Brave, but not really.

I am brave. Like in physical things that solicit brazen rebellion. But in the quiet things,...those whisperings of the soul that appear shrouded and foggy even to your own mind...I fail. I give in. To the definitive baritone of patriarchy. Every fucking time. That which pumps self doubt into my anatomy. Deepening my blue every passing minute.

Brave, but not really.

Musings

On days when I run

A race I am not meant to

The disappointment creeps up

With tugs I don’t relent to

I hold my head high

And try and justify

The wanderings of a soul

That can’t pin what it’s into

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.

God fearing Boss fearing little people
Morality shirking moral-policing loving
Vacuity thriving loudness loving
Loud spreadlegged versions of righteousness
Perenially skewed wrong versions of righteousness 

I rejoice in your love.
Revel in it.
Disagreements, occasional stray discordant strains
pass me by
without denting the sunshine in my head
I live in a discrete stratospheric space
Where every colour every sound
occurs because of you
Where the colour of your eyes
dictates those of the rainboow

A child of whim,
I loved you in every possible pathetic way
Yearned for every smile of yours
Your fingers left untold stories on my body
wherever they touched
My ink my water
My veins are blue for the lack of you
My eyes seek yours feverishly
Those eyes of yours that whisper
the secrets of the universe

Fat men
Thin men
Black men
Yellow men
Men that are brown
all move in little bunches
never without

I have to find out your age
The name of your god
If it's the same as mine
Then maybe we can bond

We will make tiny nations
Miniscule atomic groups
And get vexed at the sight of the rest
March on them with our troops

I will love my brown brother more
With each passing day
And deride the white mother
Come whatever may

I will bask in the sunshine
of my orthodox sister's love
And not bother if the liberal siblings next door
literally starve

I will love in my image
Because god made me in his
My leader will be my oracle
All other utterances will be lies that is

I hope you get that I say this in jest
Homogeneity isn't my mojo
Conformance
Doesn't burn in my breast

Blessed are those
who can elude this trap
Free as birds they live
and hey this is a wrap

Tumult

I would rather die than be the
Tumult in your life
I am possessive of my devil's grains
That which have the power
To cloud over universes

I bled at your doorstep
Your wife had answered the door
I looked at her face
and stared at the brown pools
you had so often talked about.
Her mouth her bare leg
reminiscent of your accounts of her.

The last summer I spent with you,
talking and breathing in
the heady scent of the mango blossoms,
we spoke of joy and separation
in one breath.
I remember touching your light
nicotine stained fingers
and feeling just that.
Joy and separation.

Idly wondering what the creature
you were marrying was like
I would ply you with questions
So that soon it became
a pressing urge for me,
and soon I had an entire
mental dossier on her.

She was the stranger
I intimately knew.

As the years rolled by
you grew on me
like an idea I was infected with.
I became an editor (yay)
of a thoroughbred journal
had an offhand affair or two
but you continued to breed within

Until one day I knew
I had to see you
Platonically of course
or so I thought

One look at your home
one glimpse of your wife
and I was robbed of any such notion.
My palms got clammy cold
I bit my tongue
and tasted warm salty blood
The day closed in upon me.

I ran for dear life.
Goodbye dear lover
you are too much of a storm for me.

Jealousies and torments
brought about by your airy ways
You blow a bubble
it turns into a knife
twists into my heart
A drop of blood stains my breast
Your brow remains unfurrowed

When you are a fledgling bird with someone,
the sudden withdrawal must hurt deep.
When you are taught to trust someone's presence
and you open your wellsprings to them,
a sudden removal must pierce deep.
You free child
You who loves with stubbornness
with clenched fists
with a buzzing in your ears
When you were unceremoniously dropped into the water
it must have hurt
I see your eyes
And lead you home.
To me.

All teeth

I have big teeth
and small eyes
The teeth see to it
That I tell no lies

Funny love

You are my magi,
I bask in your adoration.
Your smile
frees my hesitations.
Warmed my insides, it did,
that smile of yours,
And ah your delightful fingers!
How could I forget those?
The silk of your hair baby
The bright of your skin
Got to me like yellow sunshine!
If you know what I mean.