Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Weird Winter Wish

This winter is weird,
As it kindles desires, odd.
It makes your palms
To crave, to be clasped.
Instead of facing a furnace.
Or slide into a pair
of woollen gloves.
Your cold shoulders
Yearn for a warm hug
Instead of a pullover
Or a snug cashmere rug.
And your lips
Seek another pair.
To seal the warmth;
Rather than finding comfort
With a brimful of hot chocolate.
This winter is weird indeed.
But it also kindles a desire
Not so odd.
And that’s the wish
Of being with you;
In many more winters to come.

Monday, December 19, 2011

icebreaker


With just an inch 
in between
He counted 
those minute lines
on her lips;
Like a Prisoner
Counting the bars;
Imprisoned 
in anticipation.
And as those lips locked, 
He tasted freedom
in breathlessness.

Friday, December 16, 2011

the closed book?

Leaning against the big bookrack
She saw his message on her palm.
And her face wore a myriad of expressions.
That instant, behind her, commotion brewed.
Unable to find the right words to define.
A few pages flipped over and over again.
The thesaurus jumped off the top most shelf
And lay on its back with a broken spine.
While the lone dictionary leapt,
In vain, to drown itself in the nearby fish bow
l.

Wednesday, December 07, 2011

building the rainbow bridge


This was an awkward moment, indeed,
When they felt they had almost parted ways.
The barrenness of the land
Gave way to the vastness of the sky.
Now they were on two parallels
That stretched to no end.
In fact, even the horizon
Wasn’t clearly in sight.
The earth rumbled, and
the dunes of sand
Were churned by the wind.
The sky turned pale
And its clouds grew dark.
A retort to the silent earth’s remark.
The thunder rolled with its drum roll.
And the lightning sped ahead, making way.
The war was on and the arrows rained.
It went on till the sun rose, covering its head.
They say, it’s calm before the storm.
But here life returned to normal after the battle.
The earth opened up
And wore a green stubble.
The blue sky gazed coyly
Through the veil of pristine clouds.
The nothingness in between
Was now filled with serenity.
The horizon was at eye’s reach in full glory.
The tryst seemed like it was destined.
For rainbow bridges can’t be built
Without the cornerstones of thunderstorms.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Walking backward

Placed on an over-bed table, before him, along with a razor,
Shaving cream, brush, cologne and water;
Reclined on his bed’s head
He sat in his ward staring into a postcard sized mirror;

Just then a hand reached for the after shave,
And splashed it onto the other.
Smearing it on both the palms, soft and tender,
It cupped his face and soothed the burn after the shave.

His eyes were clouded with remorse
But his poker face looked unmoved;
Just a cringe and it could have let gone
The brimming tears off his soul’s windows.

The echo of a thunderous slap, replayed in his mind
And travelled from his left ear to the right.
Instantly, he turned away from his reflection,
Reminiscing a day of summer from the sepia past.

He thought of that day she had returned home late.
And how he was red by his neighbours’ tittle-tattle tales;
That’s when his face resembled a plugged in toaster
Smoking from the top and about to pop.

Without a question raised or an answer received,
He traded a slap and a miserable choice of words for her tears.
All this rumpus just between the gate and the door
Even before she could cross the threshold.

After that day they neither spoke nor glimpsed.
He only saw her through the spyglass’ eyes.
While she couldn’t give up the image of him she had.
Always and to time’s end her hero he was.

The wall’s paint faded and the calendars changed.
The distance between them also got farther by the years.
Finally, she left home as she found another shoulder for comfort.
Committed and content, she was now, with a soul mate and a toddler.

But today, she was back.
To repay, her good old doting father.
Wiping the past off the stained slate
She was here to make nice.

While he was bedridden at start;
She ensured he, once again, was on his feet
Serving him day and night
She gave him the love she sparely got.

This moment, in search of pardon,
He looked within the four walls of his ward.
The door creaked and slowly swung open
And his granddaughter entered with his son in law.

He lifted his hands and brought her close.
With drooling lips she blabbered in her own tongue.
Sputtered and kicked him pitilessly on his chest;
And he realized, that instant, he had been redeemed.

Just when his daughter patted his cloak
And took the dust of her daughter’s squeaky shoes.
He cupped her hand with both of his.
Taking them closer, he appealed for her forgiveness.

Now, these were some thoughts from his life’s lessons
Which he clearly reflected upon.
Firstly, he learnt that a daughter,
Someday, might return as your mother.

Secondly, the fruits of assumption,
Indeed, were tart than that of wrath he thought.
Now he felt he was a wise and learned man
Who graduated from being a father to a son.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Sweet Acquaintance

On a morn served chill.
She sat at the edge
Of a stone bench;
With her feet drowned
In a shallow ocean of green lawn.
She wore a blush of demure
As she gripped
A few dew studded blades
Between her toes.
Her hands clenched the cold slab
Beneath her warm and gentle palms.
Her gaze was now glued to gravity
While her thoughts wandered defying everything.
Of the earth’s 25 seasons and 25 revolutions
Which she had witnessed and grown in;
This winter’s arrival in particular
Was so unlike the others.

Tuesday, November 01, 2011

Cloud 9

She lay hugging her pillow tight.
And the pillow said to itself;
"Once, I'd dreamt to be a cloud.
Now, I am one in the seventh heaven."

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Indulgence


With both hands
clasped gently around.
Not too soft
Neither hard.
Without a squeeze
or knead.
The thumb’s nail pierced
into the swirl on the head;
Making its way,
A little before the pulp,
slowly.
Holding the hem
between the finger tips.
With her gaze fixed.
And her face at a close distance.
Thus, began
the undressing.
Peeling off the inhibition.
Unclothing
what was within.
Amid a light spray of freshness;
Like the sea breeze
On the sandy shore.
She looked with one eye closed
Not because she felt coy;
But just to avoid the burn.
Now the magic potion
Dripped and flowed
To her elbow.
Lips lay coated
sweet and sour.
A tinge of tang
Teased and tickled
Her taste buds.
With the pip,
the peel lay spiraled.
The pulp
attained salvation.
And she cleansed
her hands;
Feeling content
after indulgence.

Saturday, August 06, 2011

Read between the lines

Her toes curled, in response;
Like a touch-me-not plant
Under the drizzle's influence.
As she felt his palm
Cradle her heel.
And his pointer finger
Read the lines
On her tender sole.

Monday, August 01, 2011

Stubbed Monday Sun


She heard the sun rise
One blue morn;
In the shrill noise
Of her timepiece’s alarm.

Into a cloud, with her toe,
She stubbed the week’s very first sun;
With the soft click
Of the tiny steel snooze button;

Image courtesy: http://www.flickr.com/photos/scribblerzeye

Monday, July 25, 2011

One eyed sky


And the one eyed sky
Gazed at the earth,
Without fluttering,
Its eye lashes;
Holding its gaze,
Still,
For a while;



Image Courtesy: Ash - http://ashwathy.blogspot.com/

Monday, July 18, 2011

Nativity

Clad in an ashen veil
Towards her destiny she drifted slowly;
She trod the path
The winds had laid before her.
To lighten the responsibility
She had borne in her womb;


The fallen, barren cradle
Awaited her arrival.
With its gaze towards the blue,
Pouting the uneven cracks;
Its parched lips, longed,
For the reign of her offspring.


A virgin once, in pristine white.
Now jaded and faded
With a mission at hand.
The Mother of a Deliverer
Wept in joy. The pregnant cloud
Gave earth its Saviour.

Friday, July 08, 2011

Better 1/2

He sipped from the saucer
While she drank from the cup;
Life, like coffee tasted better
When enjoyed, one by two;

Monday, June 13, 2011

Quick Love Chronicle

They were destined to meet some day
Just for one short instant.
They were born to meet this way
Though their origins were distant;


One fine evening, amid a misty plane.
Poised, the White Knight came forth and embraced.
The lean Princess arose with a tiara aflame.
And their lips met for a scarlet exchange.


Flares of passion flew as she was sparked.
He burnt along as he surrendered to her charm;
For a second or two, and she was done and gone.
But in her loving memory to smithereens he turned.


In a while, he too laid his life.
And their immortal selves arose, entwined, up in smoke.
Here ends the quick love chronicle
Of a matchstick and tobacco rolled in paper.

Tuesday, June 07, 2011

Ammamma's Big Bag of Cheer

With little hands clenching the iron grill
And head sticking out through the narrow opening;
He would look down from the second floor
At the tapered lane which lay right before his door.

When a prominent image would appear across the bend.
It grew taller and bigger as it neared his residence.
A smile would take a sneak peek over his lips;
As he looked keenly towards the road’s end.

Neatly groomed hair, tied into a bun and sprinkled with grays.
Draped in a cotton saree with prints of vivid asters.
She wore black slippers with frayed heels at the edges.
And a big, cream leather bag swung to and fro from her right shoulder.

The leather bag was Puttu’s bottomless treasure chest.
A Pandora’s Box with more than just hope hidden in it.
More valuable than gold, myrrh or frankincense.
A gift without a gift wrap; that packed in it everything and anything

A metal zipper held the bag’s big belly together.
And an adjustable strap let it cling onto his dear Ammamma’s shoulder.
It had a secret pouch without a password hidden in the center.
And two mid-sized sections, on either side, with velcro flappers.

When pulled open he could almost put his half-self into it.
It gave away the fragrance of peanuts, cold cream and talcum powder.
With it came a few hair clips and safety pins as standard;
Along with a ball pen, a bank passbook and a pair of bifocal spectacles.

For packs of gems, jellybeans, coconut burfi or chikkies;
The bag was a guest house, where they hung out in any season.
And in summer, even without a thermostat, it was an igloo
For Gold Spot, Torino or ice candies till it reached the refrigerator.

With no tricks but only treats was his Ammamma’s leather bag,
Which could even make a Magician inferior of his skill and knack.
Puttu might not have pulled a rabbit out off this aka magical hat;
But even without saying abracadabra, what he wished is what he got.

That day in particular there was nothing special.
Ammamma entered his house and Puttu ran towards her.
He helped her take the big bag of cheer off her shoulder.
And set in on the the nearby teapoy.

With elbows on the wooden plane and palms under his chin,
He sat before it on the diwan with his gazes fixed.
Surprisingly, without opening the bag, he stared,
He contemplated, and he looked up and said...

"Oh Ammamma! How I hope one day
I could also do so much with my school bag.
For now, it only carries loads and loads of books and books.
But I pray it will grow up to become a bag like yours someday."

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

fall and rise

Nature plays back
What you want to listen.
It gets incisive at times
When it plays games
With an addled mind.

He found himself
At the dead end one night.
Perched on the land’s edge
He stood by the sea.
To touch the water’s rock bottom;
In an attempt to leap.

The waves roared
Perishhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…
And hissed as they faded.
Their foamed form
Tried to brush his toes.
Their hands reached out
And tried to clasp his ankles;
But their fists slipped,
Like fluid mercury,
over and over again.

Welcoming, was the vastness
With horizontal streaks of white
Washing ashore
And gleaming under the moon.
As though an escalator
That descended to the abyss
Was laid down from the sea’s floor.

Better, seemed the path ahead
Than the land to which his shadow
Clung onto behind.
Just when he put his right leg forward,
The sand caught a firm hold of his heel.
He sank as it pulled him slowly.
A brawny tide lashed against his face
And swept him off his other foot.

The struggle to survive
Sparked from his instinct.
He flipped around
And looked for something to grab on.
How he wished, his last,
That his shadow could come alive.
Lend him a hand
And pull him back to life.
Back to certainty.

The resistance continued
With every wave dragging him in.
He cursed and cussed himself
As there was no one there to blame or aid.
Just when he let go off himself
And surrendered
To the dragging wave militia
With his arms up in the air.
Another tide high and burly
Gave him a push out of the saline grave.

The constellations faded bit by bit.
And the moon now lay
Nestled in the west;
As he rose with the sun on his face.
He realized he had lived to tell a tale
Another day with another life.

Now, nature played another game
To incite this jaded yet enlightened mind.
He found himself
At the daybreak of a new start.
As he walked ahead
Towards his land
Leaving the sea behind.
The waves echoed
Persisssssssssssssssssssssssttt…
As they rose and fell time and again.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

pink heist

Standing at the balcony
With the wind caressing her face.
And that bunch of carnations drooped towards her
As she clasped them against her breasts.
Pecking her lips, and blushing
Stealing the pink slyly from her lips.
She adored their beauty, unknowingly,
Though they had plotted a heist under her spell.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Puttu bakes for a Holiday

Half past ten, on a Sunday night
Puttu looked out of his bedroom window.
Spotless, like his clean slate, was the sky.
To call Monday a holiday there wasn’t a single sign.

Off he slipped into sleep; on his secret mission.
Now in his dreamland he got busy in an instant.
Kneading, punching and beating, he swiftly rolled
The pristine white flour into a big ball of ashen dough.

Sprinkled some water and iced it with a silver lining.
He pushed some buttons and let it puff in an oven.
The alarm went off and he rubbed his eyes twice.
Now he woke up in his bed with a gigantic, dark cloud in sight;

Thursday, April 21, 2011

First few circles of past




Result of a futile math test, when in junior school.
Taking laps around the school ground, punished for dirty shoes.
First sight of a felled, old tree’s face, looking up to the blue.
Tear inducing onion rings, on a wooden chopping board.
Slice of lime afloat on iced tea that spilt on my first ever trouser.
The failure of the earliest kite launch without its indispensible tail.
Ink blots sputtered on my white shirt, the day before summer vacation.
All of these green memories are fast forgotten
When I reminisce the first ever time;
She puffed the speck of dust
Off my eye. With her lips curled
Into a crimson circle.

Full Circle


Emptying the half full bottle
He fills up his half empty soul.
He thinks the world has lost its balance
And every night, only he walks upright, back home.

Secretly talking to his inner self out loud
Thinking aloud about the people around.
He wakes up the silent lanes with his qualms.
And wails in accord with the canines’ alto howls.

He trips at his doorstep, and stumbles over his tongue.
Wretched, in his wife’s iris he stands, framed into a frail reflection.
With his palm over her head he vows, seeking redemption.
Only to come a full circle, the next day, once again.

Monday, April 11, 2011

At first sight

A gentle, warm touch.
And off went the wake-up call,
Sending a buzz down their nerves.
Love and lust awoke
In that same uneven bed.
On the morning after
Their one night stand.
The snooze button may be damned
They thought.
Her palms faced his
While they both kneeled.
Fingers interlocked,
As they inched closer.
Their breath mingled,
But lips went dry,
In wait,
For a catalytic kiss.
Clothing their quasi nudity with strips of a beam,
The 7 a.m. sun peered
Through a tattered tarpaulin shade.
Seldom was he woken up by such a sight
He rubbed his eyes, so that brighter, it may shine.
Just then a fluffy, piece of cloud
Blanketed him, leaving him dazed
And dunked him back to slumber.
Silence stood at the end of the lane
On its toes;
Waiting for a signal
To take leave.
The fragile sound of her lips parting
Gave a clarion call to advance.
Softly touching her parted lips
He closed in and she took the leap.
Hands went busy
Embracing and exploring.
Bodies entwined
As they rose above their knees.
Like two, felled logs of timber
They fell
And rolled between the remains.



Kisses adorned her neckline,
His fleshy, oral fiend
Went in circles, curved and teased
Her perky twins.
And those lips decided to go further deep.
While moans and groans escaped often,
between every sigh and hiss,
And echoed through the empty lane.
She held his head and thrust him downhill
As his hands cupped her other pair of cheeks.
Unable to bear his wanderlust
Both her hands reached above her head.
She held onto the metal railings by the sidewalk
Beside the parched rainwater drain.
She arched like a rainbow
At the end of passion creak and exhaled.
But he lay immersed
As every wave lashed against his face.
Stripping off their cloaks of reticence,
Indulged in a brackish lagoon of bliss,
Wasted; now they lay.
Now, the sun had bribed the wind,
To catch a glimpse of the adolescent play.
With a strong waft,
the wind pushed the cloud off bay.
As the sun’s warmth dawned on their skin
They woke up from the piles of rags
And flattened cardboard boxes beneath them.
The blind duo, sheer vagrants
Who met by chance the previous night.
Parted their separate ways
From the narrow lane behind the old slum;
Where some blighted souls find
The far-flung,
Vertical horizon of pleasure.
In a normal world
Where some are blinded by lust
And think they’ve found their way to love
At first sight.
Here is a pair of sightless mortals
Who first found lust;
Now let’s hope, their sighting of love
Will follow next.