Sunday, 23 March 2014

You are the writer, You name it.

I see you in my yellow dream
planting a bomb in my brain,
leaving a trail of smoke rings,
bereft of a burning cigarette.

I feel you by my side,
my heart just melted down.
The fan is slowing down.

Tuesday, 11 March 2014

My heart sank when I behold

My heart sank when I behold
The army in the streets:
So was it when my life began,
So is it now I am 22,
So be it not when I shall grow old.

Let me live!

The child is given a gun:
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural miseries.





Here is a link to the original poem by W. Wordsworth.



Tuesday, 4 March 2014

My boyfriend is speedy Gonzales.

My boyfriend is speedy Gonzales.
He stole my heart;
with his charming songs,
'ai....yai yai yai yai'!
with his cute ears and
white teeth,
singing that lovely song.
'ariba riba, andale andale'!
He swipes and circles me
in a flash.
Like a fast forwarded movie,
like a free flow of memories,
like this hailstorm that passes by,
like the lucid dreams I just had
of ghost and repetition,
after reading Coleridge.
I pause and gaze and wonder
if he'd ever slow down.

Thursday, 13 February 2014

The Grilled window

The windows in the library
has iron bars,
and glass panes 
that blur the distant leaves. 
The words in books
represent confusion, 
most of the time nonsense,
only a few make sense.
Professors pretend,
drag us nowhere,
far from my reality to
other's dream 
where I force and insert mine.
She irritates me to the core,
talking and preaching 
unethical lessons to the silent listeners
 who dare not disrupt her class. 
Seemingly a superior creature,
behind the podium,
she earns her living
mocking her colleague
for one hour.
Thus, the class goes on
while I damn my choice 
and scribble the damnation 
on this page
Hoping to find a purpose!


Friday, 1 November 2013

Semester 1.

     We are just one couple among many in our University. He wears blue checked shirts and I wear a blue hairband, sometimes blue skirts. We both love blue. The first guy who I dated also loves blue. But Tamo doesn't know that yet. He will, after reading this. Perhaps, he may get slightly sad to find out about this. Anyways, it is merely an insignificant affinity among us which I happen to remember. This first guy has a blog dedicated to me and writes about him and me in it. Talk about the incompatibility; we are the protagonist of two different stories which can never collide again. I am the lost character, the mysterious invisible girl in his stories. In my story, he is but a person who I first dated, who unsurprisingly changed me drastically, who I can never go back to, whose charming words I'd always avoid. He is a shadow of my past chasing me in vain.

     Everyday, we sit under the tree near the food court after lunch and talk. We talk about education, politics, society, condoms, my sisters and brother, his brothers, food etc. We also talk about Invictus, a movie we watched the night before. We secretly make fun of those random people who are unlucky enough to pass by us. They are a big time entertainment. We give them silly names and laugh casually. Sometimes it's the 'university studs', other times, it's the 'beauty queens', 'class toppers', 'meddlers' etc.

     Often the session gets interrupted in the sight of a certain professor with the phrase, 'There goes Mr. Philosopher' by either one of us, whoever sees him first. He walks briskly in the distance carrying a bag. He has sufficient white hair and a lean swift body. He is seldom accompanied by a woman of his age who has the same physique. Each time they seem to be indulging in a serious conversation as they both walk on the pavement in that same brisk pace. It looks a little fast for their age. His story goes a couple of weeks back.

Wednesday, 9 October 2013

The baby anklets

My little niece's feet that used to jingle
for all the hours of the day,
now unclad
and naked,
those soft ankles
followed
by silent
footsteps.

Monday, 7 October 2013

Commencement


In a foggy morning of January,
As she walks on the white snow, 
a trail of 
cold 
red 
beauty spots marks the path she took for the first time.
She knows not why her stomach hurts every full moon
Nor why she is frequently asked to halt at every station.
She
 is kept in isolation,


secluded from the rest of her family,
like in an island in ‘Cast Away’.
Her mind is clogged with doubts since the time she’s been barred from the courtyard.
But the little girl dare not sit still for a few seconds to wonder,
Not even once in a blue moon.