Friday, November 28, 2008

Weather Report

The weather’s triggering chaos all over the place.
Yet I’m beginning to love every move it makes.
Imagine the gloomy mushroom like umbrella
Turning inside out to look like a blooming blossom over your head.

Listening to the wind howl
As it goes window shopping outside the room.
Even a light drizzles gets swept off its feet
By the suave yet burly breeze.

Rainwater puddles making themselves cozy in potholes.
Frogs singing to the wind’s tune
And raindrops’ rhythm,
Despite their poor, sore throat.

Dogs look sleek with their gelled hairdo
And crows sporting a spiked up look.
Trees stand tall refreshed
And green after a cool shower.

There’s so much more to say, I’ve in fact left out a lot;
Will continue with some more whenever I’m back.
For now, I’m off to peer into the world
Through the raindrops that cling to the clothesline on my terrace.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Pick of the day

A walk down to the corner shop
Under the scorching midday sun.
Sweat trickling down the forehead;
On a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Three bloody, extra ripe tomatoes,
Small sachets of red chilly, turmeric and cilantro powder.
Oil, jaded green chilies and two tear jerking onions
And to garnish some curry leaves and coriander.

A glass of cold water to quench the thirst
After returning home.
Some music in the background
To set the right mood.

A stainless steel knife, chopping board
Non-stick pan and a hot plate that’s turned on.
First the oil and then onions slither down the teflon,
Curry leaves and powders follow as they turn golden brown.

Moment of silence for the slain tomatoes,
Then everything goes in with lil water.
Stirring them well with a spork the aroma escapes.
Dash of salt and coriander. Tomato Curry's ready to be served.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

The Dark Maiden

Lend your ears to my humble plea. Don’t just read;
Not many passersby really pay heed.
They simply roll their iris from left to right.
Till it’s time for them to leave.

Here I am, imprisoned in a towering wooden fortress.
Arm yourself with the twin edged sword of skill.
Put on your armor of intellect
And march forth, oh! gallant soul, and liberate me.

Tear these walls down;
Hold me by your hand.
Take me to your world.
And unleash the words that are caged within.

Take charge and guide me;
Lead me with your wisdom’s beacon.
Let me be the medium
To converge your expressions;

I’ll be your spear.
Now, take aim and shoot your point of view.
I’ll be your envoy to echo those silent thoughts,
That reside in the abyss of your psyche’s labyrinth.

Strengthen me with slogans of courage.
Make me yours with verses of love.
Don’t let me die an ill-fated virgin’s death;
Make me your thoughts’ eternal soul mate.

Mend me with your words of solace,
Sharpen me with your vivid inspiring thoughts.
Let me live even after I die,
Through those immortal words of yours.

Give my existence a purpose.
Don’t let me be what I am right now.
Help me reach my destiny
Set me free and take me along.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Puttu and Chethi

Sliding the big bolt of an old green gate,
He stood on the lowest grill and pushed himself in.
Sliding smoothly he moved forth with a creaking noise,
Jumping off that rail he ran towards the doorbell.

He jumped as high as he could and struck the doorbell switch.
Ammamma closed the gate and walked in after him.
Once. Twice. Thrice. The bell rang and the door opened bit by bit.
A smile with a pair of teeth peeping out welcomed them.

Puttu was excited to see his cousin Chethi after a long time.
He was surprised to see Puttu standing at the door.
He rushed in and they both jumped in joy.
It was summer so they knew they’d spend the entire day, together.

They both ran to the showcase without wasting any time.
Chethi was totally thrilled to show his Christmas gift, the toy plane.
That very moment Puttu tried reaching it but the plane soared high.
With eyes and mouth wide open he saw it fly in Chethi’s hand.

Smoothly it landed back in the showcase,
That instant Puttu snatched it and ran holding it up.
Chethi chased him till they reached the terrace.
Tired and breathing heavily they gave up and settled on the stone bench.

The next plan was to make paper planes and set it on flight.
Hunting down red ants and dropping them in empty jam jars,
Then building a home for frogs with leftover bricks in the backyard;
And bursting that box of crackers from last Diwali was also on their agenda.

Summer was their best time of the year.
Time was what belonged to that old clock that hanged on the wall.
The world moved at their pace and at times it would even wait.
They had no plans nor did they rush for absolutely anything at all.

They had all the time in the world to while away.
Little did they know that this season, once gone, would never return;
Parallel lives and geographical boundaries would tear them apart.
Maybe, deep down, they already knew that tomorrow’s ignorance is today’s bliss.