Friday, January 20, 2017

#

#Wavy or #straight,
#Airblown or #just-out-of-shower-fresh. 
There’s no clue 
on what’s brewing within
on deceptively #goodhairdays.
#messy or #tied-up,
#unwell or #stressed
you’ll sparingly catch a glimpse
of these #justnotmydays. 
Copiously sprinkled 
with #everythingunderthesun hashtags; 
The windows offer an illusive preview; 
Hinting not on what awaits
behind those password locked doors.
Comment cautiously 
Or tap in your fade in and out hearts.
Unlike what Banksy’s Flower Thrower clutches;
She’s the real deal. She’s bottled-up rage. 
A Molotov cocktail.

Thursday, January 19, 2017

Puttu finds his purpose

Leaned over the balcony’s grill 
He gently blew into the wand’s circle; 
As he dipped into the tiny soap water bottle. 
Serially, out came soap water bubbles;
Tiny ones followed the big ones, bearing rainbows, brittle.


Some, gigantic; Burst before they descended.
The tiny ones would disappear just after they landed.
The ones that would delight the passersby by were all mid-sized.
With kids on the street, leaping up and clasping, the bubbles unarmed.
While grownups, popped them with their fingertips, once spotted. 


What joy he could spread with a little breath and some soap water?!
That moment was when he paused and his mind began to wander. 
He knew what he’d do when he grew up to be taller and stronger. 
A light bulb flashed over his head, and a neon sign appeared around with a glimmer. 
“Puttu’s Soap Water Bubble Bottle Factory” read the sign as he looked up in wonder.