past perfect

All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.
-Oscar Wilde

sittin by this computer and staring at the screen
the soft spoken words spoken not so long back
and images that come flashing by
not so near yet so clear
voice that resounds in dreams
face that lights up the night
a baby smiling by her side
the hair rubbing the shoulder
wrinkles in the eye a sight of delight
bubbles from the ring
colurful shining bright
the smile of hope
to swallow her grief
to see me by her side
brushing against the arms
the nails and the songs
loudly singing in chorus
with a fixed glance
on me or something she could see
a saviour in the moment of grief
the magic in the smile
to heal a thousand souls
and it was all me
swept by an emotion so unreal
so fleety and free
no boundaries it could see
a delight landscape out the window
a hand so light it could freeze
those things they call paradise
in the arms of a child
a lost world, a lost time.

wrong number

she had been waiting impatiently for his sms for the past 2 hrs as she cut the onions. tears rolled down her eyes inexorably. 'its the onions' she told herself. he had told he would msg when he reaches home. 'he must have reached by now' she thought. 'but the traffic in bangalore!!'.'yes it must be the traffic' she consoled herself.
minutes went passing by, the knife came down furiously upon the onions. she glanced at the calender on the table. each day was marked with stars. it had become her habit to mark days with stars. llike a movie review. five stars meant an unbelievably good day. single star was a hopeless day. yesterday was marked with two stars. two stars always meant a confused day. three star was just about 'okay' day where nothing too bad had happened but nothing exciting as well. but two star was worse than that. it left her perplexed as to what the day was really worth. yesterday was one of them. he had messaged her 'sorry dear, i have to go for my uncle's wedding anniversary' but she was not convinced.
when she ran out of onions but not the tears, she got up to mark the day with a single star. pen in hand, she approached the table. but the phone rang. it was an sms. thrilled, she ran back to the bed and picked up the cellphone. it WAS from him. it read 'my mom found your bra in my bag. why did u leave it there last night'.
she did not pick up the pen this time. she did not turn to the calendar. there was no need.

fast and furious

there's nothin that could have changed my world the way this has. in such ways i m scared to speak about myself. trapped in the god knows wat of the society of and the tradition and evrythin they think r sacred to them. and i ve broken it. now i loathe it. u talk about love. damn u think u know a bit of it.wats this this thing u r talkin bout do u evr see thru from from a window striped naked of evrthing u ve presumed u have been? this society the custom. neutral milk hotel watever they meant when they sang 'how strange it is to be anything at all'. how true, how absurd, how inexplicably devastasting and healing at once. dont read between the lines it ll kill me. i m already half the way to death. i thought i knew evrythin, in deed i was convinced. and now these visions blur. i m enjoyin this ignorance of sight as long as it lasts. probably for ever and this is wat i fear. i m so trapped inside of me i m afraid might implode into myself if i dont let some air push me around. damn i m such a fuckin pervert. pervert?? u sure u really are? or is it something far beyond being pervert. an understatement? i hate myself for but wat can be done. and the whole thing about 'god is a place wher some holy spectacle lies, god is place u will wait for the rest ur life'(yes, milk hotel again). why's it all comin back to me. is this the point i ll wait for the rest of my life. and the holy spectacle? wats that do i understand it or am i tryin to convince myself that i dont. hell, things r pulling me apart and i m still waiting. i dont even know wat for. i dont even know wat i want now. im so confused its threatening to say the least. why did i ever get into this. why?


but i m not gonna talk to god anymore. he's given me evrythin i wanted until this point but from this point forward i dont know wat to ask for. let him be him and me be me. but then again who m i? dint my existence really mean only that one straw. THAT SAME STRAW. wait m i gettin too close.