ever since I can remember remembering I've always had a cat, as a pet  but it's colour has changed over the years from golden to patches of white and black that magically turned into a muddy grey contour like shedding of scales and growing of nails  it is the rule  for something new to always take over the old and as far as I can recall a cat has always been there  but that cat is not the same  a friend has always been there but that friend is not the same  some love has always been there  but that love is not the same  throughout my rolling years. ©amrita

they say  my perception of colours  differ from yours and also from others in my spectrum of hues there is lack of depth cues your sparkly golden here, dims my day and bright magenta flowers engulfs sun rays I still bleed in purple and vomit ash grey after one drinking game and a few letters of your name cut into halves  the tip of my tongue is a two way road  each leading to a chamber of my heart there all you can see is blood  where now only remains stinking carcasses and rust. ©

and how many yards do we sit apart that I capture you with my eyes yet not suffocate you with my touch when do I know our proximity is just enough? and how many glances do we exchange before the spell is broken as you walk away from my sight and I let you slip by without a fight? and what is the definition of too much? is too much, the spark that I feel? is too much, the words I fail to speak? is too much, wanting you, for me? is too much, holding on when I should let you free? © amrita

a few thousand pounds elephant weighs a lot  round balls of cotton,  even feather that floats when vertically stacked, is another heavier load. but what is that thing  that weighs the heaviest of all? perhaps it is something unseen that is hushed under the breath sits cross-legged on your chest like beaming pieces of ember burns the back of your neck a combination of letters that rests on your lips attempts numerous escapes  but only to fail, it is a name half spoken, that shatters the scale.  ©amrita

Water is vital, true, without it no life thrives purpose, for men, you see, is something likewise. a fuel that propels a fuel that thrusts you, and me, and rest of our kind, onwards. loss of it leads to a question, or maybe a series of why's, as why to go on? and pedal to survive? existence without a meaning like a puzzle of quantum strings to him, is an unfathomable lie. because, has anyone really,  with own naked eyes, seen,  a billion molecules forming our skin? so we latch on to hope, tight, like the last of hanging rope like a leech sucking on bare skin, devouring the last of scarlet treat. because, frankly, in the lack of it, in life, is there much to keep?  ©

everyday I add two spoonful of sugar into a pot of boiling water and I satre at it long and  I stir it in a haste and I do the dishes quick and I wipe my hands dry and I groom the countertop clear and I rush to the dining hall to find you sitting on a chair with a chess board infront with results undeclared just before the clock strikes eight  on an evening of august late some years back in twenty twelve and resume our game the night before you disappeared. © amrita

Walking back home from our date number eight I remember stalling every step adding mini seconds to minutes waving back accross the road once, twice, again for the sixth time your hazy outline dispersed into a chaos of cars and crowd as if a drop of ink in a clear bowl what remained on my handkerchief like leftovers from last night's feast stale, cold and in plenty, was a faint scent and a tiny smudge of your perfume and giggles at your touch. © amrita

Now I keep my windows open. It was dark for too long. I stack up the paper cards, straight. One over two, then four underneath. reaching summit, to build a taller fort. At first light of the day, I slit my finger open, plucking edged lemon grass blades. Two noons after, I dipped my brush in turquoise, cyan and painted over chipping paints and cracking walls to mask ten purple bruises, healing. Hurting and haunting, raw of meat cooked tender. An hour past midnight, I ran the race again, a wild deer's chase. And moments before my death, I woke up dripping in sweat. ~Amrita

a new house and it's walls made up four ample rooms three twenty square feet wide empty enclosed boxes of iron, cement, wood. in unpacked cardboard boxes lingered floral fragrance of withered funeral flowers. paintings, pictures, prizes tiny, medium, large, all sizes nailed to a canvas, some art a few hung low, some high up screening every corner, every part an illustrious exhibition, loom. to make up for the absence of life in a living room. ~Amrita

Death awaits as I burn, slow in scintillating hues of red before turning into dust, grey of ash mixed with a tang from past. for another moment I'll linger around somewhere at the tip cloaked in a veil of black, opaque how emergence juxtaposed into end one drag, one puff, some smoke, then gone escaped into thin air, one last breath an owed kiss on the stale lips of death shedding and dusting off the cigarette fine specks of my greys drop and snows over the whites of a hand-down ashtray, a wiped clean slate, anew and from there I shall begin again. ~Amrita

some days pass by without a single thought some days wrap around your neck in a choking knot poor heart is a constricted little pouch feet staggers, shoulders droop like today, some days of September weighs a lot. © amrita

Like every promising bud that ever beared a bloom ripe, to it's delicious bounty by this season's end, looming over the creek, whatever left of us, too, sorely, will conclude to dust. © amrita

my daily routine now is a long list of things to miss one alarm and snooze the other is now a habit inbuilt waking up is a process intricate, of numerous trails and errors repeated in counts once at seven and next, minutes scarce to ten to find myself alone as mother has already left the door wide ajar, the house in a hurry to myself and also to the cat, napping on an ivory bedspread tasks pile up, one over the other two plates on the sink and some peeled banana skin like solid blocks of jenga waiting just to crumble moments after hot shower, with a blunt edged pencil a messy bun is rolled out of dripping unkept hair before the lit up screen highlights the summation of minutes I've missed like once before and this time, less than half and hour. ©️ amrita

you and me and some ever-present static here and there an occasional flipping of a page and one of us coughing to break this silence, the hands of my clock wouldn't stop ticking even with less words spoken, your presence conquers the distance as an assembly of waves and signals giving long duration of calls, a meaning. ©amrita

Aren't we locked up in black and white cages? yet through the bars I extend my hands, hold long gazes. Your gentle touch and forbidden lips, I'll remember and carry with me for ages My face is another face for you in a sea full of faces I promise to, forever hide my love in indifferences. ©️amrita

इन्हीं रास्तों पर नजाने हम रोज किन किन से टकराते कुछ अपनी दुनिया पीछे छोर, बंजारे तो कुछ खोई चीजों की तलाश में निकले कोई यादों की पोटली समेटे शहर बदलते तो कुछ किसी के करीब या किसी से दूर भागते लोग कहते हैं, कोई चीज खास हो तो उसे संभाल कर रखना थोड़ा प्यार से और थोड़ा आराम से रखना हो सके तो दुनिया और लोगों की नजरों से छुपा कर रखना क्योंकि हर गुम हुई चीज वापस लौट कर नहीं आता लगातर शहर बदलने पर भी हर खाली मकान घर नहीं लगता। ~अमृता.

If the days are numbered and order of count is altered I wonder what day today is it carries a tag of which number because it's only a matter of days before remaining of days washes away from year's stash and at the end of the day there are no days left to be numbered. ©amrita

My land is known for recurring floods and savoury tea. A hot steaming cup. A puddle in which you submerge. Sip by sip it warms up the gut, Inch by inch it eats up the land. Monsoon's boon accompanies terror, Caffeine's buzz unclutters clamour.  Baskets graze in green; Carcasses float in brown. My land is known for flood, its annual thirst for blood. 

বগা আৰু কলা ৰং মোৰ এই পৃথিৱী  দুটা ভাগৰ সমাহাৰ তিতা মিঠা স্মৃতি আৰু খন্তেকীয়া আশাৰ দুয়ো হাতেৰে অঁকা এক চিত্ৰ মিল অমিল চিনাকি অচিনাকি ইপাৰ হিপাৰৰ মিলনৰ মাজ ভাগৰ এক কেন্দ্ৰ তুমি মই বুজীয়ো নুবুজা কোনো গোপন ৰহস্য তুমি এক মুহূৰ্তৰ আবেগ এক মুহূৰ্তৰ আক্ষেপ সাধাৰণ শব্দৰে সাজি তোলা এক জটিল সাঁথৰৰ খেল।

হাতৰ মুঠিত কিমান আতে কোনে জুখি চাইছে? মুঠিৰ পৰা বাগৰি যোৱা যেন কৰোবাত হেৰাই যোৱা সময় বোৰ, কোনে বিচাৰি চাইছে? শুকান ধূলি হৈ উৰি যোৱা স্মৃতিৰ তেজ ৰঙা পাত খিলা কোনে ঘূৰাই পাইছে? সাঁচতিয়া হেপাহ সামৰি হৃদয় খন বাৰেপ্রতি ভাঙি পৰাৰ হিচাপ কোনে থৈছে? ভাঙি পৰা হৃদয়ৰ অংশ এডোখৰ এডোখৰকৈ বুটলি কোনে উচুপি ৰৈছে?