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The roads are drained of destinations
they mingle and separate but lead nowhere
I thought they were ably plotted
leading to where I wished to go
but as if by black divination i go around in circles

Isolation is a fine thing
its castaway performances impressive
the night's office is located here
a thousand beings in a cabin of seclusion
a row of lives wasted
like a library of books unread

Wasted lives, broken hearts
amidst tulip springs and flame-of forest summers
we are the castrated dead branches,
deck us with flowers and we look like corpses
leave us naked and we beg to be butchered

If only roads could tunnel in to our souls
If only the night would end.

Monsoon showers

The scent of wet earth
after an amorous monsoon shower
clambers up the walls of my heart
like a snake
biting into my poise
the blue poison of desire spreads

some memories wrapped
in grey sheets of thick old rain
are still strangely warm
like a hearth fire not fully extinguished
or like hot lava fingers scratching a cool earth
from beneath

some longings grow younger as we age
love is one of them
these rains act like a rake on the senses
heaping autumn colored resolves
in to the far corner of life's garden
they water even the weeds, dimpling them
singling me out
to wither bit by bit with every monsoon.


Each breath is a soft score
of your striking glance
a lance of an ardent sword
that unstitches clouds
and showers palpitations

the storm is in my eyes
count my breaths
as I hose them into my lungs
i am yours even from this distance
let the sky, the moon and the stars
slither my way tonight

let me own you
give me the peak
reserved for true lovers
as you look my way again

the air is apologetic
for it has burnt me
a nonfigurative scar swells on my heart
nurturing the impact of a lover's glance
yesterday, today...
of what meaning is time now.


You didn't exactly want him
but he came anyway
a jostle of life amidst the plaid nudges of time

glistening with the water of my womb
the way a pebble gleams after countless stokes
by a river of love
I would fast for him

you loved him like the changing seasons
yoyo like
blistering hot to awning cold at times
a parent's love should be rock solid like a mountain

when he left for college
I was relieved
the way only a mother can be
when father and son have
finally laid down their swords
The house would no longer cower

At last he became your friend
no one noticed that one of my veins
had fossilised and would never come alive
in the rains again
and that the bridge sprouting between
you both had used up all my soil.
Born in Bikaner on August 18th 1965, educated in Kolkata and Baroda, Vinita has an M.A. in political science. She has been researching and writing freelance for over 20 years. A poet at heart she says there are times she has more ink in her veins than blood. She has been published in several magazines, journals, newspapers and websites. She participated at the SAARC Literature Festival 2010 and has also taken part in various other spoken word events. She lives in Delh, India.