THE LOVE POEMS INSIDE ME

 There are love poems inside me,

like blankets not enough to shake off the cold. 

Like slave marks on the coffee skin of a dead Victorian girl.

Like a swallowed glass with pieces stuck in bleeding throat.

Like the  dark dreams of a prophet in the middle of a war. 

Like ghosts wrapped in nostalgia, smiling and laughing.

Like the bubble gum wrappers abandoned in a dust bin.

Like the mercy of a cat playing with a dead bird.

Like the pyre of a blueberry coloured smiles that forgot to return home.

Like the helpless teeth tired of chewing but can't complain. 

Like the strangers partying in the Mars avoiding the moonlight.

Like the middle parted hair which is not ready to change.

Like the songs of fishermen in Ganga, mislearnt and forgotten. 

Like everything and anything. 

There are love poems inside me and 

I cling to them like a child to the breast of a mother,

hungry and in search of warmth.

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