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.

My Love . . .

My love

It’s like the dank tea bag in my empty cup –

Used, drained and discarded

My love

It’s like the inbox of my e-mail account –

Cluttered, with epitaphs of my past

And yours

My love

It’s like your threadbare, chequered socks

With little holes around the toes -

How you loved to dance in them!

My love

Is in the fading lilies

Pressed between the pages of Neruda -

Some words of loss

Some words of hope.

   

My love

It’s like the alley by your place –

No matter where I go

It leads me back to you.

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.