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;