
But still you are relieved
At least you didn’t torture them
With love before they died.

And in the evening while in your bath
Sinking into your own body
You’ll realize that you’re a cadaver who smells like vinegar
And you’ll start living the moment
You realises that you are in a morgue
And that’s why there are cuts all over
Your body and yet you hardly ache.
You carry death on your shoulder
In tiny glittered jewelery boxes of green hope
Tied up to the back of your ears with hair
And yet you don’t call your life a
Mobile mortuary, instead you call it beautiful.
You call it a landslide
Trying to find it’s way back in a rain.



© The Rendezvous Club 2019All Rights Reserved!

The betrayal poem

I know I’m betraying myself,

When I’m waiting for you

I am never the Sandy beaches

And you never the sea

You will never come,

You can’t come

It’s just that you won’t come

You’re through with me

I know that for sure

It’s like this tree which died but it

Still is sticking to it’s last leaf

Hoping that the leaf stays green for a little more while

Betraying itself with hope,

Clinging on to miracles

Like children with glossy eyes

Who prays for candies to fall from the sky.

I say to others that I don’t wait anymore

Sometimes I say it to myself in the mirror

I don’t love you,

I don’t hope for you to come back to me anymore,

And I don’t wait for you anymore,

I’m moving on.

I am a child and

I’m growing, I’m evolving, I’m changing

I am a tree and

I’m growing, I’m evolving, I’m changing

But the truth is

I’m just lying to myself,

All lies,

Lie! Lie! Lie!

I’m still loving, I’m still hoping, I’m still waiting.

I’m betraying, Myself!


©The Rendezvous Club 2019
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Warmth between two hearts

In that rain where coldness was just a medium of our words which forgot to form each time we had met before, where your shoes weren’t enough to keep your feet dry, where we were coiled inside a time where no time existed, neither did warmth. And the only warmth that was left in the whole wide world was placed in between the place where both our hearts met. I gave myself to you, the secrets of my darkness, the voids of my pain, the breathless of my sins, the enamoures self loathing I possess, about how I found God and I couldn’t put up with him because he forgave me while I couldn’t, about how I went back to him when he had turned his head away from me, how ashamed I was of my shadows, my life, my wishes and my tears which always mocked me every time it rolled down my cheeks. I knew that you wouldn’t be able to hear me amidst the clater of the rain drops hitting the cement pavement. But I just had to do it all once before, you also realize that the warmth between hearts fade in seconds and in the rain every hands turn cold and hence we can’t warm each other, no matter how close we hold it, no matter how much we try to make it look like it’s enough, never can a cold hand warm another cold hand.


©The Rendezvous Club 2019
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My back is a warzone

Where my lover traces it’s border to my spine.

There are landing spaces for jets

In my vertebral columns

And landmines on my ribs.

My father doesn’t approve of this relationship.

He says that a woman’s body is a sacred tomb

No lover should play with planes on that.

For he will be the martyr in the end

And you the dead imbecile.

He says society will divide your land

And decorate your peaks

Paint you in color they think nice.

Red isn’t only for blood

And remember,

Wars should be over by the.

And you should forget about love.

Your body should be a market place

Not a warzone, he says

A market place where you sell love

Which you are a stranger to.

A market place where, you should give all yourself

And expect nothing in return.

A market place where money have no role to play

It’s only fake promises and dead dreams

To which you will sell your love.

But alas, warzone or a market place.

I know

There will never be peace.

My back is a warzone

Everything else is a graveyard.

Now, rest in peace

Continue reading “Warzone”


I sometimes feel your fingernails digging deep into my scars, as if to claw out the darkness inside and to find it’s roots, then root it out and plant orange zinnias there with kisses. Sometimes it’s just a soft touch at the nape of my neck, where I’ve hidden the last of my innocence. So very innocent like a child with only two teeth. I hope you never find that child.

You have always known that my heart is a sparrow trapped in an abandoned tower, who knows the tower way too much, who has studied each and every one of the paintings in it’s wall and is not afraid to spread it’s wings and touch, each one of the cracks in those whispering walls and who is painfully waiting for the walls to fall down so that it can escape the tower, which even the dragons has abandoned. But if the tower falls down the sparrow dies. That’s the end.

The only place in my body without scars, is my heart. That is because scars are wounds that are healed and the wounds in my heart still stays afresh, hence there are no scars. And that’s why I never let anyone touch it, not even love. You can claw at my scars as much as you want but not my wounds, because it hurts and I am still alive, therefore I’m afraid you can still hurt me and I’m afraid I might let you. Because love does that to me you see! You don’t believe me, then look at my heart.



©The Rendezvous Club 2019

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Mamma brings me sherbet
Every morning
In the color of blood.
They reminds me of the morning
In which I saw actual blood
Corroding and turning black
Underneath her bed, vomitted.
She says he loved her greatly once.
He hit her yesterday too.
There’s dried blood in her broken lips
Like dried red hibiscus.
She won’t kiss me now, (true loves kiss)
She’s scared that I might incur
The same fate as her.
So tell me now,
Does your love also smell of anemic blood
Will I be able to kiss my children
Without being scared of their doom?
Will I be able to give my children
Milk every morning
Or is it sherbet in red?
So tell me now,
Do you love me truly or greatly?



©The Rendezvous Club 2019

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Clotted graves

As we were talking
Mamma started cutting herself
And through the cuts
She pushed out clotted blood
With the finesse of a snake
Shedding it’s skin.
She then collected the clotted memories
Bloated them with tissues and tears
Stored them in a glass jar and
Kept them aside to be buried later.
She then took me to her grave
To bury the clotted blood.
By then her scars healed and her skin sealed.
Next to her blood filled grave
She kept her bag and said
This is your place, next to mine
Just for you to bury your clotted blood.
Before me it was her grandma’s said she.
She then handed me the pink bag
With white polkadots and asked me
To fill the bag with soil,
From above my grave.
Then she said,
One part water, three part soil,
Mix it and apply it at night,
When you start cutting yourself
And remember don’t do it
In the presence of anyone except your daughters
Because these graves are just for them.


©The Rendezvous Club 2019
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The cold side of the bed is for you to take
I whispered in the ears of light.
I had made my home
Inside a pool of filth
Light couldn’t seep in that far
Hence he failed to warm up my brain
And I couldn’t let the cold depression evaporate.
According to society my life is right
It was ‘I’ who wasn’t great.People tell me, cry day and night
Let your heart melt and flow,
Like liquid rocks through your eyes
Causing scars that’s rooted deep inside
Never ending, never healing,
They say it will make you strong
But I’ve just melted and
I float now among the pool of filth
Amidst the stench in my brain.I wish mamma had eaten cement
While she was pregnant with me
And not iron tablets or tears,
Which the doctor and Pappa had fed her with.
Then I could’ve had cinder blocks
For a heart and cement pillars to support
My emotional out breaks.Green vegetables tastes like blood in my throat
I choked on some last night
Nothing a small surgery couldn’t cure,
But when it came out it was bathed in blood.
They say I have mild allergies to everything healthy
That’s how I came to know why I always choked on love,
And it explained to me,
why I needed surgeries to my heart every time I swallowed love.


© The Rendezvous Club 2019All Rights Reserved!