Tuesday, March 13, 2012


Let’s let the walls remain bare.
Let’s not play any music in the background.

Let’s not come wearing fragrances,
And labels.

Let’s just meet here,
And nowhere else.

So that when you go away,
I wouldn’t be stunned by places,
Smells, ideas and melodies,
Into the torture of your absence.
The crushing truth of it,
The convulsive,
Death of hope.

So that,
Each morning,
I would just have me
To remember you by.
©Rasagya Kabra, March 13, 2012

"A certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect" ~ Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

Sunday, March 4, 2012

The Balancing Act

Hold on to the thread of reason,
A little longer,
Just a little longer.

Imagine dawn.

How do you like your sky –
Blue, orange or golden?
Isn’t it a beauty?

But breathe this night,
The desolate moon, the sleepy stars.
Mourn its impending death.

Know in your heart,
That when the day grows too bright,
You will miss this quiet night.
© Rasagya Kabra, March 4, 2012

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Eerie Glory

It is a face,
Reluctantly holding out
In the wake of the doom within.

That the secret insight it guards
Be hunted
With fingers and lips and tongue.

Of the doom
That comes with it.

Resisting this face
Is a hard feat.
Getting doomed
In its eerie glory,
Is easier.

© Rasagya Kabra, February 18, 2012

Wednesday, February 8, 2012


I want to apologize
To that girl,
For turning her inside
Into a deep dark jungle.

I can see her shoulders shrug,
Hear her laughter echo,
Her walk beat against my memory.

I know you deserved better,
I want to tell her.

I want to touch
The sparkle in her eyes,
Feel it in my veins,
In my blood,
And hold onto it.

I’m  so sorry, I want to say,
And cup her face in my hands.

If she doesn’t run away from me,
That girl in the picture,
I want to smile at her
And tell her
That all isn’t lost,
That all can never be lost
So long as one is alive.

© Rasagya Kabra, February 8, 2012

"I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?" ~ Ernest Hemingway

Thursday, February 2, 2012

What have you told them?

I can feel their eyes on me.
Eyes, that know.

Who are these people?
What have you told them?
How do they know?

Each day,
In familiar alleys,
These alien eyes judge me.

I know the texture of that glance.
The glance that sizes me up,
Compares me to a newfound standard,
And then, sometimes,
Tries to nudge me.

Once, a woman,
You know which one,
Walked across a whole goddamned lawn
To see who I was.

What am I?
An endangered animal?
A dangerous animal?
A dangerous endangered animal?
And what have I done to be exhibited so?

You know,
I’ve never hated you,
Not even remotely,
Just don’t make me feel
That we could never have been on the same side,
Because that,
Is not true.

© Rasagya Kabra, February 2, 2012

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Happy Birthday, Blog

Hello there. The blog turns a year old today, and I thought I’d just write to you, and thank you for coming here every once in a while. You keep this blog alive. You complete the loop of which I’m only a part.

I hope you enjoy reading this blog. You know you can tell me what you like and what you don’t, by way of a comment/ email/ facebook message. Please feel free. I’m very interested in knowing what you think.

Here’s something I have for you. So, several months ago, I read this lovely, lovely story by Molly Giles. It’s called Pie Dance. If I know you really well, I must have already made you read it. If not, then here’s a podcast   http://castroller.com/Podcasts/PriSelectedShorts/2270403  . There are three stories being read one after the other, and the one I’m talking about comes at 38:22. I couldn’t find a written version, so you’d have to do with this. Or do you like podcasts better? Then we’re good. Me? I don’t know, I’m just a little old fashioned I think.

So that’s all I have to say for now. Do come back later this week to check out the new poem/story.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Band Aid for the Soul

I can deal with my bag,
Thank you.
The man at the gate looks at me.

I’m wearing earrings that
Two of my exes,
Were somewhat fond of.

My sweater,
Is a little too big.
It insists on resting off
My left shoulder.
I don’t mind.
I’ve never had an issue with my shoulders.

Let’s see what we have here,
Pink walls,
Overflowing ashtrays,
A cloying room freshener.

The woman at the reception is distracted.
She doesn’t pay attention
When I tell her
That I have a room booked in my name.
She keeps looking at the door
Which keeps swinging from my entry.

Guessing her perplexity,
 I say, I’m by myself.
Oh, she says.
She looks at me,
At my earrings,
And finds her answer in the band aid that
My sweater has decided to reveal.
She furrows her brow a little.
I practice my smile on her.
© Rasagya Kabra, January 25, 2012
एक अजनबी झोंके ने जब
पूछा मेरे ग़म का सबब,
सेहरा की भीगी
रेत पर,
मैंने लिखा
~ Ghulam Ali 

Saturday, January 7, 2012


Street lights,
Sleepy from fighting the fog.

A road
That winds and winds,
Like a serpent,
Each stretch merging into the previous,
Becoming indistinct.

A strange writing on milestones,
That vanishes
Upon nearing.

Amongst these,
A gust of cold wind
That meets hot, coffee laden breath
And sends down a shiver.

©Rasagya Kabra, January 7, 2012