House by the lake.

She checked out early, tired of the grind,

left it all behind, the mess, the pain,

and slipped into a deeper sleep.

Woke up to find the sun slicing

through the blinds, casting shadows

on wooden floors, rough and real.

A house by the lake, not some cheap motel,

but a place that breathed with life.

Sunshine hitting porches like a lover’s touch,

the garden sprawling wild,

flowers and weeds, a beautiful mess.

There he was, the man she always hoped for,

rough hands, kind eyes,

two kids running barefoot,

laughing like it was their job.

A tiny library, shelves bowing under

the weight of words she loved,

Bukowski, Kafka and Ms. Dickinson speaking truths

in the silence of the afternoon.

A swing in the garden, creaking gently,

a place to sit and run the thoughts,

the lake reflecting the sky, endless and blue.

She had it all now, the dream stitched together

from the scraps of her old life,

the pieces fitting, a puzzle complete.

No more running, no more fear,

just the simple, raw beauty of living,

in the house by the lake.

-G

Every day,Each day.

Every day, it’s the same grind:

I wake up,

crack open the books,

devour the words,

strain my brain,

try to soak up the knowledge.

Staring at the screen,

wondering if I’ve got what it takes,

self-doubt crashes in,

repressed emotions busting loose,

exam fear choking it all down.

And the cycle spins again,

again and again,

until it’s 4 AM out of nowhere.

Body wrecked,

eyelids heavy like stones.

I shut my eyes,

doubting, always doubting,

“Can I hack it?

Will I even wake up tomorrow?”

-G

Unseen,unheard.

A singer in a deaf town, voice lost in the void,
Notes cascading, unheard, dreams destroyed.
A painter in a blind city, colors fade to gray,
Brushstrokes unseen, in the night and day.

A poet in a world without words, silence profound,
Verses mute, on deaf ears they rebound.
A chef in a tasteless village, flavors null and void,
Culinary art, unappreciated and devoid.

A dancer in a paralyzed nation, grace meets still,
Movements unnoticed, like wind on a hill.
A librarian in a bookless society, wisdom untold,
Pages blank, stories left cold.

A comedian in a joyless land, laughter suppressed,
Jokes fall flat, no mirth expressed.
A gardener in a concrete jungle, life constrained,
Seeds sown in stone, beauty refrained.

A swimmer in a desert town, water a dream,
Strokes through sand, an endless stream.
A storyteller in a silent realm, tales unspun,
Words fall silent, shadows on the run.

A conductor in a musicless era, baton still,
Melodies mute, orchestras’ will.
A sculptor in a formless world, chisel denied,
Art uncarved, in the heart reside.

A healer in an immortal land, skills obsolete,
Hands reaching out, no ailments to meet.
A teacher in a land without schools, knowledge confined,
Lessons unlearned, futures undefined.

A star in a sunlit sky, the shine unseen,
Twinkling unnoticed, in daylight’s sheen.
A prophet in an atheist nation, visions ignored,
Truths unspoken, beliefs unexplored.

A navigator in a pathless forest, compass awry,
Seeking direction, under a starless sky.
A lighthouse keeper in a sunlit desert, beacon unlit,
Guiding no one, solitude’s writ.

Unseen, unheard.

Unseen, unheard.

Unseen, unheard.

-G.

Beautiful disaster.

In the dim glow of this old, tired bar
with its cracked stools and broken jukebox,
I sit and watch the parade of humanity
drowning their truths in alcohol,
faces blurred, stories untold.

There’s a lady at the end of the room,
hair like dark rain,
eyes soft like the edge of a storm,
but inside, oh, inside
she’s a tempest, a swirling madness.

They say the kindest people
carry the heaviest burdens,
their hearts are wild oceans,
raging against the quiet of their smiles.
and she, she’s got that kindness,
a saintly grace that masks her inner riot.

I see her hand, steady and calm,
touch the bruised arm of a stranger,
offering solace in a world that’s cracked and cruel,
but i know, i see the way her fingers tremble
when no one’s looking.

She’s got a scream inside her chest,
a howl that’s been silenced by years
of being everyone’s anchor, everyone’s rock,
and god, if they only knew
the chaos she harbors in that gentle soul.

Kindness is her shield, her prison,
she wears it like a second skin,
and every night she drowns the echoes
of her own wild heart
in the bottom of a glass,
in the lights of empty shows.

She’s a warrior in a world that’s blind,
a poet in a town that’s deaf,
and me, i’m just another lass
watching the beautiful disaster of her life
unfold in the shadows of this bar.

We’re all broken, all haunted,
but the kind ones, the quiet ones,
they hold the fiercest storms,
and tonight, as the neon lights flicker,
I drink to her,
to the chaos behind her kindness,
to the beautiful, damned mess
she hides so well.

-G

Whiskey fueled ghosts.

You found solace in shadows, while I bled in the light.

Your absence carved a canyon, through the hollows of my nights.

I poured whiskey on old wounds, hoping numbness would replace you.

But your ghost danced in the smoke, every swirl, a reminder of our truth.

I tried to drown your memory, in the depths of neon-lit dives.

But your name echoed in the jukebox, each note a dagger in my side.

I set fire to our photographs, watched the ashes swirl away.

But your essence lingered in the flames and haunting every flicker, every sway.

You were the ache in my bones, the alcohol burning my throat.

Yet I crave your poison still, in this city where we once wrote.

-G

Me,the nuclear bomb.

Information after information.

Is my brain going to explode?

Like one of those nuclear bombs,

throbbing, ticking, ready to blow.

What if one of the codes

for my mind is in these books?

What if I snap?

How many will I take down as I go ?

Knowledge is a heavy load,

piling up, pushing me to the edge.

I read, I learn, I drown,

waiting for the spark, the fuse.

Maybe it’s all just noise,

a cacophony of thoughts and fears.

But what if there’s a trigger,

hidden in the words, waiting for me?

I keep reading, keep searching,

hoping I won’t find the key

that makes it all come crashing down,

a mind unleashed, a bomb set free.

-G

No harm done.

Don’t feel things you don’t feel for me
I’ve learned the trick
of burying mine for you—
deep in the backyard of my chest,
where weeds grow wild and thick.

I’ve seen what happens
when words are tossed carelessly,
like cigarette butts on a dry road,
a quick spark,
then ashes,
nothing more.

You want to paint the sky with promises
and hang the moon with your intentions.
But I’ve seen too many stars burn out
too soon.

I’ll take the silence of an empty room,
the hum of the fridge,
the tick of the clock,
over the roar of a love
that doesn’t fit.

So go on,
keep your feelings wrapped in pretty paper,
a gift never given.
And I’ll keep my heart
like an old book
on a dusty shelf,
closed,
waiting,
for the pages to turn themselves.

No harm done.
No harm at all.

-G

The bleeder.

The pain goes on.

The wound is sutured close.

Did I really ligate the inner bleeders?

I think I did not.

Now my words bleed, into my heart,

Reaching every part of what I am.

Someday, somebody will ligate those bleeding vessels gently

And my heart will know love and lilies will finally grow.

-G

ഭയം.

മറ്റൊരു മനുഷ്യനെ ഞാന്‍ വീണ്ടും വിശ്വസിക്കുമോ

എന്റെ കവിതകളുടെ ചൂടിൽ അവന് ജീവനേകാൻ?

മറ്റൊരു മനുഷ്യനെ ഞാന്‍ വീണ്ടും സ്നേഹിക്കുമോ

എന്റെ കഥകളിലെ സൂര്യനെയും

ചന്ദ്രനെയും നക്ഷത്രങ്ങളെയും അവനേകാൻ?

വിശ്വാസത്തിന്റെ നൂലാമാലകളിൽ വലയുമ്പോഴും,

മിഴികളിൽ കണ്ണീർ പൊഴിയുമ്പോഴും,

വിധിയോട് ആവർത്തിച്ച് ഞാന്‍ ചോദിച്ചു, “അവൻ‍ എന്നൊരുത്തൻ ഉണ്ടോ?

എങ്കിൽ അവൻ ആരാണ്?”

ഞാൻ അവനെ എന്നോടടുക്കാൻ അനുവദിക്കുമോ?

എന്റെ കവിതകളുടെ ഓരോ വരിയിലും ഞാൻ അവനെ സ്നേഹിച്ചു പോയാലോ?

വീണ്ടും അതൊരു അന്തത്തിൽ നിന്ന് തുടങ്ങുന്ന കഥകളിൽ ഒന്നായാലോ?

ആർക്കും വേണ്ടാത്ത സ്നേഹത്തിന്റെ വേവിൽ ഞാൻ ഇരിപ്പാണ്,

കൂട്ടിനു ഭയവും ചമ്രം മടിഞ്ഞു ഇരിക്കുന്നു.

ഉള്ളിൽ കെടാതെ കാത്ത തീ അണഞ്ഞു പോയിരിക്കുന്നു,

ഇനി എവിടെയാണ് കാഞ്ഞു പോയ വെളിച്ചം തേടേണ്ടത്?

മറ്റൊരു മനസ്സ്, മറ്റൊരു ആത്മാവ്

മറ്റൊരു സ്വപ്നം, മറ്റൊരു വിസ്മയം.

ഞാൻ മറ്റൊരാൾ ആകേണ്ടതായി വരുമോ?

മറ്റൊരു ആത്മാവിനെ ആവാഹിക്കേണ്ടതായി വരുമോ?

-G

നീ.

നീ എന്നതിന് അർത്ഥം ഇല്ലാതെ ആയിരിക്കുന്നു,

നീ എന്നത് എനിക്ക് ശൂന്യമായ എന്തോ ഒന്നായിരിക്കുന്നു,

പൊള്ളയായ ഒരു ഓർമ പോലെ,

കണ്ടു മറന്ന സ്വപ്നം പോലെ.

നീ ഒരു നിഴൽ മാത്രമായിരിക്കുന്നു,

വെളിച്ചത്തിൽ പോലും പുറത്ത് വരാൻ മടിക്കുന്ന ഒരു നിഴൽ.

ഓർമകളുടെ അന്തസ്സിൽ ഉറങ്ങുന്ന വെറും സ്വപ്നം.

ഹൃദയത്തിൽ കുറിച്ചിട്ട ചില നിമിഷങ്ങൾ,

ഇപ്പോൾ ഓർത്തെടുക്കാൻ കഴിയാതെയായി, ഒരു അസ്തിത്വമില്ലാ കഥ,

നിന്റെ ഉറപ്പുകൾ എല്ലാം മണൽകാറ്റ് പോലെ

ദൂരേക്കു മാറി മറഞ്ഞിരിക്കുന്നു.

നിന്റെ സ്പർശം, നിന്റെ ഹാസ്യം, നിന്റെ വാക്കുകൾ,

എല്ലാം ഇന്ന് ഒരു ഭ്രാന്തന്റെ പഴയ ഓർമകൾ പോലെ,

പകൽക്കനവിന്റെ അവസാന ജാതി പോലെ.

നീ ഇല്ലാതെ ഞാൻ പിറവിയെടുക്കുന്നു,

പൊള്ളയായ ഓർമ്മകൾക്കപ്പുറം, ഞാൻ വീണ്ടും സ്വപ്നം കാണുന്നു.

-G

Impure.

How am I the impure one?
Why doesn’t God want me
in his holy place?
Deemed unholy
for seven damn days.
Is it the blood that comes out of me that’s impure?
The same blood
that kept us alive
warm and safe
for ten long months?
The blood that made us who we are.
Why is a woman cast aside
when she bleeds?
Condemned by society’s hellish tales,
and the fools who still buy into them,
even in these so-called enlightened times.

-G

സ്വപ്നത്തിന്റെ ഒരറ്റം.

രണ്ട് സ്വപ്നജീവികൾ,

പരസ്പരം നിലാവിന്റെ വെളിച്ചം പകർന്ന രണ്ട് ആത്മാക്കൾ.

അവർക്കിടയിൽ ഒരു ആയിരം സ്വപ്നങ്ങൾ.

അവർ ആ സ്വപ്നങ്ങളെ ഒരു പട്ടത്തിൽ തുന്നി ചേർത്തു.

പട്ടത്തിന്റെ നൂലിനെ ചേർത്തു പിടിച്ചു അവർ നടന്നു.

സ്വപ്നങ്ങൾ മാത്രമായ നിമിഷങ്ങൾക്കരികിൽ അവർ പുഞ്ചിരിച്ചു.

എന്നാൽ, ഒരു ചുഴലികാറ്റ് ആഞ്ഞടിച്ചു

മുറുകെ പിടിച്ചിട്ടും, കാറ്റിന്റെ ഉഗ്രതയിൽ പട്ടം ദൂരേക്ക് പോയി മറഞ്ഞു.

നഷ്ടമായ സ്വപ്നത്തെ ഓർത്ത് അവരുടെ ഹൃദയം പിടഞ്ഞു.

മുറിഞ്ഞ കൈകളിൽ, മുറുകെ പിടിച്ച നൂലിന്റെ ഒരു ചെറു കഷ്ണം-

സ്വപ്നത്തിന്റെ ഒരു അറ്റം – ഓർമ്മകൾക്കും, പ്രതീക്ഷയ്ക്കും മാത്രം.

-G

Lost? Found?

I bumped into my ex —
Tallest damn person I ever knew,
Brown-eyed and those dimples,
Still there, like little secrets I used to tease.

Memories, they hit me like a goddamn hot spring.
He smiled, I smiled back.
We used to talk till dawn once,
Now, just awkward silence and coffee mugs staring back at us.

About to split, he says,
“You lost your smile. Seen it on Insta, on your cousin’s feed.”
Again, he says, “You really lost it. Find it again.”

As I steps out of that cafe, I keep wondering,

“Will I ever find it? My smile?”

-G

Stale connections.

Some people come with expiry dates,

you meet them fresh,

bright-eyed, full of promise,

like a new book on a shelf

with a crisp cover.

you open the first pages,

breathe in the scent of newness,

get lost in the story.

but time turns pages,

smudges words,

fades the ink.

they start to spoil,

their once sweet words

sour in your mouth,

their presence turns stale,

no longer nourishing.

you try to salvagewhat’s left,

scrape the mold

off the edges,

but it’s no use.

they go bad,

no shelf life,

not meant to last.

you toss them out,

another casualty

of the relentless passage

of days.

and you move on,

hoping the next one

will stay fresh a little longer,

knowing all the while

it’s a matter of time

before you’re back

to the same aisle,

looking for something new

to read.

-G

But where?

Where do you dwell within me,

That your presence haunts my every thought?

If you reside in my flesh, I’d carve it apart with the butcher’s blade,

Expose it to the cleansing downpour, To purge your lingering essence.

If you inhabit my eyes, I’d pierce them with needles,

Or bathe them in corrosive acid, To erase every trace of your image.

If you nestle in my ears, I’d go the way of Van Gogh,

And sever them to silence your whispers,

Or drill deep to drive you out.

If you lay claim to my tongue, I’d slice it from my mouth,

In radical surgery,

So your name never crosses my lips again.

If you hide within my bones, I’d cast them into molten fires,

Watch them liquefy in searing heat, To burn away your hold on me.

If you make your home in my lungs, I’d hold my breath until you suffocate,

Until your presence no longer steals my air.

If you inhabit my heart, I’d brew lethal concoctions of oleander,

To still its beating and drive you away, To free myself from your grip.

If you reside in my limbs, I’d amputate them piece by piece,

To ensure not a trace of you remains, Inch by painful inch.

If you settle in my stomach, I’d take a razor-sharp blade,

And perform harakiri willingly, to bleed you out from my core.

If you reside in my mind, I’d pull the trigger without hesitation,

Let the 0.9mm bullet do its work, to silence the relentless echo of you.

-G