I tried to peek into her mind...

She sat, a wasted pen grasped loosely in her hand. Her face was a cascade of emotions. Those eyes flamed with anger, tightly pursed lips screamed of recent resolutions, promises to herself perhaps. Frustration at the humongous effort that never paid back, at time that slipped through her fingers never to be had again. Questions contorted her features- Why am I here? Where am I going? Not a year ago, it seemed picture perfect. Is it just one huge mistake? A comment sailed by, that agreed with the cynicism she felt. Her pen moved on paper, I could discern the slant of her hand from yards away. I could feel the searing force of the pen as if it were piercing through my own skin. Resentment hung around her like an impenetrable curtain.

I wondered if these are just my inferences snatched away from the fleeting expressions on her face. These could be just my thoughts, isolating patterns from the kaleidescope of her feelings. This might be a futile attempt at mind reading. Or my faulty perception and skewed imagination jaundicing simple reality. I sat wondering, when suddenly a small smile, a happy one, stole into her eyes. Those lips, a thin line until then, perked up from that smile. Was it the beloved violin back home, beckoning? Was it favorites from Bach and Mozart, resounding in her head? Was it the sun that had just swam in and brightened the window? But she smiled, a happy smile. Aren't these the very moments that make life worth its while...?

Flouncing

Have you ever felt your life has become an exciting tug of war between fancies and reason... intensity and inertia... heart and mind (allow me the cliché)? It is almost as if someone, with the touch of a wand and a whispered spell, has rendered everything unrecognizable.

Not too long ago, I was young and important and thought I was the sole master of my life. But life has its way of springing these surprises. Surprises that could be nasty, or a much needed reality check, or just an amusing change of scene.

The cynic is tempted to wonder if as we grow older, we slowly spiral down into a vortex of ambivalence and uncertainty. Isn't that moving backwards? Where is all the wisdom I was promised will come with experience? Maybe those important lessons swished past me during an elusive woolgathering moment. Or is it too early for wisdom to reveal itself? I am still a child!

For a change, the cynic was smothered! There is a certain charm in the non-algorithmic tortuous flow of life. There is a promise entwined in the tangles of uncertainty - a promise of a memorable today, the tomorrow of my dreams. The fear causes an onset of boiling wrath that soon hardens into unbending obstinacy against the ravages of fear itself.

The illusion of success could paint itself real... The rainbow could come and stay on forever... Call it optimism, call it irrationality, call it lust for life. The proverbial speck of light gleams enticingly, maybe the tunnel will end in an ideal world?!

Off guard

All day long I walk amidst a sea of faces, many a plastic smile, many a muttered pleasantry, civilities galore. We share a dingy elevator always making space for one more, united by nothing more than intermittent beeps and bright numbers mechanically blinking at us. We run together, the ceaseless race to reach our respective destinations, none the winner, none the loser.

A wizened gentleman stands before me, expounding the theories of microeconomics, hypothesizing and infering and concluding in turns. I twiddle my pen, intently searching my neighbor's face for a clue to his thoughts. I gaze at the blackboard ahead mildly amused and largely unaffected by the symbols and numbers scrawled across. Random words that, if strung together, might unravel their mysteries issue forth and float past me. My neighbor stirs, our worlds crisscrossing for a brief moment, time enough for a polite nod, for a meaningful shrug at the futility of it all. The professor draws elaborate patterns in the air, his voice rising in excitement. Maybe it is passion, a deep love for his job, if you will. Maybe it is just an ethic to do his job well, to earn a living untainted by the guilt of shirking.

"Passion", I wonder. But where is mine? Does my mind wander away in search of that very passion or does it wander for the pitiful lack of it? Why not meekly submit to the "flow" as they call it? Why the unending quest for fiery passion, lofty goals, perfect love? Why this obsession with elusive superlatives and high ideals? My hands have gone clammy and cold- Fear wielding its power, perhaps? But the seas of home are a million miles away, the welcoming roar of the waves a distant echo in my ear. Those eyes in my mind have lost their spark. Those familiar smiles are fading away, shade after shade. My bookshelf has reduced to the impersonal touch of cold metal. The yellowing books have crumbled in my memory. Pages from Jane Austen and Wodehouse and Voltaire gently superimpose and melt into each other.

Here I am, having relinquished the defences I so painstakingly built. Here I am, a tortoise with no shell to hide beneath.

Playing spectator

It was early evening and vehicles were beginning to trickle in towards the traffic signal. Rush hour traffic was building up, an occasional honk permeated through the swank glass that separated me from the road. I sat in a small cafe with two friends, engaged in an interesting discussion, the kind young people with big dreams indulge in - discussions about people who relentlessly pursue their dreams, about hot jobs and shortcuts to fame, conversations that carefully skirted the periphery of each other's personal life.

"...did you read about this guy who..."

I watched the lucky few who sped past the traffic light as it turned from orange to red and the timer above it began yet another countdown. I could almost feel their tiny thrill at an imagined victory over time. Over a decade of driving in the city has not abated the unfailing excitement I feel every time this happens. The way we let clocks, timers, alarms, phones and answering machines dictate our lives saddens me briefly at such moments of realization. But I've learned not to let the feeling last too long.

My friends had moved on to girls, "...Oh watch out for her. She's gonna be one of the hot ones for sure..." I flashed a knowing smile at this, a grin almost, "Is she the girl you met today?", I asked, though I knew the answer already.

My gaze wandered back to the road, now burgeoning with cars locked fender to fender and shiny motorcycles maneuvering to squeeze themselves in between. There was an urgency in the air. It was the cumulative urgency of men and women hurrying to their waiting sweethearts, of mothers worrying about their hungry children at home, of the occasional loner craving for respite from the mad rush, of those hoping fervently to make it on time for their favorite soaps.

I snapped into the present and smoothly veered back into the conversation, "Oh! Holidays are definitely getting more and more luxurious", I added. It's amazing how a slight nod, a noncommittal acknowledgment or a muttered response issues forth with immaculate timing even at such levels of abstraction.

Far removed from the din and unperturbed by the impatience, I felt disconnected from the muted show outside my window. This evening, for a change, the frenzy was not a part of my universe. But I felt a restlessness in me that shunned the cozy interior of the softly lit cafe. I was clamoring to be a part of the buzzing road. At that moment, all I wanted was those harsh sodium lamps, the honking in my ears, my fair share of that throbbing urgency.

"I just wish I owned an isolated island somewhere", I said aloud to deceive myself...

As I depart...

If I were a dewdrop, I would evaporate without a trace
If I were a snowflake, I would melt away out of shape

If I were a ray of light, you would look away from the glare
If I were a sheet of rain, you would run away to drier abodes

But if I were just a memory, will you not keep me safe
between the myriad folds of your mind?

Alas!

Little did I know
that futility indeed
is the aftertaste of satiety...

So what?

Oh yes! I'm quite the cynical cow. This is how I feel most of the time...

Be Mine

Run with me in my perpetual haste
Wander with me in my desperate search 
Meander with me in my whimsical course
Slalom with me in my endless vacillation
Wade with me through my hopeless misery
Sink with me to my senseless abysses
Spin with me in my eddying emotion
Cruise with me through my youthful fantasy
Flow with me in my surging spontaneity
Swim with me in my verbal euphony
Float with me in my phantasmal heaven
Whirl with me in my fragile bubble 
Fly with me as I escape reality

insignificant intimacy, please

saccharine spiels
devised demureness
amorous adoration
casual caresses
exotic erotism
nimble nipping
moaned murmurs
barbaric bacchanalia
flooded fatigue
limpid languor
sated slumber

Let go!

Pilfer my wing
in a moment of inattention,
Hold it tight, stop
my flight, my fervor, my frenzy.

Cocoon us tight
in this ephemeral chimera,
Weave it closed, paint
a moon, the ocean, our reality.

Tragic

I turned back slowly, fearfully, even a little hesitantly...

A chain of seemingly connected, truly disparate realities, fragments strung together by some strange whim of nature. A misplaced fantasy- well, hopelessly!

Ellipsis carefully strewn about to beautifully camouflage the uncannily repetitive omissions, or should I say forgotten procrastinations? Negligence- well, nearly!

Ripples, one after the other, incessantly spreading, arch emotions, flitting romance, illusory love, undying lust. Turbulence- well, always!

Tears, both shed and denied, stifled and blinked away, solitude, self-inflicted heartache. Happiness - well, wistfully!

Phantoms, some even real, of thoughts and words and deeds, some said, some swallowed, some loved, some repented. Spontaneity- well, rued!

I turned away sadly, fearfully, even a little too quickly...

Greedy

Fingertips, a hummed tune, the moment before you sneeze,
a crumpled sheet of scrawled words, chipped coffee mug, a puppy,
whispered love, a secret meeting place, momentary motionless locked gaze.

If you will allow me some more greed...

An embrace, your voice, the moment before you sleep,
manuscripts of love, the sugar in your coffee, allegiance,
an oath, paradise, eternity.

Trivial

I'm an inkblot, scattered by an angry whim of the hand.
I'm a footstep, an insignificant instant in an eternal journey.
I'm a shadow, a dark twin that lurks by day and fades by night.
I'm a torn page, an incomplete story with no beginning or end.
I'm a broken clock, frozen at a forgotten moment of truth.
I'm an ambiguity, maybe, maybe not...

When I'm gone...

Oh cuckoo that wakes him every morn!
Won't you sing a melancholy song,
the day I'm gone?

Oh rainbow outside his window!
Just one more color, won't you show,
the day I'm gone?

Oh fragrant flower in his way!
Your pretty head, won't you sway,
the day I'm gone?

Oh teardrop in his left eye!
A little sooner, won't you dry,
the day I'm gone?

Oh new moon, out of sight!
Won't you be his lover for a night,
the day I'm gone?

Stay awhile, will you?

You are my fleeting fantasy,
Rest awhile before you hurry away-
Just long enough to sing me a song...
Just long enough to write you a verse...

You are my sweet intoxicant,
Hold me awhile in your magical mirth-
Just long enough to profess my love...
Just long enough to lull me to sleep...

You are my unopened gift,
Stay awhile wrapped in ribbons-
Just long enough to stop this flutter...
Just long enough to guess your surprise...

You are my flowing poetry,
Remain awhile as stammered words-
Just long enough to finish this dream...
Just long enough to string you together...

You are my impending doom,
Wait awhile before destroying me-
Just long enough to feel your wrath...
Just long enough to hear my plea...

Soma

Inspirational Art: courtesy Nithya ( A really good amateur artist!)


Crystal goblets, musically clinking
Sparkling stars, softly blurring
Imagined music, gently lilting
Warm intoxication, washing all over.

Blurted words, barely croaking
Leaden head, wildly throbbing
Numbed senses, slowly dying
Brutal intoxication, ravaging all over.

May I not have just a bit of your morn?

May I not perch
on your window sill
and glimpse your creased forehead
and guess your last dream?
I promise, I will fly away into the dawn.

May I not ride
down a gleaming ray
and tickle your eyelids
and kiss you awake?
I promise, I will not stay too long.

May I not slide
into your morning papers
and peek at your face
and follow your gaze?
I promise, I will not leave my far corner.

May I not melt
into your dark coffee
and float up the steam
and whisper you a secret?
I promise, I will not cloud up your eyes.

May I not have just a bit of your morn?

Insomnia

Midnight glory,
Fold around me
your celestial quilt.
Tell me a tale.

Raven Beauty,
Breathe into me
the mysterious dusk.
Sing me to sleep.

His and Hers

An anger gushing with virulence, an anger so physical, it leaps out and grips you as tightly as his clenched fist, a temper so hot, you will wince if you touch that green vein pulsating against the stretched skin of his neck, an anger that hurls every object in sight, an anger caught, mangled and minced between two unsmiling rows of pearly teeth that seem incapable of such wrath, an anger that brings forth a cascade of unimaginable abuse, an anger swelling with spontaneous curses and threats rarely meant, an anger that sparks, blazes and reduces to cold ash- all within a quick throbbing moment, an anger that hurriedly slips through your fingers, an anger that leaves as remnants only repentance, profuse apology and not a trace of malice. Such is his anger- red to behold, searing to touch, loud to hear, fleeting in time, harmless while it is there, guileless once it is gone...

Silent anger that resides in her sharp glare, in her slow forceful walk, in her firmly set jaw, in the thin line of her mouth, a practised anger, its perfection visible in the controlled pace of her movements free of urgency, movements carefully designed to conceal her emotion, an anger that had no ears for pleas or reason, an anger chilled till you shiver in its iciness, an anger that simmers silently long after you think it has passed, an anger that strikes back with hurtful words when you least expect them, an anger that stores every moment away, committing them to memory to serve as fuel for some future wrath, an anger that never forgets, an anger that stays on for you to touch, remember and fear forever, an anger that leaves behind charred bitterness and a promise of return. Such is her anger- eternal embers that glow unnoticed, biding time as it awaits the wind of revenge, a spiteful fire that only her will can quell...

Caught Unawares

Is that all there is to a dream-come-true?

Life spiralled down into normalcy,
As I continue to wait for indulgent mirth.
The glorious moment slunk away silently,
leaving me no chance for leisurely reminiscence.

Is that all there is to a dream-come-true?

We still exchange the same pleasantries-
About the weather, the traffic, the bitter coffee.
Can't you see the bounce in my gait,
the glow on my face?

Is that all there is to a dream-come-true?

A thrill that raced past,
A smattering of disbelief, tears and prayer,
A faint recollection of sweet success,
rapidly replaced by dreams anew?

Silent Flutter

Bright orange streaks ran the width of the sky, rapidly turning pale, as the sun bid its daily farewell. Waves gently lapped up to them, receding with a silky caress. She intently watched her feet and raced to count the bubbles before the wave could sweep them back into the sea. His arms encircled her shoulders lightly, a half embrace that announced easy fondness. A boat merrily bobbed under the command of the high sea, a vanishing image at the line where sky melted into sea. The low hiss of the waves, the gentle rustle of the breeze rose to fill the silence between them. It was not a silence that hung heavily. It was a silence cloaked by their perfectly resonating thoughts, a silence cocooned in content love, a silence engendered by years of understanding.

She traced designs in the sand with her toe, rushing to complete intricate patterns before the sea came to claim them. "Why do you love me?" he asked as casually as he would ask for the time. "It's your handwriting, I've told you before", she laughed, not taking her eyes off her feet. "And why do you love me?" "It's your lisp my dear, as always", he feigned a pronounced lisp as he said it. A tiny spark twinkled in his eyes as he squinted to catch sight of the distant boat. An impish smile crept up the corners of her mouth and she looked away from him. She entwined her fingers into his and tugged his arm tighter around her. They lapsed into silence again and looked up in unison, each searching for the other's star.

"Not a word we utter
But does it stop, the flutter?"

The sanctity of their love rested untarnished in the soft recesses of their silence, in the fleeting thoughts she engraved in the wet sand, in the mesh of their intermingled fingers.

PS: Inspired by fond reminiscences of the sorely missed sea...

Resurgam

Intangible thoughts, flickering images, dreamy fantasies surface and vanish, playing a game of hide and seek in my mind. My pen and paper meet only to render my mind instantly blank. My words, a trickle of incoherent stutters and stammers, die away unexpressed. I build elegant characters and weave elaborate tales. But they refuse to leave the ephemeral abode of my thoughts, they shun my offer of immortality.

Thus we rest in peace-
My langushing mind,
My drying pen

Resurgam

Enduring wait

The weeks trudged along laboriously,
I wistfully counted each tomorrow...

You left me fading manuscripts of love,
Creases softened with time, Ah! the familiar coarseness of your skin.
Fond eyes welled up as I ran them yet again
over your undotted i's, your slanting t's.

You left me a picture tacked to my wall,
A snapshot of long past, frozen in eternity.
I touched your smile, your finger tips,
I blew the fleck off your eye.

You blew me a kiss from the far curb of the road,
A fleeting gesture of parting.
I hid them under my eyelids-
your gentle kiss,the warm moon, the cool night breeze.

Since your return,
The todays pass as I longingly wait...

To run my finger along your face,
To trace the curve of your lip,
To melt in your lowered gaze,
To kiss you in your cherubic sleep.

Will this missing ever cease?

Pensive

Suspended clouds mesh together like pieces of a jigsaw and metamorphose into forgotten faces. Some smile, some are still angry, some show no flicker of recognition. Unfazed, I fly past...

The cacophony of voices in my head break the underwater silence. Lofty ideas, fragmented dreams, childhood memories, ancient mirth, heartrending grief resurface and add to the chaos. I dive deeper to shut out the clamor...

Visitors unsolicited in real life crash into my dreams. They stomp all over the rosy dream and distort it into a cruel nightmare. I simply nuzzle closer and sleep on...

A harsh storm follows the deceptively soft breeze right through my window. My gently meandering life is entangled in the sinews of the raging tornado. I melt into a sheet of rain...

Oh! How I yearn for that floating flight amidst the wispy clouds, that silent plunge into the deep ocean, that tender dream in the night-long cradle, that fluid journey from heaven to earth...

Oh! How I yearn for that simple life...

Can you hear the silence?

She peered deep into his eyes, He quickly averted his gaze
                                           A violent storm brews in the distance
                       Can you hear the Screaming Silence of Anger?


                              She touched his fingertips hesitantly, He squeezed her palm tight
                A cool mountain breeze nudges them closer
                Can you hear the Calm Silence of Trust?


               She ran her toe up his leg slowly, He wet his lips hungrily
                         The wet smell of rain mixes with the pungent smell of sweat
  Can you hear the Moist Silence of Lust?


She laid her head on his shoulder, He kissed her forehead lightly
                  Deafening thunderclaps, a blinding crack of lightening
                         Can you hear the Choking Silence of Grief?


                       A single teardrop escaped her eye, He wrapped her in his embrace
                  The moon glows softly in the clear night sky
        Can you hear the Gentle Silence of Love?