Bargains..

Innumerable bidders

for my virginity

Not that I was beautiful

No... just vulnerable.

Syrupy promises

poisoned my ears

And there were gifts to incite greed

Sparkling gems, rubies,

rare stones

paved the path I treaded.

None offered love

I wasn’t a girl one could take home

They averted their eyes in daylight

Eyes that worshiped me

At night.

I bargained hard

Not really...

My dreams I traded-

for the crisp currency

for a gold chain

for some beautiful crimson cloth

and

a white shroud for my father..

A forgotten rose in a diary

Lending a yellow tinge to

the crimson words

it lies there forgotten.

Often I have dropped it,

misplaced it or left it behind..

Strangely it turns up

at the same page every single time.

Bookmarking the day

we lit candles for my god,

when I started believing that you

indeed were the One.

Many more pages I scripted

for love and loss,

watered them with my tears.

Yet you remained there

a silent observer...

No...

A voyeur.

I can just see that malice

in your fading petals

that herald the winter of my love.

Or perhaps it is just the scent you

leave behind on the pages

that have become one with you...

Chronicling a love forgotten

Just like a forgotten rose in a diary..

Creator

My verses,

Half-dead,

Sprang to life

when she sang them.

Words hovered over her lips

waiting breathlessly

for the utterance

to achieve the beauty of that music.

Often they were rinsed

with tears that escaped from

her eyes

Making the song wet...

She dreamt like me

Always.

Read meanings into my scribblings,

Loved them with a devotion

suited to a fanatic

Gathered up bits of paper

and made collages of my words.

And she let her soul

Eat every single alphabet and pause.

It didn't burp.

I had wondered at her appetite then.

I hate the resounding applause now.

The praise is all green.

She no more sings.

I no more write.

Envy asked only one question -

Who is the Creator - I or she?

These Walls & I

There was a time
when all I ever wanted
was to break out of these walls

To go out
and let my senses feel
FREE

To take in a big gulp of air
and exclaim with joy,
“This is LIFE!!”

My nails became brittle
shoulders bruised
and knees grazed..
The walls stared back at me
IMPASSIVE

Even my tears held
no sway.

And now all I want
is to curl down like an unborn
This is a womb.

I want no birth.

Knocking on Heaven's Door

There lived a sheep and her little one
In mountains high and grey
Happily grazing, playing together
Thus they passed their days

One morning the lamb woke up
And found empty place beside
He searched and searched every hill and nook
But his mother he could not find

A kind, old shepherd looked at him
In soft pity he cried,
“Be brave little one, be brave my son,
Your mother died last night.
She wept and wept out of love for you
Which was so strong and pure
It gave her all she needed
For the pain she endured…”

“Where went she?” asked the little one,
Alone, sad and terrified.
“Oh!! She went to God’s heavenly abode…
Where good souls go when they die..”

The little one clueless and alone
Set out to search the vale
To find heaven, to find god,
To find where his mother dwelt.

Tired, helpless, hurt, small..
He roamed the entire plain
At last he sat and wept and wept
“My search has gone in vain…..”
“Oh mother! Where are you?” cried he,
“I need you here beside
My breath is short, my eyes dim,
Am I going to die?”

The doors of heaven blew apart
By a mother’s love and unrest
She reached the side of the little one
And held him close to her breast

His eyes were shut yet he smiled
His mother had come at last
The parting, torment, suffering, pain
Were memories of a distant past

She held him close and kissed him twice
And again when he asked for more
And then the little one along with his mother
Knocked at the heaven’s door……

the way i write...

i have changed the way i write.
i no longer rhyme
Don’t even try to.

Pages are meant to be scribbled upon
And i’m still clueless
How a scribble becomes a poem.

Joining alphabets does not come easily
Words are mere inky feelings
And the jotting down is a permanence they shrink away from.

After a time you stop writing about love.
And the “I” disappears slowly..
Very slowly.

Hundreds of pages filled with “I’s”
Seem pathetic
Too many dots of assurance
Covering a towering me.

Now i just bow, kneel occasionally
My “I’s” still unavoidable
Yet a move beyond “me”.

A winter of loss...

I lost too much that winter...
a few strands of hair
a dictionary
a pair of mismatched socks

and

................. some precious grains of love


When summers came
and the covers went off the dusty couches
in unused rooms,
I found here and there
traces of a winter sun,
little pieces of love,
discarded peanut shells
and a few moth balls....

Each discovery
was a journey back
through the cobwebs of memories
and my blurred vision
suddenly
would get a clear view

My hibernating soul
refuses to leave
the warmth of that winter

A winter of broken pencils,
torn pages
and fingers stained with regrets...

A winter where
I lost it all...

My Gypsy Heart

So then ........ I promise you
one last fling
if I must
My dear gypsy heart
to satisfy your
unquenchable wanderlust......

I allow you no more than
a kiss or two
Break free of those fetters
I now permit you to...
Fly high.................so high
yet remain within reach
Let not anyone capture you
I do thee beseech

And when the time comes
to enter the world
of promises and vows
made before the Lord

Don’t you look back
with longing and tears unseen
Forget what was and why
or what could have been

Remember what all you had
and say with a smile,
“ I’m a gypsy heart
come home
after a journey
of a thousand miles...............”

Khushi..

Khushi..

This word wrecks havoc with the BP and heart rate of residents of a particular street in Delhi 5. A two-plus terror, with maggi-noodle like hair, Khushi's screams have elicited groans of pain and terror from one and all. Rachit and Shivanshi are not immune to her. While Rachit still puts up a brave fight whenever Khushi is in the battle mode, Shivanshi just prays that God would make her invisible.

Khushi feels a strange affiliation to me. Don't know why I'm the CHOSEN ONE. She is perhaps under the impression that our home is a baby salon or something. She arrives everyday around 11 and expects me to wait upon her. Nail paint, combs, clips, toys.... all things are touched and appreciated.. She mumbles and jumbles.. picks out her favorite nail paint and goes on and paints my home blue.. a dash here.. a splash there.. and her job is done.

One summer day she arrived as usual and was delighted to find Rachit and Shivanshi sprawled on the floor, busy coloring. Peace is NOT acceptable to Khushi. She shrieked once, twice. Shivanshi quietly surrendered her drawing book while Rachit hid behind me. Just then my phone rang. I handed Khushi her favorite nail paint to quieten her and went outside to take the call. Two minutes was all she needed. And I returned to find that she has moved on to painting human forms.. live models.. I entered the room to find Shivanshi in a corner, sporting two blue imprints of little hands on either cheek, her eyes huge with unshed tears. Rachit was still unscathed. He couldn't decide whether to laugh at Shivanshi's fate or cry because it would be his turn soon.. Khushi turned around when I started laughing.. I could have hugged her.. She has achieved the unmanageable. She has tamed my two monsters!!

...

Don’t give me a list of possibilities and probabilities

I don’t need “if only’s” and “what if’s”

Chipping away at this wall-

That I have created around my heart…

Brick by brick

I have created this shield

Leaving no vents for friends or foes…

I’m sick of friends

Who chip away at these walls

INSISTENT

PERSISTENT

Like termites

Pest like they put up signboards

Signifying occupancy

And ruin my digestion

I still don’t know how to categorize you

Don’t know if I love you or hate you more…

I should learn the art of staying aloof

Of saying no to friend requests sent by strangers

And ignore matchmaking attempts…

Don’t give me the silver linings

They don’t work anyway

Just let me go and mingle with the black clouds

... My namesake.