Saturday, June 28, 2014

Perhaps, you could relate to this

Oh! This plight, I’m sure
You could relate to.
A pursuit which you too
Might have set out on some time.
Looking ceaselessly all around.
Not glancing but glaring;
Like reading in between the lines.
Moving from one aisle to another.
Legs pacing, sluggishly as a snail
Eyes scanning, quicker than a silverfish;
Now, how I wish they had
a fragrance of their own.
Like the fish selling counter
in a busy market place.
Where, all you need to do is
Stick your nose up in the air.
And sniff your way through
To catch them without a bait.
More importantly, without any intervention
From any no-brainer Sales Person.
However, this ordeal continued for a few minutes
Till I read the placard placed right above the shelf.
Perhaps this spot, ideally
should have been marked with an X.
Though not a treasure trove,
It lay at the end of a maze;
Stuffed between Biographies and Fiction.
With Cookbooks eating into its shelf space
And Travel guides ending up there in a pile
after they lost their way.
Here they were, like the last few of an extinct species;
Living in a secluded space of just three shelves.
On one Shakespeare’s Sonnets lay by Wordsworth’s Collection,
Next to Burns, Dickinson, Blake and Tennyson’s works;
Beneath them were a few prints of Gibran, Bronte, Poe and Blake,
All in deep contemplation, one behind the other, stood in that order.
Tagore, Ramanujam, Bendre and Kuvempu
Were on a separate shelf as they were Indians by origin.
And of course, a few new poets form here and there, shrink wrapped
Hung around, with not much space, beside Seth’s Golden Gate.
Now, don’t abhor me if I’ve missed any of your favourites.
This is just an account of my exploration.
Oh! This plight, I’m sure
You could relate to.
If you had ever been on a pursuit
to find poetry books in a bookstore.
Maybe, you should give it a try if you haven’t.
You’ll concur that it’s easier
To find a muse and converge them into words
Than the former.
Or I’ll just leave this question open
To get your personal opinion.


She pieced the puzzle together,
Moving the jig into the saw;
One piece after another
Making whole, the fallen apart.

A tune played in her head, sombre.
The clock played the rhythm, on par;
Tock followed tick in perfect measure.
Her eyes and sleep, lay poles apart.

Puzzle solved, picture complete.
Before the tune could almost end with the night.
Her want to meander took over the need to arrive.  
She scrambled to start all over from scratch.

Saturday, June 07, 2014

bon appétit

Dinner served.
Wine poured.
Bread broken
Alongside silence;

Salt shaken,
Pepper sprinkled,
Steak sliced;
Rhythmic respite.

Cling, clang
Crockery chatter.
Swiped glances
Tongue-tied, banter:

Chomp, slurp
Sniff, sip;
Interrupted, often.
Monosyllabic exchange.

Fork, knife;
Laid together.
5 ‘o Clock, platter.
Tomorrow; repeat.