Full Circle

Struggle

Footsteps in the sand
of memories made
along the tide
gone awash with surfs white
all that I made long gone
the sea throws back at me
a shell of a being that remains

Detest the feign
of promises never kept
Pray give me eyes
to fetch beauty in that

The soul of the made
is not its keep
The elixir slipped by
in making and letting go
The end, with nothing anew

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Love at Work

Busy as I ploughed on for the day..
It was like the beginning
of life in the life of me
I saw her go past me
slender and graceful
she pranced along
to her daily keep
farther down the hill

Leaving me dizzy
the whiff of her sweetness
I waited by the window to
see her face again
wont she ever keep her time
teasing me with moments
slipping by more than the last

Until the day she smiled at me
drawn to the lovelorn in me
She would arrive formerly
glance at me with a luscious smile
but hurried past away
for the dread of duty
but she’d come again
only twenty two of
a thousand moments

A rendezvous brief as a moment
of melting into one
and she goes again
I hold on strong
for before long
she’d come to me again
only to be gone
to make the world go round

…does the minute hand love the hour hand as much as her duty?

Together forever

Gerber Daisies

I love you, you said
and took off with yourself and idea of me
The blissful flight onto the moon
and beyond into the stars

While I waited patiently
you landed back onto terra firma
We cooked a lovely meal together
At the table you look me in the eye
and say ‘you aren’t the same anymore’

I found home

wispy thoughts blowing
along the winds
turbulent and whimsical
way away far far from home

sleeping flurry
dread in the deep woods
no road to return
scurry stall scurry stall

dreary and dark
a writhing pall
fluttering flap to hold
on to joy

of forever came the moment
found me heaven home
lasted a moment lives for life
the time frequency resonance entwined

For Sunday Scribblings prompt, ‘Moment’

Trailing off to serendipity

A usual summer day’s sandstorm had past by, leaving the plants in my tiny garden as if descending into their grave. Washing down the plants. Being hardly attentive to Tanya. She was going on about her job at the school and how everything would ave been different if she had decided to work at the local newspaper instead. Life was like dust and heat piled on everyday with a yearning of rain, trying to remember what it was really like to have the aliveness in her bones. The split life like many others of the repressed yearner and the mechanized worker.
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The self on its own spur slips along the same way, ever deeper. An interruption, a wave of inspiration from without the bubbled self stimulates and brings the slipping self back from the precipice.Back from the edge into the mundane. From the gorge onto the cliff…

reflect:
is a snapshot . a momentary capture of a few wavelengths, many missed in between. the prism of emotion/feeling accentuates some and the others are lost forever. When I look back I just have a constructed truth, but its not the whole truth. A speck called me in this infinite expanse, capable of assimilating no more than a whit, only that I dream the whole of the grandness could live in the whit.

If i get the core of the light I see a path/a hole into the real truth, a la Alice in wonderland, been through, I get to know myself, myself without the worldly noise.

Family Ties


Its been on for seven days in a row.

Dripping hair, and soaked to the skin, I struggled with the umbrella stuck ajar. Nope this little monster would not give in either. Checking past yet another, in a string of flops for the day, I ran through to the street to the platform to catch the local train back home.
Its one of those long monsoon runs, lush greens and grey skies, full of din and flashes throughout the day. All good, one would say for a view from a room, not if you have to scamper around town for work, in the slush and mess under your feet.

Feeling the chill of the rain, metal of the train, my bones are numbing. And home is still a long way away.

All for a prospect client, who did a raincheck at later than last minute.

But, its been seven days in a row.

I’m losing hope and running out of money.

Cold and tired, I walk into my house. It smells damp, dark and lonely.

Warm and dry now, I brew a pot of coffee, I still cant feel my hands too well.
As the pot is about to coo, I hear the phone bell ring.
Not in the mood for another disappointment, I tend to my warm coffee, ignoring the call. I need some quiet, peace. Sigh, I need to take this.
As soon as I reached out for my phone, it quietened. Here we go again… the string of flops..

It was a call from my sister. Leading a busy life in a big city, in a distant land, she had all in life that I aspired for, except time. Invigorated by the coffee, and the one off call from my sis, I decided to call her back.

She chirped in a hello in here usual cheerful voice.
I being coffee invigorated but still mellow, managed a meek one.

Rounds of catching up and we end up reminiscing about summers, koels, monsoons and mangoes. Our hot cups of tea and steaming hot savouries to go with it. Oh just the imagery brought it all back, the warm and cozy evenings by the window side, chatting till late and sharing dreams of hers and mine.

Monsoons back in time, we had a handful of dreams still left to pursue, many more forgotten, strayed aside. The call didn’t last too long, she left me with ‘Just doing your best counts, just keep at it’. For me it worked like a crackling fireplace and blanket in a cold winter night.

Collected and inspired, I sat down to wind up the presentation for yet another client prospect to meet the day after. By and by, the pitter patter mellowed down and I could see the sun peeking by the clouds around sunset. A brilliant play of colors around the sky scape.

All in a days work, full of sunshine and rain.

For Sunday Scribblings prompt, ‘the Call’

One on one

one on one
A string of monologues, weaving a perception of the India in its power centres (Delhi, Mumbai) over the last decade. If one keeps up with the newspapers, the stories are all known. The voices are all too familiar of the usual folks on the news channel, the workplace, the road, around you. The stage light up in a flourish in the beginning with the act of the usual Indian babu, and the slain bodyguard, both performances promising an interesting run to the familiar stuff. But the tempo doesn’t continue through the end. The wit keeps you occupied but you leave the theatre with a feeling of a few laughs and the ‘same old cribbing’ done in the same old verbose way those chatterboxes near you or as the hyperbole news reporters on television do.

Have to mention the act of the street pole commenting on the vagaries of city life, created by the powers that be. Rajit Kapur’s unbearable flight food act was a tad over the top, funny nevertheless.

This not quite the ‘Love Letters’ from the same production house. I would love to have that one staged again.

– review for the play ‘One on One’
Play by Rage Productions (Mumbai).

Directed by: Akarsh Khurana, Kunaal Roy Kapoor, Nadir Khan, Rahul Da Cunha, and Rajit Kapur.
Playwright: Anuvab Pal, Ashok Mishra, Farhad Sorabjee, Oliver Beale, Purva Naresh & Rahul Da Cunha.

Cast: Akarsh Khurana / Amit Mistry / Anand Tiwari / Anu Menon / Imran Adil / Neil Bhoopalam / Preetika Chawla / Rajit Kapur.
staged Dec 18, 2010 at Ravindra Bharthi, Hyderabad.

Image source: http://www.thehindu.com