If love was coffee


If love was coffee

I’d add a bit more milk to mine

Being bitter is fine,

But not always

That’s not right.

If love was coffee

I’d stir the sugar nice

Until homogeneously mixed

Bitter on top, too sweet down bottom,

Now that’s horrible

Don’t you think.

If love was coffee

I’d have it twice

A cup in the morning

To be awake and

Another in the evening,

To stay awake

Not a drop more.

Can’t deal with insomnia!

If love was coffee

I don’t mind dying to soon

Because I had too many

too soon.

If love was coffee

I’d advise you,

Don’t start too young

Caffeine is not good for you.

If love was coffee

Arrgh! Who am I kidding,

Love isn’t coffee

It’s much worse than that.


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©31/03/19 The Rendezvous Club

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My grave


Underneath that tree

Who’s roots have found

The elixir of sadness

Is where you’ll find my grave.

With ripped open heart, soiled clothes

And rusted coffin, I lay there exposed.

With dirt filling my nose

And flesh falling of my hands

Inside my grave I lay,

Cold and fed by darkness.

Sunshine visited the place once

The day I was burried probably

And you can see that I lack vitamin D

Pale are my skin and depressed my thoughts.

Autumns came, winters passed

Summers missed and spring did rot,

My coffin’s gone and so will I be

But my epitaph will stay

For you all to see.

Underneath that tree

Who’s root have found

The elixir of sadness

Is where you’ll find my grave.


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©13/03/19 The Rendezvous Club

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Pulse


I tried to feel the pulse

On my left hand

In between the pressure

Of my thumb and index finger

To confirm life.

I could feel my pulse once

I could feel it twice

I could feel it 106 times

In a minute.

Then I tried to reach

Inside my chest

To feel my heart,

To feel the blood make my hand warm

But unfortunately,

I still was dead

And my blood cold.


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© 09/03/19 The Rendezvous Club

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Running back


I miss you. . . . . I miss you like how earth misses the rain during summer, like how my nose misses the smell of petrichor in the parched dry air. I miss you. . . . . And I had never missed anybody in my life before. I have said to people that I will miss them but my heart never came to that critical point where it started to miss someone, anyone but now, it misses you. It’s only been two days and I already miss you. It’s like somehow the melodies inside my body stopped and I could only hear my heartbeat, and in every lyric of it’s beat it saya, I miss you!

You didn’t leave me, nor did I, we just were in a crossroad and we had to take the roads meant for us, hoping to cross paths, somewhere down the road, then run towards each other and hold hands like before. Look into that dark bold eyes of yours which reflects the sunlight and turns brown under the shade of those thick eyebrows, which you hate so much yet I still love. But now, I miss you so much that I can’t walk down this road anymore no matter where it takes me. I don’t care that the place looks beautiful and I don’t care about the flowers under my feet, the fragrance that’s numbing my nose, I don’t care about any of those things. I just want. . . To run back, back through the road which I’ve travelled so far, reversing the journey that I’ve taken in the last two days, just run back to you because I never thought that I could miss someone but now I know how ‘ I miss you’ feels like. I’m running back to you.


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© 2/03/19 The Rendezvous Club

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That guy in the bus stop


The guy in the bus stop looks at me everyday. He just stays there, looking at me until I board my college bus. At first I was really scared by him. He made me feel a bit uneasy but then it became a part of my routine. To me he felt less scary and a lot familiar as days passed by. He never said anything to me, nor did it feel like he wanted to say anything. But later on it was like his presence made me feel safe. Even if there’s nobody around he’ll be there, eyes on me ( less scary eyes). He still stayed a stranger but I know him, ‘ The stranger in the bus stop’. It’s been a year and still, he stays there in the bus stop every morning, looking at me.

I tried smiling at him a few times but he never returned a smile, so I stopped smiling. But on one of the foggiest of morning, the bus stop was crowded and as I waited for my college bus, he was also there, looking at me like on any other day. Until, he started crossing the road and walking towards me. He was walking towards me, yet I wasn’t scared, I felt elated, I . . I felt peaceful. He walked straight towards me and sat on a big stone which was next to me. He didn’t care to look at me this time but he just took my hand in his hand, my hand is one among the few parts in my body which still had feelings. He rested both our hands on my wheelchair’s handrest. I could feel his hands on mine, all sweaty and shaky. Then he started talking. He said ‘ I am sorry’, he confessed that he was the one who accidentally pushed me off the bus two years ago. He said that he was the one who made my life a wheelchair clad one. He uttered the word sorry a hundred times in between each sentences that he had said. But all this while I just looked at his face, I couldn’t stop looking, just like he couldn’t for the past one year. I was trying to find his eyes in between all those tears. But he couldn’t look at me not even once. Then he just stopped talking after a while, he just stayed mum and kept on holding my hand. My college bus came and it left, I didn’t get on it and he didn’t leave my hand. We stayed there all morning. I hadn’t seen him this beautiful before. The guy from the bus stop! I hadn’t felt this calm after the accident, I was just at peace. . . .

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Written for a writing challenge at The inked square


©26/02/19 The Rendezvous club

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Stale Rose


I think you want a rose now

But would you take a stale one.

Yes I was perfect a few years ago

But nothing stays perfect for long.

My petals aren’t red anymore

They are somewhat like blue bruised black

With all the hits and crush and cracks

And my thorns they are brown

Which will help you identify them

More from my stem.

But they can cut more deeper than before.

Still I do smell the same, you know

And I can make you love and love you back, you see.

But I think you want a perfect rose now

And I’m all stale and drying.


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© 28/01/19 The Rendezvous Club

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