Lost Summer

I haven’t had a chance
To stitch my heart together
In a long time,
There’s been no mend
To the pieces of me
Cluttered in my backyard,
I haven’t reached out
For the warmth
Of a loving hand
In all the winter nights gone by,
My home now reminds me
Of a gelid chamber
Of frosting walls,
The sun sometimes
Peeps reluctantly
Through my window
Only to be frozen
Behind the glass panes.

I don’t remember summers anymore,
My skin can’t recall
How the touch of
Morning beams feel like,
For I am only treasured with the nights
That you carefully left for me
Behind the olive curtains,
And a condensed blue moon
That still rests inside your closet.

All I do now
Is wait for you
To bring back
My lost summer.

~ Chhaya

Ashy Dreams

My dreams are somber ashes
spread over opaque night
guarded by misty moon
to be preserved till the end of time
they are blown by balmy breeze
flowing slowly as you breathe
my name in a turn of gasp
when loneness gets too stark
and you want to reach to me
but there’s no way it can be
that’s when those ashes fly
hoping that they will somehow find
you dreaming of me too
just like I always do
and then we will sleep in peace
when our dreams will come to meet.


A Brown Poem

It’s a brown poem
that I write tonight
immersed in the ink
of your hazel eyes
brown is the shade
of my sublime words
and brown is the tone
of my subtle dactyls

the cadence is brown
the accent is brown
brown the assonance
and the rhythm is brown

the brown caesura
the brown elision
brown is the ellipsis
and refrains are brown

aglow by the touch
of your bronzy skin
the sense, the essence
and the gist is brown

brown are the feelings
brown are emotions
in the cascade of your hair
my verses flow in brown.

– Chhaya

Brumal Memories

Benumbed by the chills
of your brumal memories
I lay frozen every night
under the crisp moonlight
the shivers crack the bones
but the pain glaciates
while your sleeting thoughts
continue to pierce my mind
the sleep somewhere quivers
keeping me wide awake
and dreams come to frost
deep in my gelid eyes.

– Chhaya

Poems of Love

The poems of love
dawning from my eyes
and adorned by your lips
as kisses craft verses
of tender desires
inscribed by the warmth
of your balmy breaths
all over my body
to be read in silence
only by sheer touch
in absolute darkness
feeling the words like braille
smudging the amorous ink
with your clammy hands
on my damp skin.

– Chhaya

Threads of Hope

Amidst the coarse yarn of
extreme despondency
tangled incoherently
around the strands of life
I have still saved some
silken threads of hope
bundled in a patch of faith
to weave my breaths again
when in shreds
due to lashes of time.

– Chhaya






The Knock

The stray sounds of
my name on your lips
still knock at my door sometimes
gently, but with a little husk
and yet shaking the walls
of my relinquished memories
making brittle chronicles fall off
the brown ligneous shelves
placed in some forbidden corner
of my rustic vapid heart
turning them into sharp pieces
of broken dreams and hopes
which pierce deep inside
to dredge up the wounds of past
only to remind me
how delusive is my urge
to rush and open the door.

– Chhaya







Of Love and the Rains

The rains once again
are here to remind
how fervently I loved you
with every bit of my might
falling from the vertex
of boundless soars
touching upon the depths
unbridled and unfathomed
sometimes like a drizzle
soothing and divine
and sometimes like a deluge
ravaging and unconfined
from silent and serene
to loud as a roar
from quiet and calm
to intense like a clamor
I fell on the trees
on the glass and the stones
on the earth and concrete
into the sea and the shores
sometimes I seeped in
through the pores of your skin
and sometimes I slipped
down your edges, slants and slopes.

– Chhaya


The night stumbles upon
the tint of amber
and dreams fall out
of my clammy hands
leaving bare desires
shattered on the floor
as I lie on the edge
of my empty bed

the stars are gone
and so are you
but I live with this hope
to hold on to
that I will meet you soon
and will hold you tight
when our dreams cross again
on some slumberous night.

– Chhaya



In this
mean world
no I won’t
cover up
the dents of
thrashes of time
that adorn my life
for I am the moon
deeply in love
with its craters.

– Chhaya













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