Soil softened, tenderized by firm pattering rain

Like dough kneaded intimately with round fingertips

Like skin made supple by massage

Emits a distinctive smell

The smell of touch

The soil, it smells of a new beginning

As if a new possibility has arrived borne by the dark rain clouds

As if a new look of love has come into the eyes of your old lover.

My conversations with you

wordless and unreal they are

Yet I feel I can pick

them up at the exact place

where I left you so many years back.

You know exactly what I have to say

And when I hear you speak

I am reminded that we are old souls

Back in time

When the world was young

And we were wise

Together we would be

In a psychedelic of time and space,

Conversing.

So is it that what we had?

Give and take, caress and rake

With words?

Was our love just a love for words

I seriously wonder…

And hence, today when we can’t see each other

It’s them that stay

It’s our conversation that rings through the canyon of everyday existence.

We were nothing else.

We were everything

That a conversation could be.

Distractions are the allies of poets

The banker-poet

The lawyer-poet

Where would they be if not

for the distracting little birdies

that rustle about in their hair

and chirp in their ears.

The butterflies among the bulls

who beg to differ

who ache to not become

the banker banker

the lawyer lawyer

the nonconformists.

Ambition is a vice?

From what I have seen of people, Ambition has been seen to mark its bearer with a certain ruthlessness that translates to unfairness and apathy of others at times. True a man or a woman without ambition may not appear to be as driven as their counterparts but then are they the ones who are cleaner of being and nobler of souls? When Ashoka’s eyes had been coloured red with the fire of ambition to conquer, was he the same man he became towards the end? 

There is a young man I see every morning on my way to work. He must be about 25 years of age and to put it euphemistically there are things that aren’t right with his head. He sits on the sidewalk every single day and does exactly the same thing, collects gravel in his hands and smiles at the world. He is a gentleman, I personally have never spotted him in any mad rage, instead, he calls out benignly to any passing vehicle or animal and smiles shyly at them.

Floundering middle aged man addled with painful lust.

The workplace is a most unnatural place. Any attempt to be natural in these surroundings will backfire unfailingly. Watch out for the younger crowd. They are the most harmful of the lot because they also wear a garb of deceit in the form of their youthful and uncaring countenance. I being a woman have been particularly targeted by the opposite sex for the vileness of their minds. They are sexually troubled midgets of mediocre intellect and they go around in their polished shoes and tucked in shirts pretending that no one cares more for the organization. They are pompous little actors forever masquerading as sincere workers. They are envious by nature and clutch at things like praise, recognition and fame as Shylock would have. By the way, Shakespeare was so clearly a bigot. I think I can garner a fair idea of their ahem.. prowess from their social behavior. The worst offenders typically must be the owners of the most diminutive extensions of manliness. 

The little bride

A slim brown wrist gripped in a large fair hand
Almond shaped eyes looked into large long-lashed ones
I saw a bride walking by
she was with a passerby
her eyes were fixed on his,
his wandered.

He had the most beautiful brows,
she noted.
My friend owes me money,
he mulled.
It was a honeymoon of sorts.
She was the bride walking by
and he was the passerby

He wasn't quite happy
one could tell.
Somewhere a discontent gnawed.
She, on the other hand,
was ecstatic.
Flushed cheeks
Shining eyes
Her hand in the crook of his arm,
she felt she had it all.

They were lovers,
young and random,
collegegoers
nesting for the weekend.
But you see
bridehood's more than just a status.
It's a feeling.
She was the little bride
with the joyful stride.
I saw her walking by
with the passerby.