Grid View
List View
Reposts
  • aghoraa 5w

    A bit of Water

    A bit of water goes a long way
    When sunsets resemble funeral pyres
    And lakes
    Unheard pleas



    ©aghoraa

  • aghoraa 7w

    Too Good

    I was
    Too good
    At love
    And apparently
    Not good enough
    Otherwise;
    For I saw her eyes
    One morning
    Blood red
    And her smile
    Spoke enough
    Just enough
    Otherwise.


    ©aghoraa

  • aghoraa 24w

    The Seeing Blind

    She pulls my eyes open
    And pretends
    That I am alive
    I close hers
    And pretend
    That blindness is a blessing


    ©aghoraa

  • aghoraa 24w

    Untitled

    We were meant to be Gods
    But when the stone ran out
    They put in hearts
    And called us Men
    Instead



    ©aghoraa

  • aghoraa 49w

    No beauty in emptiness

    For greed
    The wheels turn
    Every morning
    And for greed
    Hunger
    Roars
    Loud and true
    Every night:
    Shoulders
    Can dampen
    And shoes
    Can be stitched,
    But emptiness
    Right before you sleep
    Can’t be emptied
    Any further.


    ©aghoraa

  • aghoraa 57w

    Molten Hot

    We don't bend our knee
    To dictators
    Unless they prove beneficial:
    Then
    We bend one, sure
    But the other, we keep ready
    And our swords hot, molten hot
    The moment
    The dictator gets old
    We smother him in his sleep
    And his children
    We make slaves.
    We don't bend our knee, no
    We just rest
    The ground
    We step on.


    ©aghoraa

  • aghoraa 58w

    Shot in the Back

    The gunman
    Pushes him
    Forward
    Towards his destination.
    He smiles
    And asks
    For the washroom.
    The gunman
    Thinks
    For a second
    And agrees
    With a nod.
    He smiles, broader
    And moves the other way.
    A shot claps the air
    And a thud fills the silence, after.
    He dies
    With full bowels
    And an empty jaw.


    ©aghoraa

  • aghoraa 83w

    A Flying Dupatta in another Language

    I hear
    Spanish sirens
    Glazing over
    A Punjabi Moon:
    What do you hope to achieve
    With a tongue cut out
    But the fangs intact?
    Countless maidens
    Fly, overhead
    While I wait
    For the Final Boss:
    My Mother Tongue
    Asking me
    What I do for a living.
    I hide my wallet
    And show her my Poems:
    She thinks me a Poet
    And I smile
    For a Punjabi Moon.


    ©aghoraa

  • aghoraa 89w

    Switch

    I switch boats
    You switch oceans:
    Who is to say
    Our horizons won't collide?
    I'll leave my sails
    Open
    And you can forget
    All about the shore


    ©aghoraa

  • aghoraa 89w

    Radio stations

    There is a certain comfort
    In radio stations.
    Every five minutes
    Some face
    Pushes a button
    Greets you
    In a familiar voice
    And puts on a tolerable song
    And soon
    The road evaporates
    Just the steering wheel remains
    And a wait
    For the songs
    To keep bumping into one another
    Till they become
    A shapeless mass
    Of radio frequencies.


    ©aghoraa