Scribble Pad

United. Apart.

2012-02-05T23:51:00.000+05:30

Early summer night;

In distant lands.

Away,

Apart.

Yet, united

by a moon over head.

And the after taste

of our first kiss.

The Chronicle of Parallels

2012-01-19T03:13:00.001+05:30

The moon had just then taken the exit

After returning its borrowed glow from last night.

The sun reclaimed his stance now and gleamed

Keeping the world from going blind.

That instant, on the banks of still waters,

Under an old silver oak, he sat, on dry leaves.

Skillfully woven and built with the choicest twigs

He had made his bed of fall and rise.

Alongside, from the pond’s surface arose,

A total contrast of what he was.

An ephemeral being who had waited all along

Budding slowly beneath the surface for this dawn;

She freed herself and flapped her short wings.

Nudged by the breeze to the right and then to the left.

She got the hang of flying as she glided in a bit.

Swiftly over the pond she dashed and escaped the preying fish.

Now onto the banks, she flew so swift that she almost crashed.

But somehow came to a halt by trying not to screech.

Face to face they stared right into each other’s eyes.

The eternal Phoenix and the ephemeral Mayfly.

The moment lasted for not more than a minute, perhaps;

They simply glanced at each other.

The poised Phoenix batted its eyelids

And the Mayfly, winked and scooted minding its own business.

With its telescopic eyes from afar,

Watched the Owl and archived this occurrence.

And in its own words it said “This faceoff was extremely rare.

Maybe, just once in my entire lifetime.”

“And as for you, like every other fool on earth,

You assumed it was love at first sight. But, NO!” it wrote and chortled.

“The Phoenix went ablaze to rise again from the ashes.

The Mayfly didn’t stop and stare; she went about living every moment.”

Finally, before the old wise Owl took the quill off its chronicles.

These were the last two lines it scribbled before it decided to put a period.

“While one prepared wisely to end and make a new beginning,

The other soared in glee to begin a worthy ending.”

IllumiNight

2012-01-17T16:26:00.001+05:30

Courtesy: scribblerzeye

Dim that light over your head.
Come over, get closer
And blindfold my eyes;
Open up, bloom
Enlighten me slowly.
Let me read you
between every line.
Together, let’s kill
The stark darkness
With neon
Shades of passion.

Weird Winter Wish

2011-12-28T21:21:00.003+05:30

Thiswinter 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.

icebreaker

2011-12-19T21:53:00.000+05:30

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.

the closed book?

2011-12-16T01:39:00.000+05:30

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 bowl.

building the rainbow bridge

2011-12-07T01:30:00.004+05:30

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 lightening 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 after the storm.
But here life returned to normal after the battle.
The earth opened up
And wore the 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.

Walking backward

2011-11-24T01:29:00.000+05:30

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.

Sweet Acquaintance

2011-11-11T02:03:00.001+05:30

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.

Cloud 9

2011-11-01T03:09:00.000+05:30

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."

Indulgence

2011-10-15T11:08:00.001+05:30

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.

Read between the lines

2011-08-06T17:41:00.000+05:30

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.

Stubbed Monday Sun

2011-08-01T00:44:00.000+05:30

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

One eyed sky

2011-07-25T11:53:00.000+05:30

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/

Nativity

2011-07-18T19:07:00.000+05:30

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.

Better 1/2

2011-07-08T18:14:00.000+05:30

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

Quick Love Chronicle

2011-06-13T02:52:00.001+05:30

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.

Ammamma's Big Bag of Cheer

2011-06-07T18:16:00.001+05:30

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."

fall and rise

2011-05-25T23:03:00.000+05:30

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.

pink heist

2011-05-24T10:36:00.000+05:30

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.

Puttu bakes for a Holiday

2011-05-17T15:39:00.000+05:30

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;

First few circles of past

2011-04-21T17:41:00.000+05:30

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

2011-04-21T17:38:00.001+05:30

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.

At first sight

2011-04-11T10:40:00.000+05:30

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.

When Chethi and Puttu had a blast

2010-11-12T18:46:00.000+05:30

An eraser-head pencil with a broken lead
Rested between a checkered math notebook;
And Puttu sat at his Mom’s old wooden desk,
Which he inherited, along with a broken hinge.

The sharpener looked wasted inside the pencil box’s corner.
He thoroughly enjoyed the break as he gawked out of the window.
The sky shone like a blackboard with vivid chalk dandelions
As rockets exploded and turned the stars little and obscure.

He winced, once in a while, when there was a loud explosion.
A tiny grin sparked on his face as he remembered something.
Just last year he graduated from sparklers, snake tabs and cape guns.
And at Chethi’s backyard waited a mighty celebration the next morning.

A novice he still was with bijili, atom and nitrogen bombs.
He took to his feet after lighting them with an incense stick, extra long.
He stopped only after crossing a milestone or hearing the loud explosion.
But he ran back into the cloud of smoke to break the circle in ascension.

He learnt a few tricks from his Uncles at Ammamma’s place
And of course, the pyrotechnic experts, Chethi and Santosh.
Gradually, he became an expert by the end of that season.
The mile-length distance shrunk, yet he plugged his ears with fingers.

This year, sky high, rocketed his expectations
As Dad had gifted him a jumbo box full of ammo.
The next day he packed his bag and left on his mission.
Escorted by Ammamma to Chethi’s house in a black and yellow auto.

They reached the house at Ranoji Rao Road
And Off went Ramani Aunty and Ammamma on their jabber express.
With sweat on the brows and silver dust on their palms,
Chethi and Puttu emerged at the backyard and off went war’s clarion.

A few bugs and pests (may God bless their souls) involuntarily became martyrs.
And used Torino and Goldspot bottles doubled as rocket launchers.
The red ant and termite hills turned into volcanoes.
Old paint tins flew skywards like oil barrels.

A bed of sand became a minefield
After they planted some bombs here and there.
Some got launched into midair as Puttu lit the fire
And Chethi swept them with a broom, off the terrace.

The backyard lay masked in paper shreds and smoke.
And their hands almost reached the bag’s bottom.
Washing their hands they sat down to take stock
Now all that remained were a box of nitrogen bombs.

Chethi offered him some orange cream biscuits.
They called for ceasefire and took a short break.
Puttu only licked the cream on either sides
And put the biscuits back in the pack, intact.

Finally, they got to bursting the crackers again.
Together, the geniuses came up with an idea for a mega finish.
They wanted to end the battle just the way it began.
They lit an incense stick and tied it to the last bomb’s wick.

They hid the time bomb under an old paint tin
And kept it before their house on the opposite side walk.
They waited for almost an hour behind the green gate, hiding,
To see which scapegoat will have his heart between the teeth.

But alas, it was lunchtime now. Quarter past two.
“Quickly wash your hands” said Aunt, “Eat before the food gets cold.”
Now Ramani Aunty and Ammamma stood right behind them
As their express had stopped midway for some fuel and food.

Halfheartedly the boys sat and food was served.
Hastily they ate to know the time bomb’s fate.
But apparently, till they finished the dessert;
The meal wasn’t complete and they just couldn’t scoot.

Enter Akki Payasa from the kitchen, two bowls full.
Hot, sweet-smelling and sure to leave one asking for more.
A spoonful they both scooped together and blew.
Cooling it down to grab a quick bite and run for the door.

Little did they know, in its taste they'll be lost.
Now with an indulgent smile at each other they looked.
They took the hot bowl in their hand and went for another scoop.
Their shirts relished the rest as the bomb outside went “Boom!”

28 Septembers

2010-09-07T19:39:00.000+05:30

Stuck in the middle,
At the doorstep.
On one leg
I
stand, thinking;
While the other leg’s busy
Making up its mind,
Which side to take faith’s leap.

They say
maturity comes with age.
Well, I know not wise men;
If you’re reading this,
Try to read my lips,
I’d say
it’s something more apt
for whisky or wine.

To me,
Maturity is attained
Only when you’re
childlike again.
Perhaps,
it’s now.
Or it will be
when I’m gray.

I’ve travelled
28 Septembers so far.
I no longer am
Who I used to be.
And I am yet to become
Who I ought to be.
Now I set my foot forward
For I’m on a journey
To return to me.

The Legend of the Ink Warrior

2010-08-11T22:20:00.000+05:30

The first time ever
He graduated from pencil on paper
To the messy ink saber
Puttu was still a schoolboy, studying in class four

A favorite pastime back then
Was to splatter ink and play often
Make several folds till you see a weird pattern
Mostly, bizarre creatures or some forms from imagination

Whales splashed on either sides flipping their tails
Pecking on the same bark sat a pair of Woodpeckers
Stallions appeared on their two feet, always
At every fold the demons got more horns on their heads

He would spend all the ink and time he got
Folding the page in and out
Connecting those distant, scattered dots
He framed stories out of patterns and made his own plots

He had fun making sense out of mess
No clue had he of any Rorschach test or butterfly effect
All he knew was to splash ink and make a few folds
The very moment his very own world would unfold

Many times, it would leave him with an empty pot
Which, Dad and Mom, in the beginning thought
Puttu at school had to write a lot
Until they found in his bag, last pages of books with inkblots

That fateful day, by his folks, he was cornered
Stretching his steel forth, the warrior finally surrendered
A replacement, he did get after an hour
But now the emperor’s game was over

He made a few skillful moves
But he himself wasn’t impressed
Not even a single drop
From this new rapier, bled

“What mighty is a warrior or a sword
that does not shed a drop of blood?
Oh what a plight!”
He thought to himself

Now he stood there, staring
Scratching his head
As he clenched
The new godforsaken ballpoint pen

amaranthine

2010-07-19T18:44:00.000+05:30

The last drop of a drink
That quenches the thirst for a while.
The last piece of jigsaw
That makes the puzzle complete.
The last withered leaf
To kiss the tree’s feet.
The last raindrop
To vanish under the sun's heat.
The last sweep of crumbs
On a plate in between.
The last page on a book
That turned into a paper plane.
The last step to make it across
That finish line.
The last handshake
Before you bid goodbye.
The last kiss you share
Before you part ways.
The last heaves of breath
Before you, finally, leave.
The last fistful of earth
To be emptied into the grave.
The last line of this scribble
That you think is the conclusion.
The last time you might feel
That there’s nothing beyond the end.

Nascency

2010-07-01T21:40:00.000+05:30

At the end of month nine,
A miracle rocked slowly
In a cradle beside.
In awe, the infant mother
Slept not a wink that night

Unknot

2010-06-26T22:23:00.000+05:30

I'm untying my shoelace
To slip my old shoes off.
With a tired soul, and a worn out sole,
I'm getting ready to take the faith leap.
At the doorstep of a new beginning,
I'll be dusting off my Achilles' heel.
I'll humbly wait
On the mark for the gun.
I'd be up on my feet
Once the countdown ends;
For a free run of no return.

hush now.

2010-06-10T20:41:00.000+05:30

How strange and vile is this damned silence;
It pushes your imagination
To travel in all directions, four.
Brings your loved ones closer,
By thought.
And finds those memories of lost love
Whether you’ve made an attempt to search or not.
It seems they’re all at your arm’s reach
Though they exist afar.
It makes you wonder
Every other silent second;
If someone is also thinking,
Of you,
Right now.
Toying around
With your brittle faith
As though it’s its voodoo doll.
Hush… Hush… Hush…
Hush...
Hush now.
Don’t say a word or dare to think aloud.
Hold your breath or don’t breathe too hard
You’ll know exactly, what I’m talking about.

“________________________________”

2010-05-26T20:11:00.000+05:30

That sudden silence
between
conversations.
An abrupt minute
between
those hours.
It's when there's
nothing much to exchange.
A void from nowhere breaks in,
And you can almost hear:
The stirring spoon,
The drone of the air conditioning,
The soft clicks
on the keypad
while someone messages
from the table behind,
And the clash of a plate
falling flat on its face
at a distance.

You only then notice:
Your nails need to be clipped,
A spello
on the Cafe's tent card;
The ceiling turns
into a masterpiece,
Which you gaze at,
and admire.
You want to talk some more
yet the topic feels tired,
and it wants to retire.

This silence is like
that last piece of
chocolate chip cookie;
Left, in between,
on a white ceramic plate.
For once,
you want to bite in
and indulge.
But you fear reaching,
For it might just
finish that instant.
While on the other side,
You don’t want to
leave it untouched.
It just tempts you
And yearns for your attention;

You clear your throat,
and utter a word.
Coincidentally,
there’s a word
from the one before you;
Clashing with yours
at the same time.
A demure exchange of smiles.
There’s silence once again.

Now will you reach for the cookie?
Or, will you keep on?

Napkin Notes V

2010-05-24T23:13:00.000+05:30

Summer rain, incessant
The spirit waded through knee deep water
Looking fresh and crisp

Summer night heist
Martyr, a loyal lock. Convict, a confederate hammer
Loot, years of sleepless nights

Summer noon. Hot tarmac
Bare feet on the run. Rests on the drenched lawn.
Bodies lie down facing skywards, holding hands

Rainy night.Salad days
An orchid bloomed in its sixteenth summer
Amid the aroma of wet soil, in his company

Summer night. Lost
A bee buzzes around a glass jar of honey
A feast for only its eyes

Napkin Notes IV

2010-04-21T22:13:00.000+05:30

Dark Continent. Arid noon
The predators’ fast, the preys’ faster
Pride given up pursuing the herd

In April, a train of clouds
Summered at the horizon
In wait of the next season

In summer, a trail of mountains
Shed their caps and bared their heads
Under the scorching sun

Summer night, satellites scuttle for cover
As the nature’s own shimmers
In all glory over the ocean

Late summer afternoon, outside a school gate
Her squeaky shoes go squeak, squeak, squeak
The lil Angel has the world’s attention at her feet

Napkin Notes III

2010-04-12T18:53:00.000+05:30

Late summer night
Clock ticks slowly. Silence awakens
Between each ticking second

A night in April. A crescent smile
Made the sea rise and splash
Cooling down the rocks that sun bathed all day

Summer noon. Sun, right above my head
The shadow hid
Under the shade of my feet

Half past ten. Sunday morning.
The pillow and sheets have her for company
While the world’s left stranded alone

A summer morning realization
Both forced rhyme and fake orgasm is the same
No two can derive satisfaction from them

Crucifix

2010-04-02T10:57:00.000+05:30

Dark Friday afternoon, hilltop
Three nails, two wooden logs, a carpenter
A bridge built to eternal life

Napkin Notes II

2010-03-22T21:03:00.000+05:30

Early summer
A 12 year old wine, matured
As it drank from her lips

Rainy night. Alone at a table for two
Juggling fire between her lips and fingers
She sat draped in a veil of smoke

Summer evening, a half content kettle puffed tiny clouds
A cup thirsted for more with some residue
And a spoon lay beside with its head still spinning

One summer noon. Baited and moved
Circled around a see-through enclosure
But not a corner it found to hide in a fish bowl

The summer moon
Rose, walked, ran, danced, stumbled, and fell
As it shone on the wet floor, alone.

Dry afternoon. Parched lips
Tears brim
Thirst unanswered

End of day.Journey's break
Flesh rests
Spirit wanders, aimlessly

Sunday

2010-02-20T18:54:00.000+05:30

Where do dreams go after they die?
Or do we just conclude that they are dead?
Do they ever die or do they simply lie?
Somewhere deep down, dormant;
Till that one day, when it’s their time.

Would you be prepared,
If they would return;
Welcome them with your
Hand stretched out
For something you once, had to let go.

Some nameless and some mass graves.
Well, how many tombstones
Bear the names of dead and gone.
Yet, not a graveyard for dreams
You would find, out in the open.

Waiting for faith to takeover
And roll the stone over.
They lie in lone tombs that lay hidden within.
The moment you believe
These dreams will rise, yet again.

napkin notes

2010-02-18T19:55:00.000+05:30

Dimly lit evening
Five friends, a camera
A moment of perennial life, frozen

A still night
A cup of Ceylon tea
In a land of unrest

Green roof, cobble stone floor
A filling of conversations and furniture
Winter eve at an outdoor café

A summer in prison
With just one possession
A window full of clear blue sky

Humid noon at home
Counted stars under the ceiling
Lying down but not alone

Tilted heads, locked lips
Between conversations
Lies an awkward silence

At a terrace in twilight
Juggling fire between fingers and lips
She stood draped in a veil of smoke

Babble at the Table

2010-02-05T17:52:00.000+05:30

Post noon
The salt and pepper shakers
A match
Made perfect
In concurrence
With every taste bud
Sat as a pair
In silent confab

Late evening
The spoon and the plate
Tried to keep it hush-hush
But made all the noise
Plotting to elope
That night
While the cow
Leaped over the moon

Mid-night
A glass and a bottle
Cheered for each other
Got nostalgic
Wasted wisdom
Emptied their woe
And finished at dawn
With a hangover

Return

2010-02-02T20:26:00.000+05:30

A hiatus ends
And here I am;
Scribbling again.
Not that I had stopped,
I just paused.
But only for a while;
I stood still,
On my toes,
Waiting;
For a moment
To pass.
But realized much before
The moment had gone.
What’s the point?
I just thought,
Let me scribble
As I whirl in the storm.
Gaze into its eye.
Maybe, that’s my way out.
It looks unusually calm
And unlike, what it is
In here.
In the belly of the blizzard.
Blinded without an iris
It twirls without
A set path or map.
I’ll fix my eyes
On that light.
Which isn’t just
The way out.
It is my way up.
Now, another hiatus begins.
This may,
Simply, never end.
And that is
From being dormant.

All it takes...

2009-11-09T11:49:00.000+05:30

From a cry to a squeal,
And some babble in the meantime;
Before you prattle with all the learnt words.
It takes a lot of practice to sound wise.

From scanty to crew cuts,
Gelled hairdos to going bald
Or turning grey when old,
It takes experience to groom your crown.

From being christened with just another name
To having it etched on a business card.
And moving onto a grave as an epitaph,
It takes a lifetime, be it a few years or decades.

From a fleeting glance to a constant gaze
And then an observant look;
Just before that hopeless fall,
It takes more than that first glimpse.

From being just another page
To turning into a phase,
And become a part of someone’s life,
All it takes is more than love.

? =

2009-10-30T19:55:00.000+05:30

Isn’t it strange how you try to frame a story
Of things you’ve come across?
Of things lived through and gone past.
Those that you remember
When you’re all by yourself.
You borrow them from your past
And hard sell it with waivers
Luring your future to buy them again.
Fix a beginning and an end.
Make people in your life
Play characters and pivotal roles.
Of course, you’re in the lead
While the world, around you, revolves.
Replay classics in the background.
Add a twist to that tale,
And a tinge of humor or tragedy.
Or induce an anti-climax or
A happily-ever-after.
Bring worlds together,
That lay eons away.
Well, now you seem
To be well prepared;
To push the rewind button
Way before I pull down the curtains.
Could you please take a deep breath
And give me a count to ten?
Now that you’re back, simply read on…
Before you know it has begun
And long gone.
You’re a part of it
Whether you like it or don’t.
Memories make great stories.
Some, you tell to yourself
Over and over again to feel good.
And some you try never to return to.
You either pause or skip them
Press fast forward
Till you arrive at a better scene.
But this is something I have always
Pondered upon.
This is for you,
An open ended question.
Do memories contain life
Or is it the other way around?

stubbed

2009-10-22T20:29:00.001+05:30

An old friend returned
And I burnt my lips.
After a long hiatus of fresh air
I have taken a break.
Hopefully, she is here
For a short stay.
An erstwhile companion
In my heydays.
She would reduce to ashes
Just to see me rise.
While we killed time
She played my accomplice.
Tempted me for another tryst
Whenever I would want to quit.
At every rendezvous
I would assure myself
This would be my last.
But the affair, usually, lasted
Much beyond that.
Finally, one New Year’s Eve
We decided to part.
I gave up on her
And said to myself,
This would be the last.
I guess now,
There has been a relapse.
She’s back now
To turn me into a foe.
And this time, like always,
I’m sure it would last.

To Benji Mama - A Tribute

2009-10-12T19:58:00.000+05:30

What do I say and what do I skip?
About this mighty giant
Who was approximately five feet.
He had a distinct sense of humor
And a versatile character.
He would race against the wind
On his mean lil Vespa scooter.
He was an avid reader;
With his constant gifts
He turned me too into a booklover.
A musician and a photographer by passion,
My very first Guitar Instructor.
And one of the inspirations
For me to become a lensman.
An all-time movie buff and critic
Mostly, Biblical, historical
And then the Western, Cowboy classics;
With a flair for good music,
He introduced us to all the greatest hits.
A Gadget Guru, a Know-it-all.
Our family’s very own Santa Claus
Who traded gifts for our smiles
And not any milk and cookies.
Every December he ushered the Season’s greetings
Along with his fellow carolers and his six strings.
He also played in harmony
To those who sought the eternal sleep.
He was a warrior to his last breath.
He fought persistently without ever losing hope.
What do I say and what do I skip?
About this mighty giant
Over whose shoulders we stood
And saw the world when we were kids.

Without you, our dearest, Benji Mama;
No Christmas would ever be the same.

Lunatic Eclipse

2009-09-23T21:12:00.000+05:30

Under the twilight, on a quest I wander.
At the shallow end, I stand,
Yet to slip and drown in deep slumber.

Lost count of sheep
And they seem to have lost their flock;
While I’m trying hard to reclaim my mislaid sleep.

In a frail attempt to leap
Across the barbed fence; Caught
In the wilderness of insomnia they bleat.

Darkness has seeded chaos,
And made every thought
Scuttle opting varied paths;

Like mortals of Babel’s tower
They scamper, unawares, they seek solace,
While a shadow follows their every step.

I pray, I fall asleep
The moment I let the lids down.
For I cannot resort to the age-old tradition, till morn.

The fiend lurks the plain tonight,
Preying upon the flock till first light.
The Wolf, a nightmare, in a sheep’s clothing.

P.T.O.

2009-09-18T16:55:00.000+05:30

Don’t raise a tombstone over my head;
Let there be no epitaph that bears my name.
Bid your final goodbye with three fists full of soil;
Just bury my remains in a secluded place.
Preferably, under a sprawling banyan’s shade.

Burn me till I’m grey.
Don’t confine my remains in an urn of porcelain.
Send me off into the unseen. See me off as I disappear.
Blow me away into the winds.
Let me know how it is to be a zephyr.

I don’t wish to be a resident,
Don’t you bear me in your mind;
Of a chronicle that’s neither fact nor fiction.
From wine to vinegar, try what ever you may;
Let me pass as a cataclysmic, ephemeral phase.

a C(_)P of espresso

2009-09-02T20:14:00.000+05:30

Hot between the lips
Bitter on the tip
Well, Espresso is nothing but
Truth brewed under pressure
That leaves behind a discrete aftertaste

Victor

2009-08-30T20:41:00.000+05:30

Give love, unconditionally.
Don't ever hesitate.
Not everyone dares to take this fall;
It takes courage to do this deed.
It’s your faith’s biggest leap.
For they know not
It only let’s you to rise and soar.
Be selfless, be patient;
Don’t fear to let go,
When you’re in love,
It will return if it is truly yours.
This is destiny’s biggest gamble,
A bid where He knows
What you deserve to claim.
Where you're still a winner,
Although, you've lost the game.

inquire

2009-08-25T20:57:00.000+05:30

Speak up.
Let it slowly surface.

Don’t bottle up.
And let the thoughts serve a lifetime sentence.

Don’t resist to give in
And let this moment slip away.

Perhaps, this hour might never return,
But its regret, forever, will remain.

Be candid
Before you move on.

Try empathy.
Slip into my shoes, if you may;

You might not find the fit right,
And feel like you are out of place.

But you do know how it is to walk around
Wearing a hole in your sole.

Unleash. Let your thoughts be loud.
My soul, I want to hear you out.

Masque

2009-08-18T21:57:00.000+05:30

Look closely and you would see;
At times, it's not what meets the eye.
It's the meddle some hands of deceit and terror
Slipped into the pristine pair of white gloves,
One being love and the other peace.

Onus

2009-08-17T18:51:00.000+05:30

One step closer,
Let your gaze
Rest in mine.
Take a good look.
Do you see a splinter?
A tiny speck,
A barrier, an impediment,
That’s flanked by our vision.
My sight’s quite hazy,
Clouded and grief-stricken.
Every move stings
Yet I’m trying
To see through the pain.
Correct me,
If I’m wrong.
Is that a piece of log
in your eye?

Pray

2009-08-11T22:28:00.000+05:30

A heavy heart can weigh you down;
Pull you so low, you can
Take shade under a grass blade.

It’s broken, torn down,
Your credence is now just a pile of rubble.
And the bits can’t be pieced together.

Every inch you move;
Seems like a never ending mile.
Nothing interests you, not even a lungful of air.

Though it can’t add a split second to your life;
Worry becomes your new abode,
In which you seek refuge for an eon or more.

Worry no more; just say a word of prayer;
Those which are impossible by the mortals
Is possible in the hands of the Supernatural.

Extant

2009-08-10T20:42:00.000+05:30

If seeing is believing;
I say unto thee,
Believing is seeing.
Don't look around,
For I no longer exist
In a form
Your mortal eyes may see.
Oh! Beloved of mine.
Look within,
You might just find me
Round the corner
Waiting upon you
To spot me.

Mermaid

2009-08-03T21:34:00.000+05:30

She knelt on the rocky shore,
Weeping under the glowing crescent.
Amid the ceaseless waves' uproar,
She pieced the shattered jigsaw of silence.
The void seemed wider
Than that blue ocean
His last glance played and paused
In her mind, time and again.
Slowly a faint smile surfaced
On her lips as she wept.
Perhaps, she thought
"Fortunately, my eyes at least
have each other for company.
While I hum in solitude
To the tune of melancholy."

Inmate

2009-08-01T21:49:00.000+05:30

Beams of moonlight,
Made way through the lintel;
They knocked on my eyelids
In a checkered pattern.
Tried to wake me up at an hour
Even darkness would recline.
Still hazy in slumber
I thought the moon
Made a plea to set it free
From behind bars.
Now, wide awake,
I contemplate.
Well, was it the other way round?

sign

2009-07-28T21:59:00.000+05:30

Those slender lines of crimson
That glisten both in twilight and sunshine.
Between the oceanic soul and the fistful world
Lies this chalice where love brims and overflows.
Where silence dwells as a resident
And happiness is a visitor, frequent.
Where even the breeze would pause,
For eternity, if given a choice.
Don't let it arch, ever,
This Scribbler's on a quest
To find the right words
To define this divine sign.

I Spy

2009-07-23T22:14:00.000+05:30

How often have you gaped
Gawked, stared or gazed?
Whatever you may call that;
Well, it’s all the same.

Watched someone gently smile,
Busy in conversation with themselves,
Heaving a sigh or looking skywards.
Yawning, laughing or lost in thoughts;

Sulking, grumbling, mourning, rambling,
Weeping inwardly with lips all parched,
Contemplating, preying on their nails;
Battling odds within, wearing a trite façade.

How often have you observed people
Without ever being noticed?
And while at it, have you ever thought,
You’re one of them who’s also being watched?

Puttu's Prayer

2009-07-13T21:03:00.000+05:30

The tie hung from the bedpost with a badge pierced to its heart.
The school uniform lay buried in a place no one could find;
His pairs of white canvas and black leather shoes
Stared from the rack, with jaws dropped and soiled faces.
And the school bag sulked at a forsaken corner like some lost baggage.

To watch the orange sun peep into his window,
See dad and mom get ready to leave for work,
He would wake up real early everyday.
Seeing this Puttu’s folks would simply wonder,
Why he tried so hard to do the same during schooldays.

“Uppooo, Uppoooya” the Salt Seller would call out loud in the streets,
Pulling his two wheeled cart with a big sack of salt on it.
A sling pouch with rupee notes and paises, dangled from his shoulder.
Puttu would echo back from atop and hide behind the balcony grill.
Just to make him stop and look up with an “I-know-these-tricks” smirk.

Gradually, the street would start to hum
With veggies, fruits and flowers sellers;
And people at the ration depot with thundering kerosene cans.
Standing on a single foot he would watch them,
Drooping over the grill and hands stretched outwards.

Freda Aunty would give him company after mom left to the factory.
Serve him breakfast, from the hot case, and a glass full of Complan.
Softly narrate stories or incidents, and chuckle at jokes heartily.
Making sure Puttu had his fill and didn’t get into to any trouble
Till Ammamma would return from her age-old school.

A short nap would follow the post lunch storytelling session,
After which he would fly kites from his balcony.
Swaying left and right it would tickle the cloud’s belly,
Wiggling its lengthy, thin tail in a serpent’s fashion.
Till the summer rain would begin with tiny ice chunks.

Rushing back inside, he would return with an umbrella open.
Inverted and towards the sky he would stretch it forth
To collect the ice chunks that would disappear right then.
Some he would pop into his mouth and some into a film roll box.
But before his folks returned, into plain water, the chunks would thaw.

The fun and frolic didn't end till it turned dark,
He feared it mostly, whenever there was a power cut.
Diligently kneeling down with hands together, by his bed,
Before going to sleep, everyday he would pray and plead;
Asking God “Holidays are for us to play. Could you please say
Let there be light all through the day?”

Amoret

2009-07-01T20:29:00.000+05:30

Love letters and songs are too containing,
With words borrowed from what has gone before.
And I find them all too confining
When I wish to share my love.

Come a lil closer,
Lend me your ear,
Let me whisper a secret.
Without uttering a word out loud.

Feel the warmth of my breath,
Brushing your neck as I draw near.
Let me kiss your dusty skin,
And bury my face in your tranquil tress.

Let me take silence
And weave you a lullaby.
Tuck you in the snug serenity
And slide you into slumber deep.

Let me calm those raging storms
With a prayer for peace.
And wake you up in a morrow
That's just the way we once dreamed.

These mortals may believe
We unite at a surreal streak;
Fools, they know not that
We even pause time when we decide to meet.

Ironical yet true is this secret.
Today, I had to settle for a measly scribble
To usher my love to you through a zephyr,
By playing the muse of this nomadic Scribbler.

Ammu and the Land of Two Suns

2009-06-25T12:02:00.000+05:30

Immersed in the 8 am sun,
She knelt before a futon by the window.
On a drawing book that was spread open,
She doodled on with her colorful wax crayons.

Bent over the book and biting her lower lip,
She generously splurged her imagination.
And crayoned the page from plain to vibrant
Adding strokes of yellow, red, blue and dashes of brown;

Her Dad, lolled on the couch, with the morning tabloid;
Glanced at her folding one of the sheet’s corners.
He smiled gently with a sense of pride,
As he saw his most adorable lass look really occupied.

Lifting the book above her head she walked up to Dad.
Balancing on her toes carefully, like a Ballerina,
She tried hard to look beyond the paper.
“Daddy, look what I drew” she sang to a cheerful tune.

Folding the paper aside he lifted her and put her by his side.
With tiny hands she held the big drawing book,
And placed it on her lap neatly
To show her dad what she drew.

Tanned shores with an aquamarine sea by its side.
A cerulean sky with a lustrous sun;
A few abstract images sat on either side.
And amid the calm sea lay another burning sun.

“What’s this Ammu?” asked Dad looking amused by her skill.
Ammu replied in spontaneity pointing at every object on the sheet.
“This is sun. This is sea. This is you and brother, watching lil ducks swim.
You’re sitting here like everyday, after taking a walk on the beach.”

Kissed her forehead and appreciated her with a tender hug.
He thought she had erred by drawing another sun in the sea,
“Everything is fine Ammu, but why another sun?”
Without thinking twice he asked her humorously.

“Oh! Remember the last time we went to see the sunrise? “
Saying this she pointed towards the window.
“One sun came up on the sky” now she gently swallowed
And said “and another came along, on the sea beneath.”

PS: Inspired by a true incident and doodle

Super Tramp

2009-06-11T20:51:00.000+05:30

Driven
By wanderlust;
I tread, I leap,
I seldom rest.
I wisp, I rush,
I never swoon.
I swirl, I swoop,
Yet I rarely fall.
I’ve made it to places,
Least known to the sun.

Roads or routes make no sense.
An alien to destinations,
I’ve followed not
A single course.
I’ve skimmed the compass
Across the wide open.
Ignored man-made maps
And kicked the milestones' rumps;
That set limits.
And defy possibilities.

A captive or a resident,
By choice,
In the human frame.
Overtime,
Escape is certain
But what’s left behind
Are just perishable remains.
Try, if you may
To chain this renegade.
I embrace freedom, as you exhale.

Trippin'

2009-05-26T12:13:00.001+05:30

I have this strange feeling
Like the world’s on a summersault,
Round and round like a Giant wheel
With me at the iris of the London eye.

It began when my toes followed my other heel,
Going in circles but never on a straight lane.
Every step seemed a giant leap,
With the road going wobbly, long and winding.

Mary Jane and her ecstatic cousin,
Her soporific niece with that dreamy son
Of an ancestor from the den;
Couldn’t compete with this perpetual concussion.

Perhaps, it’s much better than falling in love.
Often succumbed, only to perfect the fall.
Though it hurts, yes it does,
This pain doesn’t really last for long.

Just in case you're wondering,
What I've been rambling aloud,
I'm trippin' on my shoe lace,
Once again, here I go.

Contrary Climax

2009-05-14T21:02:00.000+05:30

She sat straddled atop lust’s stem
Galloping on the green of yearning
With him behind her, vulnerably lain.

Gravity succumbed to reality;
Fiction seemed peculiar
To this feeling of ecstasy.

Elated she rode the jolt,
Her head stroked the clouds,
With hands raised, caressing the sky.

Their hearts thumped harder
Like the bellowing thunders
In tumultuous tandem;

In subtlety yet at light’s alacrity,
Pulses raced with the union
And it seemed to last an eon.

The zephyr from those tresses
Triggered a hurricane
Followed by a heavy downpour.

Sultry saline droplets trickled
From each body, like in off seasonal monsoon,
As the clouds clashed at the seventh heaven.

Locked in embrace, they lay;
A silver lining glistened
Over the sheath of wetness on their skin.

With smudges of crimson,
Love bites sprinkled, here and there
The pants and gasps cued their thirst for more.

On the verge to orgasm,
Stealthily she turned around,
As the phantasm of lust took her over.

A last kiss and a snap,
He was left beheaded and blinded forever in desire.
They reached climax yet they both were poles apart.

Victim Sesame

2009-05-06T00:22:00.000+05:30

With a barrel of spices over its head,
In seclusion, it lies, away from the humankind.
None pays heed for this lonely seed,
Its wail is unheard. Or, treated
As the shepherd’s third cry for wolf.

The naked truth lies cloaked in deceit.
Justice stands blindfolded and forsaken
With eyes bleeding from within.
The demons’ haven of an ancient myth
Has truly turned beastly under a beast’s rule.

Once slaves, of an old Master,
Guests they became
And slowly turned to residents, over time.
Bonded with their kinfolk of archaic times;
And turned the desolate to be their destiny.

In times of yore, the Enlightened reigned;
Peace prevailed amongst the kith and kin.
Now the demons have returned
With an appetite for destruction
To prey upon the lone sesame.

PS: http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/4331986.cms

I met Mahatma

2009-05-02T04:11:00.000+05:30

I met old Mahatma today,
At the turning of a narrow lane.
Opposite a small corner shop
In the middle of the road he had taken a break,
Smiling, calm and poised was his face.

He looked grubby and withdrawn,
And out of place as he was from a different age;
Where he influenced peoples' lives, revolutions, struggles,
Conspiracies, scandals, greed and events monumental;
Like no other he had played a role, in each, indelible.

Together, we walked a lil further, down sepia lane,
Reminisced and refreshed a few things, I had once read.
After which, I left him with a leather tramp.
Cos’ being selfish with this selfless being was pointless
As he still had to travel for long.

I sent Mahatma away,
At the bend of another lane.
He never did mind in whose company he stayed
Cos’ he didn’t judge them by their colour or race;
In a tattered ten rupee note, I met this world’s Mahatma today.

Leap of Faith

2009-04-27T21:26:00.000+05:30

Perched atop a high rise’s edge,
He looked down upon the mortals below.
Fast paced people in a slowly evolving world,
Not a glance or a smile to exchange,
They looked through each other as they rubbed shoulders.

Chiseled from a single boulder,
Imprisoned in a grotesque sculpture,
He squatted on the edge with a grimace;
Contemplating, if it was a gift or a curse
His sculptor had vested on his sturdy shoulders.

Besides, the prevailing chaotic clutter,
His eyes stole a coy glimpse at a necropolis across the street.
An immaculate being stood clenching a wreath
On a piece of evergreen land amid the dead.
With her gaze fixed skywards, it seemed as though she looked up to him.

At full-of-the-moon she’d gleam celestially,
Like a bride-to-be she would look at him
Without a single wink in expectancy.
Relentlessly she would wait
Clad in virtuous white from crest to plinth.

Putting together all his might he would try
But frozen and broken he would end up after each attempt.
Upon those turbulent nights he would wish
For those rancorous bolts to strike
And shatter his confinement to set him loose.

A night did dawn one eventful day,
The heaven descended on earth invading every inch.
Bolts of thunder reigned with lightening and downpour;
The streets were washed clean leaving none standing firm.
Universe conspired; his prayer saw the silver line.

Aimed precisely at his pedestal,
Came a piercing lance, an irreversible bolt.
Setting him free from the shackles
That detained him since he was chiseled,
Without turning around,
the Gargoyle leapt towards the marble Angel.

Solitude's Solace

2009-04-14T21:08:00.000+05:30

It’s an encounter with tranquility,
An one-to-one with the calm;
I’m at the rendezvous of dusk and dawn,
Where the horizon is no more an imaginary line;
And being alone is merely my choice.

Solitude is painful,
But I’ve found pleasure in pain.
I try. I try really hard.
But this scribble pad
Won’t suffice if I wish to describe.

I desire to scribble,
Every single thought in my mind,
On the thin air for sometime.
If those words for ever,
Without fading, would remain.

Let me borrow those ashen clouds to scribble upon,
I’ll send ‘em afloat to your land afar.
Pray, they don’t change their course or form
Or clash against their peers, up there,
And drain away as a thunderous rain.

Allow me to scribble on those high rise walls
In the broad and vacant streets
Of your cityscapes where people seldom stroll.
Promise you’d never distemper,
For these are a few things I’d leave behind.

May I ask you to spare your heart?
I might just find enough room in there
To scribble every word I have long treasured.
For eternity, I’ll forsake solitude
And find solace in your company.

Underdog Feline

2009-04-11T11:56:00.000+05:30

A ball of fur with two gleaming eyes;
Dark as a starless night,
Was this benign creature
A shadow in the pallid manor.
Under the bed, in the library,
Or she’d spend time,
Near the window, on a chair.
A connoisseur of tuna treats,
And an ace in hide and seek.
Coy as a touch-me-not,
A favorite among the First twins,
The center of controversy in God’s own country.
Yet, all the glam and glitz, her peers did steal.
At times, she purred and mewed,
And got petted by her master,
Whom the world referred to
As a lowly bastard.
A feline was she till the age of eighteen,
But as an underdog she spent
Her nine lives, without complaining.

PS: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/28505479/

Nights' Past 10

2009-03-30T19:41:00.000+05:30

It’s past ten pm,
On a regular weekday night.
While the weary rest
And the zealous rage,
The radio croons
Amid stark silence.

A voice is heard
As the tune ends.
Of a pristine rivulet
That giggles,
All the way through,
The air waves.

A refreshing zephyr
That breeds buoyancy,
Instills hope,
And keeps one rolling
Like a snow fed,
Perennial stream.

Perhaps, every voice
Has a face.
But I would say
This one’s peerless.
Maybe, because
It also bears a smile.

Plea

2009-03-24T20:45:00.000+05:30

The sorrow was much bitter,
Than vinegar
mingled with gall.

The pain was a lot excruciating,
Than what she endured
During labour.

She wept incessantly,
Than any mother of this earth,
Seeing His son suffer for the world.

Perhaps, she prayed fervently
Than ever. That no mother
Should outlive to see an offspring breathe its last.

Reflection

2009-03-20T11:04:00.000+05:30

And the mirror reflected,

As she glanced.

"For once, I'd give up

On my purpose.

If you could, kindly

leave your image behind.

Now I wish to turn

Into a picture frame."

Ammamma, Puttu and the Bedroom Window

2009-03-20T00:31:00.000+05:30

It was the weekend and the excitement had just begun.
Saturday morning breakfasts always used to be fun,
Never once did he ever miss this special occasion;

With legs folded he sat on the window ledge,
Looking out at the double road from Ammamma’s bedroom,
Holding onto the grills he peered through the fine mesh.

The world crisscrossed right before his eyes,
The two and four wheelers were his greatest entertainers.
Not many were in a hurry but a few sped in rage.

Ammamma came with a plate of scrumptious Dosas,
Cup of green chutney and a tumbler of hot coffee,
A weird combination, true, but its taste was heavenly.

Every single time a piece of Dosa took a dip into coffee,
Scooped some chutney as it swooped down,
And took off immediately to land safely into Puttu’s tiny mouth.

Munch, munch and munch, every taste bud got its share.
A sip of coffee followed to sup it all down to his lil tummy.
Wiping his mouth with a hanky, “Hmmmm!” said Puttu contently.

He questioned on and on, and she answered it all patiently.
In every moment he saw a “why?”,
And behind everything, he believed, there was a small story.

A million stories she had, from her good old childhood
To last night’s incomplete nightmare and anything he pointed at.
According to Puttu, she knew more than just about anyone in his world.

Puttu sat there on the ledge and she stood beside him,
At least, till it was noon and the road became nearly empty.
Those days, even Time stopped by to lend an ear to their stories.

Psychoactive

2009-03-09T21:14:00.000+05:30

A nibble of temptation,
A moment of hush, a feeling of void,
A rush of blood.

A tingle from the cranium,
Down rainbow bridge,
To the toe through the vertebrae.

Euphoria pierces deep within.
Silence shattered
Like brittle pottery;

Gravity grounded, reality imprisoned.
Senses six, levitate
Few inches off the ground.

Perception widens
Walls crumble without debris.
Inhibitions peeled, inner self revealed.

In sync with illusory symphony;
Technicolor dreams,
Collide with veracity.

Shimmers and ripples,
Turn into a visual treat.
Hallucinations triggered in near vicinity.

Glimpses from past,
Visions of future,
Flashes of insight, flights of fantasy.

Little boy and Fat man,
Have taken their toll.
Mushrooms eclipse psyche’s land.

Duals

2009-03-07T20:43:00.000+05:30

The window creaked open
Giving way to a forest, gray;
Luminous shone the sun
While a being sought refuge of a grey shade.

It’s either the view
from your cottage faraway.
Or what you’d find
From your abode in a high-rise.

Woodland that’s old,
Yet young at heart.
Or a concrete jungle,
That’s arid and dark.

A blissful, sun-drenched dawn
Of early summer.
Or the desolate, end of days,
Under the spell of an undying ball of fire.

A grasshopper rests, camouflaged,
Under a mushroom amidst the emerald green.
Or a lone scavenger devouring the remains
Under a frayed umbrella’s silhouette.

Your vision’s now torn between
The green and the bleak.
What you desire,
Is what, in future, you’ll see.

Blizzard of OD

2009-03-03T21:17:00.000+05:30

Facing a storm seemed easy before.
My eyes go sore.
Now, even to a single mote.

Wearing the hood of arrogance
I used to stand tall, looking down.
With a hunchback, now I wait to bite the dust.

Balmy summer nights seem to drain me out;
And the first drizzle of rain tends to pierce me deep.
An aversion I have developed, now to all seasons four.

Taking refuge in dimly lit corridors and opium dens, I would snort;
Where the alley of shadows welcomed me with wide open arms.
Now, I can’t even count on my own shadow for shade.

At the porch of perdition the world was a good old friend,
Who smoked weed giving me company, reclining on the couch.
Now all it has in store is a sigh of relief once I’m gone.

Newborn Mother

2009-02-25T21:46:00.000+05:30

The brightness was blinding
When she carefully opened her eyes.
She felt like a newborn
After the veil of barrenness was torn apart.

The door opened and gave way
To her bundle of joy;
Gift wrapped in celestial white
And cradled in the hands of her soul mate.

Broken down completely in excruciating pain,
Yet she sprang up like a lil dame.
Held her angel close
And kissed its forehead.

Tear drops rolled down her cheek
Like kids on a park slide.
Her pain had strayed faraway
To a land she might not return again.

What's left is a title for which,
persistently she had prayed.
It's "Mother" and that'll be her new name
Till eternity from today.

Phoenix

2009-02-20T16:09:00.000+05:30

On an old, muddy, tarmac deprived highway,
Rumbling, and shuddering, a murky grey garbage truck
Made its way through a least trodden stretch.
Behind the truck, on the top,
Rested an inert creature after accomplishing its mission.

A rush of strong airstream came down, on its way.
Possessed this lifeless being,
Swept him off his feet and carried him faraway.
Like a phoenix he rose from his ashes.
He emerged like an indomitable spirit from that thrash of remains.

Higher and higher by every passing second,
He flew up, up and away, above everything.
Soared towards the skies even before
He could take a second blink.
The view from top was nothing like he had ever seen.

Different sizes and ever changing shapes;
In the company of pristine clouds he was now.
Tossing and turning like the others in the skies,
He met cumulus, stratus, nimbus and cirrus, amongst others.
He waved at them while they all drifted, without any rush.

Leaving the clouds behind
He soared even higher into the limitless sky.
At a distance he saw a lone ranger,
Hovering and looking around
On a hunt for its prey.

Before he knew he was upon the gliding eagle.
Looking down at the world beneath, over his shoulders;
He looked bemused by its vision and the focus it had for its game.
Just before he wanted to soar higher to see what else was in store.
The poltergeist airstream left him and vanished without care.

With a loss of balance and nothing else to hold on,
He perched on the eagle’s wing, unaware of the outcome.
Irritated and annoyed by the interruption.
The eagle fidgeted and took a plunge with him into the unknown.
Rocketing earthward like a meteor they both plummeted as one.

Vaulting down, the eagle frantically shook its beak.
Just when they were about to crash,
It set him free, and took off,
Resuming its flight in a jiffy, like a whiplash.
Now, the fall seemed faster, harder and easier than the rise.

Down, like a feather from a bird’s nest
He gently landed, set foot firmly, onto the ground.
Succumbed to gravity, he shrugged.
Another push from a waft of wind
He settled down cozily in a street corner.

Turning around in sloth motion he saw
Some deep marks left by the eagle’s claw.
While getting a breather another hand grabbed him up,
And tucked him into a garbage sack;
Along with other dejected polythene bags.

Atop the garbage bag, he looked up to the sky,
And thought there’s more to life than what you see everyday.
Just when he had thought everything had come to an end,
Life took a sudden turn.
And he lived a life none of his peers even dreamt.

Closing his eyes he reminisced
The amazing rollercoaster ride he had.
He opened his eyes only to discover
Another current of air sweeping him off his feet.
Much before he could even take a second blink.

Hamlet of Blind Faith

2009-01-30T18:21:00.000+05:30

I opened up to a crestfallen land as I kipped
Alien to the green and serene
No matter how far my vision could tramp
It seemed to me a cursed, barren plane

Blind faith, like a hot sun, scorched and pierced the earth's facade
Stomping everything that lifted its head towards the blue
Everybody seemed blinded and deprived by original thoughts
A sepia tone wore Its terrain and the tenants

Hordes of idols looked down upon me from every corner
As I wandered in those boulevards
On a quest to quench my thirst I set forward
But every well overflowed with nickels and quarters

Rise and Strike

2009-01-28T16:20:00.000+05:30

Across the table, on a saucer
Sat the dark, spicy cinnamon flavored tea.
Hot and steaming, yet halcyon was its surface
With tiny mortal bubbles at the border and between.

The brittle, white casbah looked content
Though it was only half full.
Perhaps, it was her lips, full and crimson
That had just then sipped its fill.

Contemplate; she would
Till the cup turned shallow;
But her chalice never could,
It overran the brim with times of yore.

Oh! Let it be, my maiden.
Don’t you drown and delve so deep.
Hold on to faith, these days won’t return.
Let not hope slip through thy fist.

A brawny shoulder to lay your head,
Words of courage and persistence, I’ll lend.
Fight your battle, with grit and valor,
Wear your armor, take the sword and march ahead.

Together, always

2009-01-24T21:15:00.000+05:30

Miles, moments and latitudes divide
And the distance between keeps us away.
Yet I feel we are somehow united by thought.

Battles, struggles, victories and defeats,
We’re bound to face everyday, are poles apart.
Yet I feel we are somehow united by hope.

Purposes, motives and destiny might differ
From each other. And we’re certainly different in flesh.
Yet I feel we are somehow united by spirit.

Martyrs of the third kind

2009-01-02T23:55:00.000+05:30

A pale black cap, uniform and an apron she wore
With hair rolled up into a bun, and a smile adorning her face.
Wiping off the fatigue that clung onto her brows,
She moved around like a streak of lightening all over the place.

It seemed she carried the entire coffee shop
Over her petite yet responsible shoulders.
Making a wish list of people sitting around.
She made sure she personally attended every customer.

The ears of those cups had turned sore.
Time and again, listening to the same tittle-tattle.
Whereas, the spoons stirred with pride and lay over the saucer,
Watching people who were a lot shallow, rattle.

Love, hate, care, pride, modesty,
Lust, friendship, courtship, break up, contemplation,
Compromise, envy, conflict, secrets, infidelity
And much more was passed across tables over hot conversations.

She seemed like she had seen and heard it all,
Over time, there was nothing that could surprise her.
At times, with hands folded and looking blank,
She would stand calm and placid in a corner.

As still as a mannequin she would look all poised.
Only her thoughts would traipse from one wall to another,
Wandering into every nook and corner, following her eyes.
Maybe, there's a dark side to this moon, an unseen shade to this insipid character.

Would she have ever thought of making a fair trade,
Slipping into the shoes of those on the other side.
Whenever she saw someone of her age just whiling away.
Or sipping coffee without much to do but indulge in killing time.

Perhaps, it was the choice she made,
On her pursuit for happiness which she sought;
To serve a cup of cheer to those who dropped by her place.
Or was she inevitably destined to play this part?

Well, it's amazing how some souls out there,
Sacrifice so much and pay a hefty price.
Wishing that, someday, they'd reap their toil's harvest.
They take the thorns while picking roses for our ming vase.

Rerun

2008-12-24T11:42:00.000+05:30

The Christmas tree gleamed in all its glory,
With gifts wrapped, labelled
And laid neatly underneath.
Greeting cards from loved ones arranged next to it, accordingly.
Everyone seemed busy preparing for the next day,
The dawn that freed the world from perpetual obscurity.

The house shone bright and glorious
With the spirit of yuletide.
Every face carried the warmth and charm
Of good tidings and cheer.
These were the few blissful moments
He cherished everyday.

Just after he woke up
And before he began the day.
He would rerun the night before Christmas
Right before his eyes like it was yesterday.
Well, this is the routine of a Soldier
Who guards our nation by the border all day.

The Predator, Preyed Upon

2008-12-20T20:57:00.000+05:30

On a pale, foggy, dew kissed dawn,
Emerged two jaded images out of the dark.
The young one carried a long shovel,
While the older clasped a blood stained prong.

With cold sweat running down their spines,
They stepped out of an old yard of abandoned graves.
The aged, impious beast was now dead and obscured.
It would return no more to quench its insatiable thirst.

Deep down, its mind, lurked lust without a moment of respite.
A pretentious companion of good conduct to the world.
Wedlock was a subterfuge, and infidelity was its way of life.
Before it could prey on its own blood, the predator itself became the kill.

Who?

2008-12-15T15:13:00.000+05:30

Delirious flesh overpowering the frail inner voice,
A bite into the fruit of temptation, the Fallen’s irresistible bait.

Soul sold to guilt and remorse till date,
For ignoring the Lamb who laid His life to pay the debt.

Infidelity, gluttony, lust, murder and greed,
Sins committed by brutally killing the scruples.

The brutal slit of the golden goose’s belly
Only to discover the gaping void of misery.

Midas’ wish for the golden touch,
In lieu of his darling offspring’s loss.

Succumbed to temptation,
The flesh wins the race.

The spirit rides the dark horse,
Galloping backwards away from even the last place.

Who’s to be blamed? The accused victim
Or the lethal desire that rules the human race.

To Santa from Puttu

2008-12-11T23:54:00.000+05:30

With a red woolen stocking and a notepad, he ran
Hurriedly to his bedroom window.
Tore the first sheet along the perforated line,
Put it into the stocking, the list reads as below:

“A summer vacation whenever I feel like I need one,
A magical pencil to finish homework in no time.
A school bag that wouldn’t cling on my back
But walk, hand in hand, by my side.

Heavy downpour at the snap of my finger,
Paper boats that wouldn’t sink in rainwater;
Sun shining faintly like it does during winter
And paper planes that would fly forever.

A tricolor kite that would hide in the clouds
And a flashlight to make the stars look down with half-shut eyes.
Play football all day on an empty MG Road.
Sleep till noon, ignoring the alarm clock and sunrise.

A secret spot to hide in Ammamma’s house while playing I Spy;
Never to be caught when I play Lock & Key.
Lots of toys to play whenever I stay at home,
And the Christmas season should last all year long.”

It was Christmas Eve, and now it was half past ten.
He knew Santa would visit him tonight
And he had checked his list twice by then
Cos he knew, all through the year he was real nice.

Rushing into the blanket he hid himself,
Pretended as though he was fast asleep.
This time he wanted to see Santa, and at least an elf.
The clock struck twelve but he couldn’t resist the sleep.

This happened during a Christmas almost two decades back.
Today, when he thinks of it, he just laughs it off.
Yet he hopes someday, his one wish, Santa would grant.
Which is, the Christmas season would last all year long.

Long Distance Dedication

2008-12-01T22:15:00.000+05:30

“Good Evening everybody,
welcome to the Afterdark hours.
It’s Friday again and the weekend is here”
Said the RJ with a husky voice.

Few dedications rolled out as he read his mails.
Then lines were opened to his dear listeners.
Some teenage kid spoke in the beginning followed by a young female.
The tunes requested were played on air, one after another.

Then came a sober voice,
Which looked like he’d dialed the wrong number.
He asked for a pizza place and that’s when the RJ realized.
He told the caller it was a live show, hence told him to request a number.

Half heartedly but a little baffled,
He hesitantly told “I don’t really know what to say”.
The RJ was very courteous he told him how it worked.
And asked if he had someone special and a song he’d want to play.

Without thinking twice he said he had nobody,
And he just returned from a Juvenile Prison;
Then he asked hesitantly
if it’s ok to make a long distance dedication.

The RJ said “Well Sir, this is a local radio station
but if it can reach them I have no objection”.
The listener replied “I hope she can hear it.
But either ways I’d like you to play it.”

Now the RJ told “Go ahead! Tell me your good name,
The one you’d like to dedicate it to and your dedication”
“To my dearest mom” he said, “this is from her Lil Sunbeam.
Please play ‘Mama, I’m coming home’. I hope she gets this station
in her part of heaven.

Weather Report

2008-11-28T20:27:00.000+05:30

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.

Pick of the day

2008-11-17T22:01:00.001+05:30

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.

The Dark Maiden

2008-11-11T22:30:00.000+05:30

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.

Puttu and Chethi

2008-11-05T21:32:00.000+05:30

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.

when baffled...

2008-10-22T21:39:00.000+05:30

Why’s that we get hassled, too easily,
When we’re in some kind of trouble?
Why can’t we look beyond
When we’re faced by a hurdle?
Perhaps, we’re standing too close,
To the unsolved jigsaw puzzle.
Overshadowed by the fear of losing,
We don’t even risk moving ahead.
It’s ok to take a few steps back.
To get the clear, big picture.
Now, leap not until you’ve taken a moment,
And given the next step a deep thought.
Cos it doesn’t really take a bullet to burst a bubble.

Post Card

2008-10-13T00:45:00.000+05:30

All alone he was searching at the bookstore,
Looking for a post card to send across.
Some had pictures of places that were old and famous.
The beach, the monuments and snapshots of streets,
Portraits and caricatures of eminent people.
And some had vivid paintings from painters of great fame.

Some carried a few lines from templates
That looked sweet, fine and clichéd.
After dusk, a few more hours;
Flipping through the racks, high and low;
There wasn’t even one that awed him at a single glance.
More than a few hundreds he scanned but nothing could complement her.

Not that she was too hard to please.
It’s just that he couldn’t make up his mind.
Though the choices were many
That special one he couldn’t really find.
So he settled to put this exclusive scribble
Behind a plain post card.

Discrepancy

2008-10-02T18:51:00.000+05:30

Scribble;
Is what I call this; you may call it by any other name.

Words;
I’ve tried to put together to express what I feel right now.

Wallow;
If you may. Don’t just simply read.

Observe;
Come closer. Take a good look at it before you leave.

Rush;
Don’t you dare. Return whenever you find more time to splurge.

Slowly;
Let your eyes flow on, word by word as you move.

Pause;
I recommend, in between every line.

Contemplate;
There’s no hurry in arriving at a conclusion.

Respect;
I owe you for your time and patience.

Genius;
Undoubtedly you are, if you could make sense out of this.

Inanity;
Is what I’d also call this. To perfectly kill time.

Perceptions;
They differ. They always do. Yours and mine.

seeking absolution

2008-09-25T23:02:00.000+05:30

Unforgiven and gray, he sat alone;
Surrounded by sedge and a militia of mice,
In a dark dungeon corner.

He craved to breathe the whiff of independence.
But chained down, there he lay, to the anvil of peccadillo.
He was now a prisoner of consequence;

His offense was unpardonable
By his love who was bruised by his words.
Now the slip seemed completely irreversible;

The Fallen, he was in her sight;
Succumbed badly to the gravity of haze.
Yet he never lost his will to rise.

Capitol punishment or life imprisonment,
He didn’t really bother about the worldly verdict.
He died, when he learnt his love was misunderstood, that very moment.

But he awaits her presence, patiently, even today.
With undeterred hope, his eyes peer beyond the prison bars.
That she’ll absolve, and come to bail him out, someday.

Love Note

2008-09-18T21:07:00.000+05:30

It’s been quite deafening all the time.
This seems never ending, the silence in between.
I pretend that the distance between us will shrink,
But I don’t really know if we’d ever get to meet.

I’m sure you read my thoughts,
Even though we seldom talk.
We occasionally exchange glances,
Unless it’s your reflection I chance upon.

Our visions meet in unison,
Yet, apart, we’ve always stayed.
We share our life’s mission;
And parallel lives we’re destined to lead.

When happy or hurt
We’ll shed tears for each other.
No matter what we do.
We’ll remain together in thought. Forever.

We’re two beings of a single soul.
It’s more than just love that unites us.
I hope you understand my love for you,
Which I’m expressing through this Scribbler’s quill,
I’m the other eye who lives by your side.

Time Trader

2008-09-11T15:05:00.000+05:30

You’re here with absolutely nothing to do.
Or are you here because you’re rich with leisure?
I do understand that time is a luxury,
Which not many can afford to squander.
But it seems like your hourglass is up to the brim.

Let’s strike a deal.
The returns will exceed your expectations.
Let’s play a game where you’ll be in the lead.
There are no rules to follow and no guidelines to adhere.
Break ‘em, bend ‘em or just don’t pay heed.

Splurge if you may as this day might not return.
Hang around for a while if boredom’s riding on your back.
I’ll try to keep you busy in my world,
Just let your iris follow me from word to word,
And then your mind and soul, together, will play along.

Let me begin the game,
Go ahead! Stand upright. Get set at the Start line.
There are no retakes and you can’t start all over again.
Make your first move as I roll the dice.
You’ve traded your time to be my pawn.

Sacrifices to blessings

2008-08-28T21:46:00.000+05:30

Off to the place I left behind sometime ago,
I’m returning to my haven where I belong.
Just a couple of days yet it seems like years have gone.
Cos it’s the first time I’ve stayed far from home.

The wait has ended now I got to go.
To meet some souls that wait for this estranged soul.
With arms wide open, I see them waiting with bated breath.
They seldom know that I’m returning again to the place where I’m from.

The road that opened up to new opportunities as I moved,
Is happy to see me again as I go back for a moment.
It speaks to me without words by showing me the horizon;
It silently says to return in peace cos there’s still a long way to go.

I remember leaving behind a whole lot of things,
Some of it can be reclaimed and some will remain unchanged.
Few moments that can’t be reversed and a few things I may have to let go.
Because I believe that yesterday’s sacrifices become blessings of tomorrow.

Puttu at the beach

2008-08-14T22:38:00.000+05:30

A big leap from the auto to the tiled floor,
He landed on the pedestrian walk by the seashore.
Dad and mom one after another followed,
As they stepped out of the same auto.
This was the day he’d been waiting for all along.

He squeezed between them
And gently gripped both his folks’ index fingers.
Taking tiny little steps one by one
He walked, hopped, swung back and forth
Clinging down from his folks hands.

Sinking his feet into the sand, one after another
He kicked the sand into the air as they walked further.
The cool breeze brushed his face and slowly messed with his hair.
He was seldom bothered as he knew there was something bigger in store.
He looked up and froze, for a moment, as he stared into the horizon.

So much water he had never seen till date.
Even his school’s swimming pool seemed like a small bowl of water.
With a small fisherman’s boat sailing at a distance really far away,
The water looked pristine and blue like he’d seen in his colouring books.
He wondered and looked around for the big crayon, which gave the sea that blue.

Waves galloped steadily towards Puttu as he stood at the shore.
A lil scared and lot thrilled he watched the waves in wonder.
It seemed as though the waves were excited to see the curious visitor.
Excited on his arrival they cheered with a subtle uproar.
They pounced at his feet but Puttu ran away as fast as he could.

They swept beneath his feet and Puttu jumped, and ran.
Yet they were successful in touching his tender heels.
Standing at a distance he figured out they were actually playing a game.
He ran towards them teasingly as they failed and retreated.
And took to his feet the moment they rushed back again to grab him.

Mom and dad kept an eye on him sitting on a nearby rock,
Puttu never got tired; neither did the sea.
Finally, he ran to his folks and asked them for his nano sized water can.
Mom refused and told that the sea water is salty and not safe for drinking.
Puttu just smiled and said “Ma! I’m just going to bring along some
to play with me at home”.

Puttu at his First Movie - The African Safari

2008-07-29T20:59:00.000+05:30

He looked up at the big poster that hung from a big wall.
Standing with his granny in a long queue,
With his little pair of hands he shielded his face
Against the scorching sun’s rays;

The people in the row moved at snail’s pace,
Step by step they finally made it to the ticket counter.
Puttu stood on his toes to see through the semi circular hole,
He saw a big bundle of pink papers and a pair of hands tearing them off.

Granny took two tickets in exchange for some money,
She gave it to Puttu and escorted him out of the line.
Both climbed up the broad, spiral stair case,
This led to a giant glass door next to which stood a tall old man.

Asking for tickets he smiled at Puttu looking down upon him.
He refused first, shaking his head, and looked at granny with an angry face.
Granny gently assured him with a smile and took the tickets from his hands.
Puttu was puzzled to see the oldie tear the ticket in to two like a mad man.

Holding onto granny’s index finger in one hand,
And a pair of half torn tickets in the other;
They stood near a half open door, which seemed like the biggest in the world;
Puttu looked petrified to see such a big wooden door;

He pulled granny’s hand twice and looked up to her,
Granny looking down at him asked “What’s the matter?”
“Is this the gateway to Africa, Ammamma?” He questioned filled with fear.
For this she laughed and told Puttu “You’ll know when you’re inside my dear”.

Rows of chairs with heads popping up here and there,
The hall was partially dark with dim lights but he could clearly see,
“Is this Africa all about? Puttu asked again in a soft voice.
After all, it wasn’t dark or scary as he thought it would be.

Out of nowhere a man surfaced with a big torchlight,
Puttu was almost taken aback and almost anxious
To see him peer into the torn tickets,
After which he led them to the centre row, corner seats.

The chair was comfy and Puttu began to bounce and recline,
The excitement seemed never ending till he saw a huge curtain.
As it lifted up people began to whistle and kids started to clap,
“What’s the big deal?” he thought “It’s just a plain white cloth like his bedspread.”

It completely turned dark followed by the ring of a bell,
He held granny’s hand tightly and granny told “Ssshh! Puttu, just wait and watch”.
Colourful slides appeared on the big screen and there was silence everywhere.
Some titles appeared with music but before Puttu could read they quickly changed.

The screen was covered by a gigantic figure,
It was the enormous African Elephant.
Puttu clapped in total excitement like never before,
He felt like he’d seen it all even though the movie had just begun.

Giraffes, Deer, Snakes, Hyenas and Lions,
Every scene had a surprise in store for him.
Granny helped him by repeating the narration,
He watched with curious eyes, relating to everything, about Africa, he had once heard.

The Cheetahs hunting a herd of Buffaloes,
Ants together building an ant hill,
Hippos lazily basking in the sun and lying in water holes,
Chimpanzees busy in their own world handling their monkey business.

Ostriches stretching those small wings and walking with long legs,
Geckos escaping from Rattle snakes and slipping into holes,
Rhinos running through the wilderness or standing still wagging tiny tails,
And Hyenas laughing over some old joke;

The movie ended with a mustering of storks flying into the sunset.
Three hours just flew past before he even knew,
And the lights came on as the movie came to an end.
He looked at Ammamma with an enlightened smile.

“Let’s go Ammmamma” he said pulling her towards the screen.
Ammamma said “The exit is on the other side Puttu, not that way.”
Instantly a reply came from Puttu’s lil lips, it left Ammamma thinking.
He told “Now let’s go and meet the animals behind that big, white bedspread”.