Not without a Hint anymore...

You once said, we would run away. We would live in a cottage of straw and wood, near the river of fishes and sunsets.You would fish all day, and come back by nightfall.We would eat simple food and then... you would play your guitar and we would sing our songs...till tired,we would fall asleep.What happened to that dream...What happens to all those dreams...

It's a crying  headache...
A running wreckage
Far from the scene of crime
And illusions,
A fulsome cremation
Of an undead soul...
Clinging to an incomplete dream about Life.
I have come, a long way
Past the postcard yellow-flecked fields,
That moves when the shadow befalls
Like a creature aroused.
There,look,trembling little calf runs,
Anxiously begotten, for its mama.
I have also run,
Through the distorted rails,
The muted wails
Of a winter sun.
Where the mechanical ticking of uncertain dreams
Do end,
And an ancient one begins,
Where life has ceased to end or begin,
Where a crying headache is a disease.

Where we once spoke of running away to.....

There they weave a lonely sweater,
For the faithless stranger of the suburbs...
There they smile,
A token of recognition,
For the hint they would not let slip by...

Let's run away,
The world screams,
Let us all run away...

Not without a Hint

Nothing new,
Just a pigment of dust
In the patina of an old alloy rust...
It isn't dust,really;
More like a smudge...
Writ with fingerprints,
A thumb rule of reminiscence.

As the eyes bore into their meaning,
Their origin and its sin,
Pockmarked,enervated,never mind...
A dextrous hand and brush will paint out
The lies and truth that was.
A hidden vestige of faith reclaimed
In a leftover dust, a facsimile, the evidence,
For him to start believing again...
That the one sought is gone, but not without a hint.

The Muse

My Muse is still alive,
Breathing, gasping,and persevering;
A hungry callus of throbbing dead cells
Nostrum to the paraplegia of our united dreams...
It's lying on the grass, gazing up to the sky
Etching a new dream, with the palette in it's eyes
Living a life, fresh out of the pages
Of  a new diary, or a receding sigh.


Who are you?
The shapeless shapes in your comatose visions.
Where are you?
Somewhere in the recesses of your epicure mind.
How are you?
Alive and breathing...
Dreaming of a clear blue sky.
A blessing, in the form of a quasi memory...
Running away from the islands of qualms,
Rushing headlong to forget.
But the Muse is still alive,
Aiding to not abet,


Egging me on to forget...
The scenes from the life
My Muse begets.

A splattered raindrop and gravity's corsette,
Squeezing it down, drying away in its own footsteps...
The Muse shall build, the Muse shall erase.

Reloading---ramblings,don't read :)

An old love's verve sometimes rings like the churchbells...divine yet sinister all at the same time.But such that you can't keep yourself from listening to it till it fades out,even the last of the reverberating whispers...
And then you will invariably look up one last time as if with some subconscious hope that the source of all the ruckus would simulate some of the effect its gonging had just caused.But when it doesn't, you just walk away...
Someone,a very good and old friend, joked about a stupid habit of hitting 'Refresh' to the inbox of his email account and just staring at it while it loads and then repeating the cycle.Moronic,bordering on some kind of Tourret's tick,right? But he also said that while he does this...he has plenty of time to reflect on plaintive things and slowly,by around the 67th reloading of the same page (and no new mails yet) delve deeper into that one cell of thought and explore all its possibilities.Hence all his Philcrap.
Now I was laughing at him the whole time and not one of those giggles I am so proud of.No, but one of my guffaws...which also I am very proud of,by the way. So anyway, there I was guffawing not realising for one second that 14 hours later I would be doing the same thing and 14 hours and15 minutes later writing this.
So he (not the old friend;the he-who-must-not-be-named 'he') snubbed me again.Big deal.He does it every day almost.Nose,heart,butterfly chamber (wherever that is)...all that.And so what if 2 minutes before that I was being my pathetic self and reclaiming my concerned anxiety for his little puke spells.But incidentally this whole transpired over gtalk and right after the snubbing, I reflexively fell to the refresh,let it load,refresh cycle and 5 minutes later...I signed out.
Yes.It's time to hit Refresh.

Friend and I

I had a friend.

We dug up mini caverns

In the backyard garden and pretended

To be cavemen, with our inadequate words

And fall asleep to wake up in our beds…

Schizophrenic children, worst best friends.

Till our time came, you paraphrased your name.

I have a friend.
We chase ant trails and
Draw rude words in uncouth window mists,

Blow bubbles in wiry lanes

And chortle at soapy breaths…

When the clock strikes monsoon, and he can’t be there.

We count moon clouds,

Gather bookmarks

Curl up, legs intertwined

And humor our old friends,

With a snort and a high high five…

Then she becomes another dream…another friend.

I like purple, he likes blue,

No, we both like red, his shirt and my dirty fingers…

It’s not a birthday card,

It’s a little paperboat

With a hundred words in its multifold…

And we smile, and I blink, it’s another friendly face.

We giggle all day, lipbalm or vodka breathed

Not enough pathos to fill our heads,

Her fingers through my hair,

Our feet tiptoes through forbidden streets

A beat and our cover is blown, we dance in defeat…

When the smog ebbs, she calls herself back,

Crashed vicissitude in her footfall dies

And everyone gather to remain quiet

They hold her hand as she dials…

To a text that is sent from me to

Myself.

Diwali,2011

Thank you for being who you are.Thank you for not letting him and them keep my smile in the shadows of the past this Diwali.Thank you for taking the initiative,buying the crackers and the lights and those cute little diyas we used as candle-stands!...Thank you for pushing me to the terrace and making me burn the last of the truckload of fireworks (when did you get the time to buy them!). In short, thank you for unleashing my laughter in the sea of the laughing echoes and sending out that rocket with my name on it into the universe along with the rest of the ones of 'them petty humans'.Thank you.... for reminding me of my rightful place in your universe.Your princess.Thank you...Dad.

The Teething Story

Like a hundred hummingbirds beating away
Their feathers of flight, just bidding away
A time to recall how many times a day

They will hum their daily chances

Of remaining airborne                  

No rules to beckon

To and never again

Will we hear them stay…

As they will always be on their way.

These nails are born

To hold me in a strait

From potholes

To a tousled bed

With a tipped night-lantern…

These nails will be biting away

At my teeth and a pacified,slower canter.

You are a thought, a throng of dots

Pilfering your own time,

A menace of nots,

A pulsating vein

On this sunny forehead,

A doodle of pinpricks

And a crass paperweight…

Lest I fly away,

These nails will beg

For once a habit

Is always a mistake...

You will hear me not,

You will only hear me hum,

Oh but the nailbiter

Is again at her humming rum!

These nails will be biting away

At my teeth and a false alarm.

A rogue of shallow cadaver,

A petty human beleaguered

Into the craft of playing naked

In the muck, with human laughter …

I remain yours to always be,

Enslaved by your rivalry,

These nails will grow and become a need

To be alive and not to feel.