Sunday, 7 April 2013

You sang a different song


Sunlight streamed in
As we lay side by side.

You were sprawled upon the white,
While I lay curled up on the black.

A different tune was played that day.
A tune which did not use us.
A melancholic note here and there,
Slightly haphazard.
Slightly undone.
It wasn’t our song.

A few moments passed us by.
A sparrow called out.

And I realized it was near us.
Too near.
Creeping onto our little haven.
I didn’t mind though.
It happened often.

I waited for us to be touched.
Gently.
Thoughtfully.
Not in a way that would defile us.

I waited for the familiar happy fifth.
Which was you.
And then the fourth.
Which was me.

I waited.
As the waning rays played along my edge.
And slid down my curve.

I heard it.
I heard the fifth.
I heard you.

I waited.
It was a ritual.
A norm.
The fourth after the fifth.
It had always been that way.

I waited.
Till the light faded.
Till it was all silent.Till it was dark.

I lay.

All forgotten.

Sunday, 3 March 2013

Different Dreams


My dreams are not yours.
In the sunkissed field of daffodils
Through which grasshoppers whizz past
With an almost lazy alacrity,
I find myself,
Soaking up to the skin
In optimism which will fall into disuse
Like a snowflake held too long on a warm tongue.



My dreams are not yours.
When the moon lights up my part of the world
And the narrow alleys are bathed
In the pearly hue poets hold dear,
I find myself,
Wondering if the stars feel outshone
And if they twinkle a tad too bright
To tell us they are hurting.



Somewhere down the sleet covered roads
Of moonlit heaven, hell and earth
I realised
My dreams are not yours.
And yours arent mine either.

Friday, 4 January 2013

Dear Death (#3)


This is the third in the series of the "Dear Death" letters.
Heavily inspired by "The Book Thief", I tend to spiral into writing them after any incident which has left a deep, saddening impact.

#3: Written after the death of the victim of the Delhi gang-rape.



Dear Death,

My third letter to you. I guess this world has made me believe in you more than life itself. But I wonder if I can ask anything from you at all. After all, no one really gets what they ask for, do they? Not here. Not here where the basic right of being able to live as a woman, without the fear of having to pay a price for it, is violated everyday. Hence I request. I request that you let her, and countless nameless women like her, find in heaven what she was denied on earth. Peace.

Love,
A woman.

Dated: 29th December 2012


Dear Death (#2)


This is the second in the series of the "Dear Death" letters.
Heavily inspired by "The Book Thief", I tend to spiral into writing them after any incident which has left a deep, saddening impact.

#2: Written after the Connecticut shooting.


Dear Death,

I have written to you before. And I wish I wouldn't have to write to you anymore. But I do. When you wrap all those children up in your cloak, please do so gently. They are only sleeping. Let them rest in peace. It is almost Christmas. And let their parents not be woken up by their screams every day. Heal wounds. Please.

Love,
Me.

Dated: 15th December 2012

Dear Death (#1)

This is the first in the series of the "Dear Death" letters.
Heavily inspired by "The Book Thief", I tend to spiral into writing them after any incident which has left a deep, saddening impact.

#1: This one was written after the AMRI hospital went up in flames.

Dear Death,

When you take all the lost souls to heaven, carry them gently please. While you engulfed each one of them in your cloak today, I touched them and cried for them too. My heart bled for them. Carry them to a place where there is peace, a clear sky and no smoke.

Sincerely,
Someone who felt the heat.

Dated: 9th December 2011