at the sea.

A visit to the beach
can be a messy affair.
Sand in your super tight swim shorts
and men staring at your half naked body.
In some distance, a gigantic crab
wrestles some rocks
emerging slowly, little by little. that
I have proof of.
Wary of where I step
with the familiar in falling,
I spot a round stone
that feels soft in its core.
The oddest is the sea
half sure, half unsure
testing the land with tides
like a young little child.
takes a hundred steps back
for a single step forward.

Moving on.

In your absence
the y(why?) becomes a question
of an adventure, i am not
quite sure about taking.
Mother once told me that i never
quite learnt the opposite of
urgency. Why i must wait
and not pluck raw fruits off
their branches?
You tell me that i can find comfort
in forgetting things. Even slowly.
Here out in the open, I smile
because I can pretend to be calm.
Trying to tell you how urgency
can be a being.
Hoping you’d learn the need
to teach me
the process of healing. and how to hold it
in my palm, and let it grow
taking its time to sweeten
like ripe fruits.
But before that, halt.
Teach me the meaning of full stops.
And most importantly
teach me all the reasons
you left.



In pursuit
Of heaven I have found
the word, loop.
That is a repetition of an event
And again
Until I forget how your lips
Forgot the utterance of my name

makes me think singularity
Is the scariest truth. Loop: a queer
Innovation. We pick and choose
From a lineup, until
It is enough

It makes my heart stutter
And go wild. Heaven.
It is a feeling and I’ll stay here
Until it’s enough


-artwork by Ninad Sree



Somewhere you call out to the sea
as the sunlight creeps in
towards your legs.

You are the opposite of calm today. Fitting
on a hot summer day. Like today.
In between sweat and scents
you beckon to your loss.

Elsewhere I am lying filling an empty room
it is opposite the sea, perhaps in my dream.
You are here too. Looking for answers from
the sea; it is:

too vast
it’ll probably take time to respond.
I sigh
and get up
patience is not my virtue.

Artwork by sarahmaxwellart.


Chance encounters.


One day before your time
you’ll find love.
Stuck with a Sudoku puzzle
or asking for directions.

And with reckless abandon
you’ll speak too much.
Abandoning the sense of vulnerability
you carry routinely.

And as he tells you his name. memorize how
his tongue touches the end of his lips,
you know you’ll dream of this too
on a table set for two.

Feast on this memory.
It is yours
you are allowed to love.

artwork by Sweetnothingsbymeg.

Ivory tears.


Do not shed tears here
in my garden.
these flowers have known
better lovers
than I.

At least the sun is a keen visitor.
Present almost every day
Like a regular customer
at a kind brothel
and these flowers,
the sun’s favorites.

Come embrace me one night
And show me everything that you want to do to me.
And maybe I could too indulge in the
sexual conversations
on hot summer days.

For how long
do I have to be jealous
of my own flowers?


This is after reading a lot from the poetry collection of Allen Ginsberg. Where the most of it emerges from his strong desires for sexual intercourse with other men. These above pictures of him and Peter Orlovsky, are strange in the same way love is. Where not all of it comes at once. But slowly. In midnight thoughts. Of your lover entering you, slowly, and of all the pleasure it gave you. You wake up and Blush. Because what else can you do. Who are you going to tell this to anyway?