Saturday, 27 July 2013

The Mirror

The Mirror

You come to me (said she), on your not-so-good days
Blotchy eyed and broken 
I try, to balm those bruises, to contain those tears, to
Talk you into brushing that mop of hair and taking
A shower.
But you despise every inch of me, don't you,
You petulant, stupid child? You raise your hand to push me
Away and I feel my heart shatter; the shards fold inwards,
dwindle away, seeping despair, you will have none of me.

On more rewarding days you stand, hands on your you hips;
Flash me one of your rare smiles. I have no memory of your
Brutality. You flaunt your new clothes and we giggle in unison.
You will never acknowledge that I am more than a mere echo.

Your secrets,safe, in my crystalline, faithful depths, lie buried
So deep, so transient that they are forgotten. Come by
Whenever you need me, you always have(here she paused).

I will show you what you want to see.

Tuesday, 23 July 2013

Unrequited and Grey.

Unrequited and Grey


I fell in love with a dark haired man,
His pale arms hung down like whipped cream,
Or so i thought; As i gazed, dopey-eyed,at his form
Silhouetted beside my window open, to shield
The dewdrops and butterflies, and seductive
Lonely spirits during
Their vast voyages, seeking redemption. Then I was paper white, 
It scared me when he stood there, serene and icy, never
Never,close enough. Then he smiled at me, melancholy
And on rainy nights i fed off his stories, about dark, faraway rivers
And playing soldier. Sometimes he sang to me,as I marveled at the 
Perfect almonds of his eyes,

We never held hands and he never bought me flowers.
We never made love on top of the sheets, nor did I cook him dinner.
My love notes were delivered too late, his never arrived.
He never said he loved me, I think he did, I never asked.

I fell in love with the ghost of a dark haired man;
And the world turned grey at the crack of dawn.

An unfinished painting hangs neglected on my easel;
A painting in two colors, Black and White.
Even when they met in the corners, there was grey,
There could only be grey.







 

Friday, 19 July 2013

2 AM

Long are the days when I walk thirsty
For miles and the sun laughs down at me.
The crooked staircase twists in mockery
And my clenched hands come empty.

But longer are these grey, haunted nights
When my weary eyelids are afraid to fall.
Shadows flit and dance vigorously in spite
Of myself as I wretchedly await your call.

**************


Tuesday, 16 July 2013

The convention of rationalist poets

The convention of rationalist poets.

They conferred and decided that the world no more needed

Feverish ballads about the slender Beauty with her
Ruby lips, shimmering patterns dripping off her ebony hair.

Woeful sonnets from spurned lovers, elucidating the sweaty pearls
Of misery and heartbreak, being turned away from her, sigh, Her.

Dreamy odes to the infinite oceans and the first snowflakes settled
On chapped leaves, those scented poems, recited by Firesides and kettles.

Passionate verses on tainted and denied flowers, on the marble Tombstones
Of war heroes, on naughty children flaunting their Taboo tattoos on the pavements.

Wicked satires on the Angels with their gilded wings, playing truant as
The world weeps, on the tyranny of the Usurper and his quiet menace

The clock stuck five, and the meeting adjourned,
The ignited match was dropped on a bundle of scribbled papers.
I can still see it, from far, far away.

It will be long before the fire goes out.

paper on fire and burn Stock Photo - 15810131




Wednesday, 10 July 2013

Shadows looming over puddles.

Shadows looming over puddles

When I was six, I was afraid that I'd be chastised by an annoyed
Mother on stepping home wearing my dirty
Frock dripping, courtesy the inviting puddles, warm,
Brown and for the lack of words, can I say 'splash-worthy'?

Now, under cloud scattered skies I wear a perpetual frown,
Swearing at the umbrella forgotten at home. Remnants of smiles that creep
from the nostalgia of the petrichor; they die almost instantly, as I'm vexed by the prospect
Of ruining my designer jeans in the puddles, swimming hideous and knee-deep.

When I was six I was afraid of  sleeping alone in a gloomy
Pitch black room. On nights that my mother tried to coax me
Into it, I'd slip out from between her arms and run to the full view of the
Grown-Ups. And bawl my lungs out till I got to chose where i'd sleep.

Now when I get home at night, I forget, sometimes even refuse
To turn the lights on. I stare at my ceiling, a topsy-turvy collage of dreams,
Some still wrapped and ribbon-ed, some worn-off and cast away.
Then I cry, quietly, uncertainly, into my arm, hoping no one hears my screams.

Wednesday, 3 July 2013

The 24th main shopping mall.

The 24th main shopping mall.

chaos breaks out in an orderly fashion
shooting anchors to grip the corners
of the spotless walls of the 24th main
shopping mall.
bewildered bejeweled hearts stroll leisurely
taking in the 'scenery' and scent of the posh
perfumes, and mannequins wearing their poker faces
lined up against the wall.

We waltz in through the polished double doors.
Famished and Lost
Bored and Loaded
Excited and Lonely
Broke and Love-struck
sunny saturday afternoon darkens through the
fancy french windows and the canned air
wafts out of steel slits while lifeless music
floats tentatively
fingers brush over rows of clothes while
they say 'haute conture', not knowing how to.
plastic smiles flock around in inelastic troupes,
almost vivaciously
we cast envious glances at one another,
imagining we would be happier with
manicured fingernails and six-inch stilettos. 

We come, we see, we covet.