Month: July 2007

engulfing

fingers icy and shaking from the chill
fumbling gripping clawing at the walls
the tunnel goes on forever
but they say there’s a light at the end of it

but one is weary from the long crawl out
and realisation dawns,

that the light at the end of the tunnel has been snuffed out
by that careless hand, that whispered breath of indifference

what can one do, but sit and wait
and wait for the end to come to you instead.

dear mr postman

today i sent a letter marked for dear mr postman

i wonder if he remebers the crazy girl that drops off letters in the begonia letterbox addressed to dear mr postman. its been 2 years since i last did that, crazy huh. maybe he thinks i’ve come bacl from the dead, or that i’m another person, doing this crazy insane thing again.

i wrote a letter which would reach no one, with only the faceless & nameless mr postman knowing the secrets in it. a letter which i stabbed till there was a hole in the paper, a letter which has smudged ink from tears previously unshed.

i wrote for a good solid hour, incoherent thoughts and phrases, which flowed out of that lovely montblanc pen which i save for occasions just like these. angry words, happy words, heart broken words, magic words, deathly words, loving words. all the words i have said till my face turned blue and all the words i could not say in front of anyone.

then i signed it, xoxo me, and dropped it off adressed to aforementioned postman. and walked there, mailed it and hope, magically it would be delivered to no one, or you*. maybe in a fancy burst of shower fireworks you’d know. or that you1 would call, or that you2 would write, or that you* would respond.

wishful thinking c.

(anyway mark, because you asked, so nicely, here’s a coherent blog post. enjoy your vacation! get a suntan, pet a fish or two, kiss under the stars, go dancing under beach trees, have tons of loving greatness and most of all, treasure these precious moments.)

impermanence

fleeting:

the benign cloud rabbits
the raindrops on a waxy leaf
the ripples on the oceans’ surface

the alcohol in a shot glass
the spark of a light
the drop of the last petal

the moment the 3 year offer was made
the love talk on pillows
the glint of a smile

the snapshot of exotic travels
the jibberjabber of the market place
the wag of the puppy’s stub of a tail

fleeting, as memories are long
but fleeting still i catch them
leaking out of my eyes and ears and mouth.
fleeting as the dragons twirl about my face
as the bees leave their buzzing in the blood
and cold, cold are these frozen hands.

fleeting, and nothing is permanent
dreams changed, morals compromised,
must-dos forgotten, must-nots beloved,
forbidden fruit tasted, hopes abandoned.

one must not get too attached to the tools of the world
for we are, above all, but a speck in the spectrum
of eternity.

strangers

the skin, it sublimates
wispy vapours from one’s skin
rises rises in a swirl in a twirl
and hovers above my head

if you saw me in the middle of the sky
would you recognise my face or the way i slouch in my seat
or the way i smell in the nape of my neck or the size of my feet

if we run into each other when we are old, and greyed
would you recognise my eyes beneath the cataract
or my body beneath folds of soft flesh and wrinkled skins

then, then would everything be too late?

still the same today

Friday, December 08, 2006

the little boy was tired, and lost. circles and circles, and back at the same place. his arms were breaking from the sheer weight of the things he carried, crying and screaming his muscles were for relief. it wasn’t like he was 8 feet tall and could see the terrain of the land and find the path.

the guiding faries said to him, “follow your heart”, like it’s any advice at all.

so weeping, he sat down and took stock of the baggage. everything else he couldn’t set down, because that was his crosses to bear, the mission to finish, without which his walk through the woods were for nought.

and then he felt it, the little toy boat in his pocket. the lovely wooden carved boat with its tiny sails of blue and white. he looked at it and he gingerly touched the little rigs and the sailing ropes. he would take it out every night before, and polished it, and put it on the table by his bed, so it was the last thing he saw when he slept and the first thing when he woke. he stared at it for a while or two, and carefully set it down on the rock beside his feet.

he knew it was a small weight. a small baggage to carry, but it was the only weight he could put down, because the others were more dire, more pressing.

so he hardened his heart, and as he turned away, the wind knocked the pretty little boat off its perch into the sand.

the toy he treasured, and loved to bits now lay bruised and half sunk into the sand. it’s masts no longer upright, it’s sails no longer clean. and it hurt his heart fiercely.

he stared and stared, but time was running out and not a luxury to have. and so he shut his eyes and turned away, the little boy walked away, refusing to turn behind to see what was left of the boat, or think about what would happen to that precious boat that was so used to its place on the mantle, now lying wrecked in the sand.

someone else would find it, he comforted himself. someone else would polish it and love it.

and as his back turns, the little boat’s sails by abrasion of the sand in the wind, lay limp.

i understand why.
but i don’t have to like it.

said c at 3:40 PM 0 loves

Friday, January 05, 2007

the stain of your being hovers above my head
like cirrus like rainfall that refuses to depart
that you might lie there, lie here
along the meanders of me

smelling of danger and red wine roses
no doubt, without doubt
like warm red wine-blood
on a winter snow flake
that melts like butter over flame
that melts over the icicles and shakles of us

that history or now i cannot tell
ejects a funny runny watercolour
of bamboos and lotuses of us
of us lying supine atop a glassy sea
or of a cigarette left crushed underfoot

and the stain which rises off your body
sublimates dew like
like those knitted woolen jacket
that unravels at a tug at a pull
unravels me

this drug induced sleep in which
like a lover seduces and beckons
a haughty slave, an abused woman
a love-child, yet smiling atop a bicycle

wind in my hair i run and hide
in between the grot of the drain
that empties the vestibules of the heart
and amidst that torrent
that manic pulsing torrent
i drown i drown
and grasping
i die

said c at 2:14 AM 0 loves

what does one do?

what does one do when one wakes up and the world drenched in a different colour, as if some child-god took a blunt oil pastel and scribbled over everything in a mad frenzy, as if it rained over everything and all the colour seeped through?

when suddenly it feels that this same old, is not the familar, safe place you went to sleep in the night before, when everything changes and nothing quite looks the same. but you look around, and you see, the same faces, the same feet, the same tummies, the same room, the same house, the same sounds, the same smells, the same conversations, and you cant help but wonder, am i going barking mad?

a stranger displaced in one’s skin.
a stranger wearing my face and staring back at me.
a stranger took away my heart and left me one which i do not understand.

to you, heffalump:
i know its a tough time, and our hunches tell us its gonna get worse.
i know no one understands, it’s true.
i feel so much, and i am not even part of that equation.
i know your world is rocked, i know nothing ever seems familar anymore.
my world changed, your world changed, maybe we’re too freakishly linked.
i really didnt want you to be company to my misery.

thank you for letting me be half the friend you are to me,
chin up, i am right here.
love you lumpy.

ps: you ARE queueing up for potter with me on friday right.