Tag Archives: Micropoetry

The Curd Rice Chronicles 

The Curd Rice Chronicles

Forget about being nice. Just stay curd rice.

~O~O~O~

Curd rice on the streets. Mor mollagai in the sheets.

~O~O~O~

Kadipatta must be sent to jail for showing up in curd rice.

~O~O~O~

My balanced diet of curd rice, workaholism, wine and male tears.

~O~O~O~

It’s not over until curd rice.

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The Spirit Writes Back 

The Spirit Writes Back

Each day I show you my love in how I survive
Yet you treat my existence like a blank check
Milking this cash cow for all your glories
Didn’t you realise that I make business
of sentiment, spirit and stories?

It wasn’t a check, my love, it was a loan
My heart beats in currency, concrete & stone
There’s a reason there’s never shortage in my vaults
And you don’t want to know what I do to those who default.

Signed with love,
The Mumbai Spirit

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A special place in your mind 

A special place in your mind

Home isn’t just a where
It’s a why, a how, a who
Also a with whom.

Home is where the heart longs to beat.

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The Tinder Generation 


The Tinder Generation

We who fall in love like we’re making war,
still oddly find our peace in love-making and comfort in broken pieces. 

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The Sense Of Stories

Read me a story of touch
when I cannot see

Sing me a song of colour
that reaches through
the white noise

The Masochism Of Writers

Say you’ve got a story
I know it already
I knew it before you wrote it
You ask me what I think; you’re
hanging eagerly onto my answer
I pause and I say, you
should have made me nicer.

Gluttony Isn’t A Sin

Gluttony Isn’t A Sin

To feast on silences,
rich with promise and
garnished with warm breaths

To sip a thought
and feel it roll into the senses,
curling up into the head behind eyelids

To taste words,
that have sat in the mouth before
but never quite this way

To swallow a feeling so tender, it didn’t need chewing and feel a lump rise to meet it

What’s for dinner?

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50 Uses Of Pain 

50 Uses Of Pain

A blanket of imagined futures draped
across the glass floor of memories
Walk across, lover, you tiptoe
over the goosebumps you cause me
Tear me a piece of your soul
We’ll use the drips to write poetry

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RESOURCE 


RESOURCE

You lack nothing, 
until you lack hope. 

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