Frustigue

You and I should have our own words, don’t you think?

Our own words,

Different words,

To say what we feel

For those random, incongruous bursts

Of whatever it is that makes us hammer into the cracks

Of each other’s vulnerabilities. . .

I think I will call mine frustigue - this feeling -

The sound
Of pounding rubatosis,
As that little nerve on the corner of my right temple begins to throb,

As I feel the rush of blood crawl up my cheeks

To mirror the changing colors on your face,

And I can almost hear the clamoring emotions trapped inside of me -

When you ask

And I answer,

You ask

And I answer,

You ask

And I answer the same fucking question!

You can’t change the way I feel, you know,

By changing the words you use to ask.

And then you say ‘Don’t shout’?

You alone understand my fears

As I know yours;

It’s like fighting a battle we both lost. . .

So you just seal it with your middle finger

And a loudly mouthed ‘fuck you!’

Untitled

'talk to random people on the internet'

I typed -

It was my loneliness. . .

I have had better days

And worse

But that doesn't mean

That I still couldn't taste the heartbreak

On my tongue

I know I tried

Again

And again

And again

And again

Until I could feel

The cracks on my soul

Until I wanted to fall apart

But couldn't

Until your name on my lips

Became a soft whisper

That didn't quite reach my heart.

Exsanguination

Stay,

Just a little longer

Until the candle burns out

Until my heartbeats slow

To a whisper 

Sit on the couch by my window

Let me watch you watch me

Until all else blurs but you

Until the scent of your skin takes over

As last week's lilies fade

Stay until I see the love

Shatter in your eyes

And flow away with my tears

No, watch me

Don't look away

Don't go yet

Not until the blood dries on the sheets

Don't go

Not until my body grows cold

Like the frozen bullet on my side.

You held me

When I breathed first

So hold me, Maa

As I breathe my last.

(Composed 06 September 2015)

When I wrote this piece, the Sheena Bora case was on my mind. This piece, although influenced by the case, is not a representation of it. 
I do believe that exsanguination does not have to be physical. It can also be an emotional draining (bleeding) of the spirit; over time, it takes its toll. 

Us

Let me take from you until you have no more to give

Let me give to you until I’m barren

So that when we’re done

There is no you

There is no me

But just us. . .

So that when you breathe me in

I know the scent of my skin,

And when I touch you

You understand the fascination I hold

For the ups and downs and planes of you;

So that when I speak

It’s your words I hear

And when you see

You see through my eyes

How I see you.

Let our heartbeats mingle, mash,

So that when your heart beats

Mine echoes,

And when you smile,

It flows into my lips.

When I close my eyes

Let me dream your dreams,

When you shiver

Through a nightmare

Let me calm you;

Let me meet your demons,

Let me bury them

As you slay mine. . .

Let me be your anchor

As you are my ground;

Hold me firm

And I’ll steady you

So that through life's hurricane

You stay grounded in me

And I in you.

Hiraeth

You skirt the rim

Of yet another dusk;

You watch the russet heavens bleed, swirl

In a riot of red and orange,

And embrace your universe.

A moment, an hour, until time turns indigo,

And the sky bursts into a million pieces

Of shimmering shards.

The wind quivers,

With the false promise

Of absent showers -

The kind that brings

Drum rolls

That echo in your chest,

In imitation of a long forgotten song

Whose words are lost,

Yet the hum remains

On your lips;

Like the sound of his laughter

Just the sound, that’s all,

As you begin to lose the little lines

Around his mouth:

They disappear

Every time you close your eyes,

Fade a little

As you draw your next breath...

Open the fist around your heart,

Your fingers won’t keep it together;

Let it break,

Let it breathe,

Let it heal.

If he is your hiraeth,

You’ll never find home.

National Poetry Month, Day #1. 

Possibilities

I dream of a warm Summer afternoon;

I dream of a rocking chair,

Under the Peepal tree in my grandmother's backyard;

Of little ghost stories,

Born on moonless nights

With dry hay whispering in the wind;

I dream of wrinkled fingers,

Rubbing warm coconut oil in my hair;

And the scent of the last orchids,

As the cuckoo sings its farewell to Spring;

I dream of

The sound of crumpling candy wrappers,

And the aftertaste of tamarind candy,

On my tongue:

Sweet,

Tangy - 

Like the taste of possibilities...


On the occasion of 'World Poetry Day', I reminisce and, at the same time, anticipate.

Silent Soliloquy

To sing, or not to sing - that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler to perch and abide

The slings and arrows of mankind

Or to sing to the high heavens in dissent

And, by demurring, hope. To be heard, to be understood -

To be given a chance to live; and not disappear in the shadows,

The heartache, and the pain of loss

That the soul is heir to. 'Tis my acquiescence;

And opportunistic is man to glean – selfishly.

I spread my wings - perchance to fly: ay, were that I could soar,

High enough that return was irrelevant

Soar to some other world that shuns mortal abode.

Pause - take a rest; look what you have done -

How much you give, and how much more you take

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time?

You take more land, you take the mountains

What gives you notion, that they are yours alone?

The pangs of destroyed homes, are mine,

The insolence of dominance, yours alone

Tell me though, do you suffer occasional pangs

Of disgrace, of remorse,

When you take a battering ram, decimate what was never yours

To supplant it with sand and stone?

'Tis with little grace, that you accept your blessings

And twist them to befit your intemperance - 

What merits your need? Or is it your greed?

When you bleed the rivers?  You are no beaver,

Yet you build walls and wave your wand; 

You become the master, as the river bows and flows.

You make me bear the ills as you laugh in mirth

Heed me though - 'tis not for long,

Be not quick to dismiss this credence - 

The tides will turn and soon

But, mayhap, conscience will addle your cowardice

And the certitude of doom give you pause.     

You imprudent man! – who reigns earth, water and sky,

Let not your sins displace us all!

Written for the challenge 'Kerry Says ~ If Only They Could Talk' @ "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads". The base piece is 'Hamlet's Soliloquy'. The narrator is a wordless bird perched on a tree, a witness to the heedless deeds of man.

Gypsy Heart

A camp chair,

Your words and a guitar;

That smile,

That says you don’t care.

Wild hair,

And your fingers on the strings;

A bonfire,

And the memories it brings...

Your feet,

Tapping with your song;

I’d sigh,

Though I’d know it’s wrong

To lose my wild heart

To the songs you sing,

To look at you

And, knowing what you bring,

Still sing along with you,

Still string along with you;

Once more until you leave,

Cause that’s all you have to give –

Borrowed hours with your gypsy heart.


Written for the challenge - Donna the Buffalo's 'I See How You Are' @ "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads".

You

You are my truth
And my illusion
My wings
And the bars on my cage
My lavender fields
And the summer sand under my feet
My first rain
And my fistful of broken dreams
You are every season
You're the hands on my clock
With you I begin
And you are the end of me...

Immortality

There are moments

When I see, mirrored,

In your eyes

A reflection of the recondite emotions

That flow through my veins

But then you brush away my hair from my brow,

And tuck it behind my ear,

Just to reaffirm

That the speck of moisture

In my eye

Was not born of desolation. 

These are moments,

When you show me the meaning 

Of immortality...

I Hope Not

Born in darkness,
I learnt to laugh 
By the glow of the neon lights
That make my mother look beautiful;
From the time the sun sets,
Till the first light of dawn.
Her laughter tinkles,
Infectious,
With every new face,
Though most of them never return.
Coloured liquid in tiny bottles,
Lined against the mirror,
Catch the light of the sun
While she sleeps...
I put some on my nails sometimes
And I count the tiny lines on her face-
The lines you cannot see
In the dark of the night.
What is left 
Of the string of jasmines in her hair
Fills our room with their scent;
They smell a little
Like the tiny flower shop
Right outside the temple we never visit.
I don't like the white letters on the board,
But I like the sweet candy 
That the nice lady brings on Sundays
For after the Maths classes.
I'd rather be pretty like mother;
With coloured nails,
Flowers in my hair,
And the tinkle of bells around my ankles...
So I don't understand,
I know not why mother weeps,
And says, 
'I hope not'.

Hold Me Tonight...

Hold my hand,

Lead me through forgotten pasts,

Lead me to distant dreams;

I don’t want to sleep tonight, darling...

Touch me,
Just the way you know I need to be touched:

Trail your lips along mine,

Make me close my eyes;

Let me see your face,

Etched in my forever;

Let me feel you,

Under my fingertips.

Whisper sweet nothings

And sing to me,

What the cicada sings to his mate...

Hold me tonight,

Like we don’t have tomorrow;

Hold me tonight,

Like you’ll never let go!

(Composed - 25 June 2014)

Why Do You Sigh?

Why do you stand by the open window

All by yourself,

Staring into the distance,

When the whole house sleeps?

Why do you sigh,

When the wind blows your hair,

Into your melancholy face?

Why do you touch the corner of your eyes

With your knuckles?

Why do your lips quiver when you smile?

Why do your fingers tremble,

As if to touch something,

Just beyond your reach?

What do you look for

Beyond the darkness of the night?

There are no starts to count tonight;

So you won’t find hope,

Not in the sky...

I know,

Because I tried.

(Composed - 16 July 2014)

Did You Learn to Cook?

Half a pack of cards -
The king of spades still has the turned corner
On the left bottom;
From that weekend we spent,
Locked in a cottage
Lost amidst coffee and pepper...
I knew you cheated, you know,
And I let you win anyway.
I still have that book,
Marked with a dried rose
On page 211;
‘Sad poems’, you said, with misty eyes,
So I packed it away in my bag...
I never returned it,
And you never asked.

I don’t have pictures;
When you left, you took them all.
Perhaps you knew,
That I don’t need pictures,
To remember,
How you leaned out of the rear window,
To look back,
When you thought I wasn’t watching;
I don’t need pictures to remember,
How you'd bite your lip
When you smiled sometimes;
How you moved when you danced
In my arms;
How you’d tie up your hair, a little messy,
And hum in the kitchen...
By the way, did you learn to cook?

The little love-notes you left,
Stuck to the bathroom mirror;
The oversized, overworn T-shirt,
That we both fought over;
A pair of grey socks,
That you forgot in the laundry basket -
These are all that are left of you
Behind my closed door...
And yet,
Like the lingering smell of drenched earth
After a rain,
What I have of you
Is so much more.

(Composed - 07th July 2014)

Sometimes...

When the grey sky stretches like evenings in Summer
And melts into the red earth
As I spread my hands to catch a bit of the wind;
When the air smells like wet lilies,
And like the time I tried to hoard
In an old shoebox tied with a red ribbon;
When the ledge outside my kitchen window
Is lined with tiny sparrows
Shaking the rain from their wings;
I think of you:
I think of lemonade laced with mint
And the tangy taste of kisses,
I think of blankets and laughter
And your fingers in my hair,
Of the new umbrella sitting in my bag
While we walked in the rain,
Of the coffee cups we bought
But never filled,
Of promises never made
Yet promises kept.

And I wonder if, perhaps,
You think of me too sometimes.

Drink Beer

I know, I know
You want to punch that guy
God! His nerve!
Too bad he's so big
You might just break your own knuckles
So chill,
Paint your nails yellow
And drink beer!

Bittersweet

We are now
We are good
This moment in time
We are us
And yet I know
What tomorrow holds
I won't think of later
I'll live this now
I'll live my moment
This moment is bittersweet.

Counting

I put on my blue dress
And look in the mirror,
I tell myself I like what I see;
And what I can't see doesn't matter,
Does it?
They won't see the sleepless night in my eyes,
Or hear the little sound
Of something breaking inside.
They won't see my thoughts,
They won't know how I feel.

I slip my feet into my shoes;
They won't know how they hurt,
They won't know 
That I'd rather stay home.
It's time to go,
So I put on my best smile;
I know I'm going to laugh later,
Maybe even say something funny...
And I know they won't see,
Beyond my armour.

You ask me how many times 
A heart can break?
I don't know yet,
But I'm still counting.

Fireflies in Summer

When the night is at its darkest 
When the moon becomes a stranger
When you don't have to close your eyes
To count the scars on your soul
Just smile,
Stay strong,
And hold on...
There'll be fireflies in Summer.

One More Time...

Why does it have to be so hard?
This living? 
One moment you’re content feeling nothing 
And in the next, there is too much... 
It's like someone’s watching; 
Making sure you crumble again 
Just to see if you can get up 
One more time...