Memories gnaw at me,

relentless and recurring,

But I try to shut them off.

Sometimes when I open the door,

I see two faces in you,

One of innocence that I lived

Other, a devouring Dragon,

waiting to sweep away last trace of my childhood.

A doppelganger you have become.

Sometimes at night I hear you whimper,

I picture you as a child but I can't lull you to sleep,

Sometimes the whimpers becomes shrill of wails

that threatens to wake my sleeping conscience.

But why would you cry, I wonder.

You have brands to hide your bruised skin,

Pop corns and Pizzas to quench your hunger

Why don't you dance to sleazy item numbers,

amid dazzling lights in burgeoning discotheques?

Why would you cry?

You have shopping malls to live in, isn't it?

Sometimes I feel your innocent eyes peering at me,

Like ember you burn at a corner of my existence.

I try each moment to save my childhood days from the fire

I try not to be weakened by your invisible gaze.

I had bartered my soul long ago

But my last leaf grew in your branches.

Now like a caged bird I am tied to my existence,

My roots have been burnt, my paradise lost,

I have nowhere to go, 

I have no hope of salvation.

I wonder if it was love,
which squeezed life out of our existence?
I wonder whose hand was it?
who strangled the soul?
I wonder who sow weeds in the garden?
Now it lays barren for ages.

I wonder was it love,
which stole sleep from our eyes?
I wonder who poisoned the dove?
whose hands ruffled its skin?
why didn't it cry?

I wonder was it love,
which led us to this impossible journey?
I wonder why there is a vacuum?
have we reached the destination we set out for?
why am I going blind?

I wonder was it love?

We are living a lie,
conversations -- a bag full of words,
grievances and complaints.

love is like rain,
washing down my soul clean,
I want to get drenched now,
but there are no clouds in the sky.

You are still a memory,
my eyes hold on to a photograph,
a slideshow, I switch on to at night,
a dream which I weaved with my breath,
only to break them in the morning light.

We are living a lie,
conversations -- a bag full of words,
grievances and complaints.