Sunday, April 18, 2010

The Proposal

The box is pink, a green satin ribbon is hugging it. A lizard is encased in that plastic-covered-with velvet-box. The lizard's eyes are glassy, steely, exotic- all at once. A motley of reflexes, more often than not, of revulsion crawls through my body. If you were to witness this disgusting spectacle, you would be overtaken by nausea, too. The prettiness of the encasement is soured by the contents. Have I already said that before? Well, I want to say it again. Feel it. Feel the slimy creature. The light goes dark. I see nothing. I still know that the lizard exists; its movement I can know. I shudder. I've been shuddering ever since. The lizard has cast its spell; its wish is granted - I have lost the battle of wits. The iron rod has been bent with a shudder.I have surrendered to that reptile, which shall rule my life with its malicious glint and its striving commitment. It expects from me love, I can give it naught. Oh, the reptile is advancing towards me. Each waking moment of drudgery in those Orb-like eyes. A film of poison on its pink tongue, and soon, on my ring finger.
The bitch won. That compromise of a bitch always wins.

The Comrades

We're comrades in arms, we are the world.
We walk life with a rugged swagger.
A smirk on our face to grace the occasion,
A tilt of our heads with no care at all.
We scale the rough terrain with ease,
we fly a wounded sky with not a pinch of pain,
Who are we? The comrades!
What are we? The Comrades!

A deep, husky voice - our sole possession
Our well of emotion - dry and buried!
Buried under the sandstorm that came along,
and drove us to those gigantic pyramids,
where we waited gagged and wound-up.
Embalmed in gold, the death of a platinum life.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Shore Whore

Yes, you call it time.
It's a mere sea, I say.
You're at one shore,
I am the other.
The same waters lick our feet
and the same Sun indulges us.
No bridge can be built on the sea,
for no monkeys work for free;
but if you wish, love,
I could try calling out to you,
and maybe a pigeon
will offer its services
and deliver my voice
at your shore-step.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Ice-cream at my doorstep. Not NICE.

The noise, the noise, the noise;
The music, the music, the music.
The crowd, the crowd, the crowd;
The company, the company, the company.
The vulgarity, the vulgarity, the vulgarity;
The trends, the trends, the trends.
The spilt ice-cream outside my door;
Wait, that's got no optimistic tone to it.
Although I could say something silly:
My door got its share of ice cream.
Except it didn't want it.



Searching for some solace,
I wake up every morning.
The sun's rays are too harsh,
Yes, I wake up at noon.
So, what?
Anyway, as I was saying,
there seems to be no escape
from this heat.
This heat of the moment,
this heat between people,
this heat of the summer!
Stupid, stupid summer!

All I want is some shade.
Some shield to deflect the ills.
A Superman's cape on my head,
and an opaque spider web around me.
I shall, then, roam the skies,
touch the moon and the stars,
and bounce my way to the Sun.

Just that

I can’t put it into sublime words
or try to fit it in a sentence
because I wouldn’t be doing it justice.
It isn’t a silly ideology
or an impulsive whim
It is what has remained of
a burnt pride and a torn faith.
Why would I want to dirty my hands
with the amorphous memory
that flew into one of my eyes
and hurt till blood crept in
and tainted my very perception?
I am simply going to shed my clothes,
walk on the rim of an open river
and dive into its iciness
with a hope that it freezes
the ocean of emotion
that surges beneath my very being.


Memories lie hidden in coves.
They're buried in the sand.
Peeping through the sieve of time,
they seem so desperate!
They hide under the table,
and crouch under the bed.
They slither their way across the hall
and present themselves at the dining table!

A pleasant surprise at lunch,
a rude shock for dinner!
Whatever the surprise,
it makes you cry.
Sometimes with joy,
sometimes with fear,
and sometimes, as very oft,
out of sheer lost hope clothed
in shimmery helplessness.
And that is no surprise at all.

Monday, April 5, 2010


A glass wall separates us.
I can see you, I can see.
I watch your breath move in and out
of that body I seek to possess,
I watch you click your fingers
and sing a song that I can't hear.
I am watching you blink,
and with you I am blinking,
just like the hearts on either side
that are bursting open with each beat.

There is this space between us,
there is, too, a wall.
But I can't break down the barrier,
and I can't do anything at all.
Why? You may wonder why.
I can't see the wall to break it down.
I can't see the space.
Touch it, I can't. Knock on it, I can't.
I can breathe on it, and draw figures
on the moist clouds of my breath that form
funny pictures on the glass.
I wouldn't break that, now.
Would you?