endings

“okay then, goodbye”:

stories have a tendency to end in the
most

cliched manner, as if they just can’t find some-
thinkg different, perhaps a hello at the end,

a promise of something that begins and goes
on still, but endings are supposed to be sad
all the time, many a time. Perhaps all I need

to do
is
to
never
let
stories
end,

and that’d give to me my choice of an ending
or no ending, a discrepancy of sorts in the end.

.

This is Poem # 9 for my 30 Days, 30 Poems Challenge.

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not to be the night when I lick my fingers

it was not to be the night when I lick my fingers,
you laughed at me, chortled at the way I spilled
everything on the canvas of the sky. a roundlet
of onion stuck in our conversation, our poetry.

I remind you of a pie you were to make for me,
and I worry today if I am an irksome ingredient,
like those peppercorns in your vadas that you
spit away saying you find them ground better,

but I am this whole, not a powder of intimacy,
I am a dripping stick-kulfi that coats desires,
I am the extra spice that burns your words,
I am just not a bullet in the index of the menu

that you skip over and come back to, because
I am affordable and easily available today, even
if I come out to be not what you really wanted.

after all,

it is not to to be the night when I lick my fingers,
invisible tears emerge on downtrodden cheeks,
painting colorless sky grey and blue. a julienne
of a fantasy is shattered, to become my poetry.

.

For dVerse Poetics.

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The Choice is Mine

the moment the impalpable fruit comes up on the horizon

the nightly spots of light attract me, asking me to fade away with them that time

the choice is mine whether-

I want to be a seed of the sweet rising fruit or

the shine of the fading spots of night light.