The Missing Funnies

The idea of a friendly catch-up, a ‘hey, how have you been’ is not strange to me. Though in the past few weeks, even I feel quite strange to me so I can’t really say.

‘A casual hey I’m in the neighbourhood, let’s meet’ turned into a spiralling down the wormhole that is me.

Enter into a dark, musty smoky room but before that woozily walk down an eerie path searching for the address. Turn left. Turn right. Swerve around the corner at the sights. There it looks familiar now.

You hear the barking first, a burst of rat-faced stubby dog circles frantic around you. A friend bent over a laptop another over a bowl of weed. The hostess welcomes you with the warmest smiles and the happiest Hi-s. Hugs go all around. ‘It’s been so long. Ah when was the last time.’ Good-natured affection passes all around.

You sit next to a guy who wouldn’t mind to fuck you. He inches closer and whispers a private joke or two. None make you laugh. All except a wry eyebrow ‘is that funny?’ lift, he gets from you. He huffs defensive and puffs with the funnies even more. Determined to make you laugh and like him even more.

The hostess hee-haws at the other guy in the room. Together they mumble. Together they giggle. The dog cuddles closer to you. You pet her, as you would any eager brown eyes that come your way. Her loving face an inch away from yours. Then she snaps and snarls. Hot breath and the miss of sharp teeth, will be laughed as her bitch eccentricity.

The funny man jokes even more. The other two giggle in hushed on the side some more.

You try to inch away from the guy by your side to feel some of the funny on the other side.

By the time, the funny travels though the dark smoky room, the insider friends, the demented dog it’s lost its fizzle.

Your cheeks cramp in forced smiles. They don’t fool no one and the funny is still not open for your fun.

A beer down. Two joints down. And still there is none.

The music still wanes elevator jazz meets uber groove. You can’t take the plastic cool.

They are talking but the words ring no recognition within you.

It scratches at you. It claws inside your throat.

They look at you so familiar. You know these faces. You know these scenes.

They’ve been done so many times before but;

now they just don’t fit anymore.

It was the strangest case of the missing funnies.


The Clothes Thief



A thief has been prowling at my door.

Daring and brash, he flicks when we dance indoors.

A panty here, a bra there,

a ten-year old blouse, a single shoe of an adored pair.


For many a month, we’ve been plagued by this menace.

First it started one from the line,

after a week or so or whenever the itch struck him,

it was a clean, sweep.


An odd tango we would dance,

he takes my attachments, my memories as souvenirs

and I painstakingly clip each freshly washed piece of laundry on my line,

without a grudge or a thought spared for him.


A lesson to move on,

my clothes thief has been.

“Linger less on the material and more on you,”

as if he were to say.


Or maybe he is just a sign to move to a better neighbourhood.

Either way, he is a story, I hope a good one.

My clothes though I hope live on in a good place,

preferably not in the sweaty, masturbating hands of a perv.





The Crush


I don’t like him and he definitely doesn’t like me.

Still every time I fight with him, I want him to stop in between and grab me

Kiss me long and hard as he did that night before leaving.


I ignore him. I try my best to ignore him.

Treat him like I would a stranger,

or a casual acquaintance I would never think of sleeping with.


We did and more than the sex.


I can’t forget the heart speak,

Our hearts loved before we touched.


I don’t like him. I really don’t.

He is just a crush, just a this or a that.

But that night.

That was a beautiful firefly-if-of-a-night.













Let our hearts speak like we did before,

two nights we spent welcoming dawn.

We neither touched nor we kissed and yet it was the most intimate.


I don’t like him. I really don’t


Complaining about Love

There’s so many answers I expect from you.

But apart from heart-wracking tumbles and shattering tussles,

I didn’t get any answers from Love.


The guy would always profess it to me first,

almost always while shuddering his last drop of cum in me.

I would be just the slightest bit disconcerted, just the slightest bit uncomfortable

but mostly flattered and mostly caught,

a deer in the headlights wondering when was it my turn to cum.


There’s so much peace I expect from you

But apart from this constant topsy-turvy-push-pull tension,

‘am I really the girl they love or am I just playing a part.’

I’ve never felt calm with you.


Hot and bothered that’s what you make me.

You make me forget me.


The minute I say it back, it’s as if a light goes on in me.

You are my gravity. You are my spirit.


I loved Love. The world was prettier when I was in love.

I felt prettier when they loved me.

I was all things love and that’s what I loved the most.


That’s not Love.


I was just impatient and crushing on you.

I can’t even complain about you now.

I don’t even know you.






Fuck Me


My name is wait it doesn’t matter.

You’ve known me far longer.

The frantic jacking off to the swimsuit issue.

The extra time spent with the faucet.

I was there.




I am the heat,

The desire that clouds your eyes

And blinds your senses.

I am the moan. I am the scream.

The nibbling, the nipping

The biting the tugging

The need, that ever-incessant need.




I am the want that just rises and rises

to no end in sight.

It crashes at you. It melts you.

It builds you up and then it throws you off the peak.



Limber and spate, feebly grinding your hips to the memory of that fuck.

That is me.

It’s been too long my friend.

I’ve missed you.


The tree wakes up. A centuries long embrace is done. She peels the bark of her caramel body. She shakes the flowers of her fire gold hair. Her eyes stare wide-eyed at the bustling world swarming around her tree. Oceans swam in them. If you ever dare to meet eyes with her, you would fall to your knees crying your heart out. There is no name that can catch her. She has lived before time and names became a world of their own. We’ve loved her before we entered this world we made our own. She is the heart that aches to be shattered with every breath; the moon that pulls the tides of our souls. She is one of the oldest, one of the last that remain of the original world. One that was to be ours and yet we shunned it for a shell. A shell that took more than it ever gave. A shell that hid them from us. The forgotten gods of the old lands.

The Words

The words are gunning for me.

Two years of neglected stories have come to collect their dues.

They pull the rug off my feet and take turns drowning me in the inkiest blues.

They stayed silent all this while but now the dam has given away.

Angry and stubborn, each word comes out as a punch and a stomp.

They hound me with the what-ifs and the could-haves,

pestering me to admit that I was wrong.

They reached into my chest and gouge my heart out,

How could you have forgotten us? They cried to me.


After the venting comes the tears.

They pour out of me,

each another stab to my disappointed heart,

dripping puddles all over my torn carpet.

I cry along with them.

Crawling on my knees in regret and gratitude.

They may be terribly hurt

but They still haven’t given up on me.


In company they always run out and tether to the contrary

but alone, they were my friends and accomplices

together plotting down the wistful, little stories in my head.