Writer’s Block

sylvia

Sylvia Plath & Ted Hughes (Image taken from: http://www.thetimes.co.uk)

They met through books,
Survived through letters,
After a stressful quarrel,
She was scribbling hurriedly into a book,
Seeking the time to connect,
Her lover peeped in and helped her with a line,
She glared at him with glorious anger,
And requested him to leave her writing alone,
Further, clarified and uttered,
She chose an ending that was her own.

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Mumbai Overheard

mumbai
I overheard so much in Mumbai today,
That I couldn’t stop wondering,
Where was the drainage pipe which sucked humanity,
And the constant supply of greed,
I thought this city had a heart of its own,
It does,
Its heart is a quilt,
Colorful patterns and mystical prints,
Broken promises and shattered dreams,
Life’s lessons and happy wins,
But at the centre,
The unrecognizable guilt,
Hid inside indefinable hunger,
The loneliness of the young and old,
Hung loosely at the corners,
While man’s dreams woven across as creepers,
Held the massive collage of emotions at display.
I tried to measure the length of the quilt,
And soon I realized,
Unfortunately it didn’t have enough place to accommodate everybody within,
Only gaps and spaces left along just so that you could fit your little finger in.

Living With The Wrinkles

It has been I think three years since I saw the wrinkle gather around my home. No, the paint didn’t come off the walls, neither did the walls crack up. But, the people in my house are getting old or their body certainly is.

I spend my weekdays around three creatures they call senior. Where am I on weekends? I choose to be out sharing a drink with the younger breed who speak lightly and hear well. At home for the rest of the five working days of my week, I really take a lot of time, mostly painstakingly screaming around the house to make myself and my words to be heard. And, in the bargain, my tone is judged upon. So instead of thinking that I might be yelling it out to their nearly dead ears, my 90 year old grandma, my 65 year old pappa and 60 year old amma, think I am screaming at them.

And, right now as I write this I am sweating profusely because though I write quietly, within my mind I am still speaking at the same range with which I speak at home, which means “in a disturbingly high volume”. No wonder then that when my brother visits us from his serene ‘Gora’ settings of Michigan, he thinks I am yelling around. I am sorry my lovelies who put up with me but I am living this life for three years now. I cannot snap out of it! No! I cannot!I have tried meditating, but then I hear my dad crack his knuckles and I open my eyes to reality and enquire if his bones are fine.

Yes! they- the seniors at home have created a loud and panic-stricken character out of me. But, I love them for having made me more patient and having made me more of a human. Now, I search for wrinkled faces in a crowded train compartment, so that I can offer them my seat. I check for a fragile face within the crowd and smile at them. You may ask why. And that is because in this huge city packed with ambitions and aspirations, the young and old is very lonely. Some kids living off the street all alone while some white wooly-haired uncle stares into nothingness from his worldly window. Life is at display for him, but when he turns back at his ‘home’, all he sees are immobile non-living things staring back at him.

I know a human being cannot have everything in life, but if God gives them the ripe age, send them the caretakers and helpers they call ‘kids’.

Lastly, I love the old faces that look at me because every crease on their face speaks of a life truly lived. 🙂

That Thing Called Love

Life is just about giving up on yesterday. Don’t fight it,
It doesn’t matter,
When yesterday is past, anything before it should be forgotten, right?
He said I love you a day before yesterday,
Today he is sane,
Past inebriated admission of love,
Left a stark black hollow within you,
And just left him with more realization he thinks,
He knows himself a little better today,
And you know yourself a little better and him a lot better,
Life is just about giving up on yesterday. Don’t fight it,
It doesn’t matter!

Good Morning!

Life’s miseries aplenty,
Only hope, only respite, is the rising of the new sun and the melodious chirp of a new beginning,
If the sound of birds went astray,
You would wonder if life had an unruly plan for you today;
But, maybe it has or maybe not,
Or maybe it just wants to surprise you like it does each day.
With nobody to fall back on and nobody to catch you,
Isnt it enough just enough for you to know that you have viewers;
Who watch you dwindle past complications and obligations.
Laugh they may!
But it’s the same story everywhere.
Life’s miseries aplenty,
Only hope, only respite, is the rising of the new sun and the melodious chirp of a new beginning.

BitterSweet

We linked ourselves to the breeze,
Sought pleasure from the wind,
Closed our eyes to the fan’s moving hands,
Prayed to Lord for letting us build AC.

But it might start,
The moment we all awaited,
Rain is on it’s way to drench us,

First,
Rejoice.
Twice,
Rejoice.
Thrice,
Despise.

And then we pray for the rain to ‘go away’
Man and his many moods,
Who would have thought he could enjoy the company of one lady,
When all he wishes after a month is change in climate and his miseries.

BitterSweet truth of his life,
He prays for a change in seasons,
But has to live by his choices and reasons.

If only you were here

So you went away leaving the door of ‘if’ ajar,
If only we could have him back,
If only medicines cured him,
If and if only someone told us ,
They say.
I saw the brittle drops fall down your face,
When you saw me clasping your hand at the hospital bed,
Old and fragile you looked,
Much of a stranger to my memories.
I remember the grades I earned,
Thanks to your fine hand at art and craft,
You made my dream wings for a fairy I played in a stage act,
Constantly loved me n bought us chocolates,
Even when the world felt disgust at my decayed milk teeth,
You chose to forgive us when we ruined your noon slumber,
You chose to ignore our incompetencies.
They don’t know you taught us to love and be kind.
The guiding light.
The singer of soulful lullaby.
The granter of child’s wishes.
The teacher of finding joys in simple things.
But you have left us without a knock,
Tears accompanied us with your last breath,
We swore to think that He granted you peace,
And modified our lives to deliver nature’s justice,
We are here,
Alive and breathing,
And, hope, dreams, learnings are all there too,
But! if only you were here,
If only you were here..
Life would have enjoyed our company too.

Lost my beloved uncle this month. It has not been easy though he was old and unwell
He really loved my brother and me a lot. He would help us with our art assignments, would mend our broken umbrellas and would make us sandwhichs when we were too bored with mum’s cooking…