Nov 3, 2010

The Clot

I'm still awake waiting for a call.
A sign, a scream, anything.
I found the doodle in my old bag,
I don't wanna tear that up, not yet.

Still awake, writing this song.

Usually, I have plenty to say,
not this time, no.
Usually, I have a tune for my song,
nothing here, no.

I serenade the door,
the cascading open blinds
leaves marks on my skin.
I wish I can throw two cents into the wishing well.

I refuse to treat, to uproot,
everyday it congeals around me.
How Alice felt through the looking glass,
I run a nail across your unseen reflection.

My bright yellow has bleak grey trimmings now.

Sep 22, 2010

Just, like the day you told me to leave.
Told me this was done.
Long before I could form stutters.
Too much time spent on closing doors.

I'll remember to love you.
When the green turns brown.
Autumn winds around me, binding leaves.

I'll un'spake.

I'll remember to breathe.
Just, like the day you told me to leave.

Aug 31, 2010

Eventually



Yellow hues of tenderness color me soft
Wishing the skies would lighten its shades.
Sultry. Warm. Those that paint me.
Eyes, swirling, a molten chocolate
lips, a steady, dripping, red. 
Gazing lazily at the sweeping movements. 
winding fingers around gestures like it mattered
twisting knotted hair.
Nothingness, is peaceful. 

Jun 17, 2010


I’ve given my gone away.
Slowly.
Penetrating the inches that can’t seep through.
Making way for the empty.

You asked me to write you a song.
I’ve left you a note instead.
This tree has no roots.
Its flamboyant branches, crumbly.
My yoke, amusing in this wake.

Falling, I’ve imagined, must be grey.
Just as desolate is.

I’ve seen my blindness reach me.
Much too fast.

May 24, 2010

You grasp me within inches of my spoken for life,
you tantalize me with snivels.
My baby, you will always be.

Apr 27, 2010

Ugly

There are times when I like
the ugly in me.
The fright, the scattered,
the relentless fighting.
the bored, the wistful,
the naivety.  

There are times when I like
every imperfection
in my body.

Every blemish, every mark
every trait.
reminds me of what could be, what it is to be.
these are just those times,
I like the
Ugly in me. 

Mar 18, 2010

...its not enough

Red earth and pouring rain
She was born into.
Disquiet of the fiery clay.
Rays peeked into her violet plumes,
She woke up, reaching to the warmth.
Her kin, like a carpet, they spread,
O’er the hills.
Her destiny, she was told, was to partake in the journey of love.
Her bloom, still young, waved merrily in the air,
Waiting for their fulfilment.
Her birth was the beginning.

Theirs was an extraordinary love.
Her violet was fiery, his dampness held her.
The first strains of a silver song began.
She was the silent witness.
They danced around the vivid mountains,
oblivious to their tiny companion.  
As love awashed her, she had her catharsis.

The brushstroke was a faint yellow; now.
But her seed was black.
The dampness cracked, plunging her shades to paleness.
The silence of the song...deafening.
But I love you,” she screamed in desperation.
“It is not enough.”
The finality in his tone berated her.

He stopped in his tracks, turned to her retreating, withering figure.
Stopped as if to drop a word. Kindness, perhaps.
The tiny plumes now swayed violently, her destiny at stake.
He strode over where she was planted instead.
She waited longingly for his palms, to soothe.
Unseeing now, she wept for the retreating lover.

She did not feel the first caress of his feet
or rushing death as he stomped her.


Posthumously, autumn took the uprooted flower in his refuge.
“Little Kurinji”, he whispered.


Note: Neela kurinji or Strobilanthes kunthiana is a violet flower that blooms once in 12 yrs in the Western Ghats. These flowers live through the spring season and are believed to be a symbol of maturity and love. 

Jan 19, 2010

Diffind

Purple night, I envy you.  
Twisty murders underneath your sheet
You see.
They don’t watch you witnessing. Silent.
Do you weep for them?
Or do you snigger at the hide and seek?
Inky dark hounds you
Crowding.
Billion stars. Maybe two,
cannot wipe you out.
The orange glow at rest now.
This time you can be you.

When they offer you silent prayer,
to save them.
The others look
to run away safely, not to get caught.
Do you let them know
with your many colors
That you neither grieve, nor save.
You just be.
Just be. 

Jan 1, 2010

Paint me the hues of your colors.
Tell me why you did it. 
I could go over it in my head, 
but I would never know what you did.

Sing me the melody of your song. 
I can't hear through the clangs in my head.
I could go over it in my song.
but I would never know what you hummed.

Tell me...your story.