I am..

Every time those lips
touch and inhale,
They die a bit,and I, a bit.
I glow and blaze, in glory
enter them and play havoc
Inside, and then leave.

They derive pleasure,
I allow them that
all the while, shortening
my length, their lives.

So I burn once and fade away
into smoke and then fall
smoldering, like ash.
Then I lie, scattered.
And disintegrated-
And yet I continue.

And so I continue.
As they need more,
And again I am born.
My life depends on
them, their addiction.
Theirs on my end.
Permanent, if they allow.

By me and Hogwash

Puppy Love

Looking into her eyes, he laid out his heart bare, with all that was said and unsaid.
She looked into his and knew, he will always be there for her.

They were inseparable, even off-screen. The directors were surprised and glad that they hit it off so well.

The music began :You and I..

Keats’ Lie.

The face that stared back at her was beautiful. Her hazel eyes were kohl-lined and heavy. They could make you fall into dreams or wake you out of it, if you stared long enough. Her lips were painted red. Like those of a geisha, except that they smiled quite often. Her fair skin was unscarred, unblemished. Loose, deliberate strands of hair hung around her face, slightly wind-blown. Rapt men and irked women were testimony to this picture of beauty.

As she looked into the mirror, she hated the face that stared back at her. Whoever said: A thing of beauty is joy forever, objectified the holder of that beauty, its only contention being giving others some uncertain joy. She opened the door and entered her tiny mansion of solitary confinement. There were many mirrors, like ugly reminders.

She went straight to the largest mirror in that room. It was just one room. One big room, filled with mirrors and clutter- they call it a Studio Apartment. She sat down in front of the mirror and began the daily ritual. The unmasking. She opened her vanity case and took out her weapons of mass detoxification. Removing the layers of chemicals and colors and the dust of appraising glances and now exasperating compliments was a tedious task. At times she thought of abandoning the process from inception and throwing away that vanity case. She wasn’t a model or an actress or any such personality who would be required to put so much make-up. She was a mere accountant, euphemistically called number-cruncher.

She remembered her first job interview. No one cared whether you topped in your local slums or in the country. Your love of numbers wasn’t their concern to nurture and appreciate. She looked at those eyes, heavy with shame and lies. She took off those hazel lenses and her mind went back to the second job interview. He could not take her eyes off her. He loved numbers too, he claimed.

The kohl and liner were wiped off with slight force. The cotton was black. She smiled faintly at the stark difference between her life and the cotton. Next were her lips, the chic red had to be gotten rid of. She recalled the day she got her first promotion. Her boss had said he loved her smile. As the veneer came off, she thought of all those promotions and bonuses and the climb up the ladder. Success has a price- that of buying the entire Bodyshop collection and fitting it into one small vanity case. She blamed herself for her own restriction. But the complacency wasn’t as easy to take off, and it was anything but tedious.

She stood naked before the shower and looked at her reflection in yet another large mirror. The face that stared back looked young and tired. The flawless complexion was just a by-product derived from the long drawn course of removing scars of past abuses. The bland eyes were heavy, still, with shame and grief now. She knew she wasn’t ugly. But she wasn’t as beautiful either. With that realization she let the cold needles of water sting her. The pain was welcome. It made her feel alive. Like the last time someone had seen her without those layers and had loved her like that and she had begun to love herself too, then. It had kept her alive and undone for a long while. But naked souls keep you exposed. Love can get violent at times, and having vulnerable souls didn’t help. She untangled those long tresses in the water. Shunted images of those tresses being pulled and her screaming from pain silently burst from some recess of her mind. But she quickly put them back in their hidden place. She was a fast learner. Reminding yourself of past miseries wasn’t the best way to pretend being someone else in the present.

She stepped out of the bath and began readying herself for another day at work. The numbers came to her naturally. Work involved a lot of smiling and allowing yourself to be looked at and assessed. She wondered at the vanity of women. Make-up was multipurpose. It could be used to hide the shameful scars as also to highlight some other etchings. She would know- she had mastered it long time back. And she showed her skill now, as she stood before the mirror, gloriously done. She evaluated herself carefully, like an artist scrutinizing, sifting for errors. She caught the faintest of lines beginning to form. She dismissed it as one of the inevitable signs, of a proof of having survived. Make-up may spoil your skin, but it protects you, within, she told herself lamely and gave a rueful smile to the mirror.

Work beckoned- that 10-hour workday, in which this thing of beauty drudges through the paces.

Hostage-II

It’s peeping out. Slowly escaping.
Like a small bird flying out from behind the branches. Flight in slow-motion.
Is it the Stockholm Syndrome?- It seems to be running for cover, towards its own captors.
They can’t decide. Neither can. A weak struggle.
The mildly golden moon and the faint wisps of clouds draw.

Hostage-I

Its rather un-beautiful.

A small, intense moon and floating ribbons of dark covering it. Like looming ghosts, gliding over the sky. Taking over.
The moon wasn’t seeking refuge. It was being shrouded.
Now it’s completely swallowed.
It seems to be struggling to come to fore.
The clouds without any silver lining win.

Best Deals! Hurry!!

The need was urgent. Not many good options available.

The one on the left was overfilled, with old junk.
The one on the right seemed small, and pale.

The one at the back looked perfect, throbbing in the jar. Possibly 12 years old.

They say those are the best brains to buy.
Shopping done.

----------------------------------------


My first attempt at 55-words-fiction.

Windows.

“Its strange to look down from here. All these people, scurrying about, running their own prime time shows. Such pests. Leeches”, she said and looked down at her feet. There was a wide cut on the sole. Shards of broken glass were lying around her.

She was sitting on the ledge outside the topmost window of a nine story building. Drops of blood fell down to the streets below. She seemed fascinated and disgusted at the same time, at the view below her.

“Leeches?”, he asked.
“ Yes, them creatures. We live off others’ happiness and miseries. We are dependent on others for survival, as also for death.” She swung her legs to see if the blood had stopped. It was making her quite nauseous. She looked up at the inky night, not wanting to look down. The stars were yet to come out.

“Dependent on others for death?”
“ We wait for it to come to us. We watch others bring it to us on a platter. With many options to choose from- incurable illness, murder, fatal accident, melancholia, isolation.. Death brings its own devices. Why don’t you do a neat job of it on your own?”
The faint moonlight highlighted her soft expression, that of mild inquisitiveness.

“Probably because suicide is cowardice? And a legal offence if you don’t succeed.”
“What is cowardly about committing suicide? You need courage to kill yourself. To know that this easy life you have been leading will come to an end. And you will be thrown into this unseen, unknown world, all alone probably. And it stops your parasitic existence. You don’t have to wait for anyone. You do it your way.”, she muttered,in a very matter of fact tone.

She got up with easy grace and stood on tiptoe and spread her arms. They were blue, because of the cold and bruised. There was no breeze what so ever. But it seemed like a gust of wind will come and drag her away and she was readying herself.

The door opened and a woman’s head popped in for a brief moment.
“ Its time. If you are done, you may come join us.”
He didn’t bother answering.

She turned around smiling, and whispered, “And what makes you think I won’t succeed?”
He smiled, finished drawing the lines of a window broken as if a stone was thrown at it and went down to dinner.

Touche

Touche, you say
lest they know the secret
and cast their evil charms.
Your eyes shine bright
with the desire burning
and yet you deny.

You long not for riches
and fame and glory,
and neither wait for the
frog prince and a fairy tale.
This mundane world cannot
provide what you are looking for.

All you seek is freedom,
locked within a framework
of skin and bones and reality,
Out there lies wild abandon,
hanging uncertain in the air-
yours to escape away into..

A secret dream to run away
into that mysterious world
of dreams and illusions-
probabilities and impossibilities
explode and implode within,
all yours to explore. Touche.


--------------------------------

i have no idea how i ended up at this..
i wont insult poetry by calling this a poem,

:( ... im losing it.

http://www.orkut.com/CommMsgs.aspx?cmm=31598904&tid=2586014590072785138&na=4

Mannat

She saw him being dragged away
by the roots of his hairs,
They held him bound in chains
and whipped and lashed.

She cried herself hoarse
seeking her lover's escape,
begged mercy from the pirates
who had ravaged many a shores.

They took him beyond lands
unknown and a hundred seas.
Locked in sand filled dungeons
on an island nowhere on map.

She went searching for her man
from nether to high lands.
On unruly waves and wilderness
she carried her grief in her heart.

Parched by the desert sun,
weathered by the mighty winds,
drowned by the pouring rain,
Yet she marched forth in her quest.

And last found a tavern
to which none paid any heed.
The moonless dark sky
compelled her to take refuge.

There she found her man
clasped in another woman's arms.
Tears betrayed the hurt
she felt in her happiness.

Her heart broke into a thousand pieces
and nothing could mend it now,
for forces of nature may bleed your skin
but love scorned burns the heart.

Then she walked into the sea
and let the sea caress her wounds.
Further she went into it
and slumbered in the deep.

Her spirit lies lonely and seeking,
the sea waves wildly lament her sorrow.
Whenever the moon begins a new phase,
she dies another death of perfidy.

--------------------------------------------------------

http://www.orkut.com/CommMsgs.aspx?cmm=31598904&tid=2571719893087160562&start=1

I found this one in one of my old diaries...
and I have no idea why it had been titled Mannat then. Since I can't find any better title, I'd just stick to this one.

To Bluntschli,

To Bluntschli, my chocolate-cream soldier

Our eyes may meet and
you may not see my mind
hidden behind it.

You may hear my voice yet
not identify the stirrings
of my soul within.

You could hold my hands
but never the warmth
exuding from them.

If you were in love with
me- would you then?

Many careless afternoons
spent in your arms,
recalled with tender care.

Walked that path home,
everyday, at twilight,
hand in hand,at times.

Said so much to each other,
with our eyes and signs,
and sometimes, without them.

If you aren't in love with
me- then why do feel the same?

With each other, everyday,
all our lives almost,
spent and cherished.

We kept looking, everywhere
for our better halves,
never heeding the present.

All that while, every time
we forgot to notice,
who we were, who we are.

If we are in love-
why are we so silent yet?

http://www.orkut.com/CommMsgs.aspx?cmm=31598904&tid=2561488707609954546

Lingering love..

Love that lingers,
waits awhile for you..

Scents trail behind-
whiffs of memories

The touch that never
left the feeling on skin

Meanings locked in eyes,
lost somewhere deeper

Smiles that said much
and hid many secrets within

Tears, with nowhere to go
filled with infinite joy

Heart beats slowed down
to an eternity's space..

Spent in frozen time,
our own universe

Love that lingers,
stays awhile with you..


http://www.orkut.com/CommMsgs.aspx?cmm=31598904&tid=2561488967455475954&na=4

Miracle

A miracle in hold,
struggling to free,
from slippery hands
and a sceptic mind.

Is it in wait
of a better time?
Or a softer spirit
yielding to it?

Would you release
it for a joy you fear
you don’t dare dream?
Or rather smother
it to save unforeseen
desires from dying?

Let the miracle unfold
and change your life,
for better or worse,
than linger on chance
and watch wishes and hopes
wilt away before your eyes.

Free the puerile butterfly
into the unknown blues,
lest its lengthy confine
bring its untimely close.


http://www.orkut.com/CommMsgs.aspx?cmm=31598904&tid=2548739326972528882

Blank

this one's after really long...

Blank--

I'll become a blank page,
if I continue to lose
those unwritten tales
from an endless maze-
a palce I never went to.

Is there any way in???
Directions from a guide,
reluctant to let slip
that long sought gift-
a key to my mind.

Those unknown,unseen,
probably long lost.
Saw much of a distant dream,
locked in some discrete realm,
now mere memories and dust.

Just floating around-
voices and sights there
not ready to settle down,
not destiny-bound,
illusory and real in pair.

Stained by blood,a bit,
they refuse to fade away.
But harder to get rid
are the tears left behind.
overwhelming,they stay.

Memories,too many of them,
an uncomfortable sojourn.
tumultuous they remain-
a torrent you cant stem,
a half grief you cant mourn.

I'll remain a blank life
if this turmoil continues to linger.
Can I end this hollow strife?
Can I just aimlessly write,
and put this madness to paper?




http://www.orkut.com/CommMsgs.aspx?cmm=31598904&tid=2541094892923521266

Hope, perhaps?

---I was moving around injured..
Tiny cracks within me,
I was afraid and scared
of letting those wounds deepen..


Then along came that ailment-
love, in overpowering strong torrents.
I try to hold on, not to relent,
but I succumb, madly to that madness.

A new world opened up before me,
there before my jaundiced eyes..
violets seemed bluer than the sea,
clouds bloomed like lilies in the skies..

Would you believe I was in love?
A sudden burst of sunlight,
flutterings of a chained dove..
fighting restraint with all might..

I give in, I simply surrender
to this wonderful sense of bliss.
As lucky as I have felt ever
the fates have ordained, as it is.

I'm getting used to this
languorous labor of pleasure,
letting countless days and nights
catch me up to measure..


On a sudden wintry cold day,
this dream comes to an abrupt end.
My life's swiftly stolen away
leaving many broken pieces to mend.

I am swept away by the grief,
I fear my heart breaking apart.
I doubt my love's truth, my belief,
and agonize over that perfect past..

A joy lost before I could even hold,
take my memories to imprint.
Reminiscences of yesterday and old
bring smiles with a teary glint.

As I seek to repair that broken piece
with iron shackles, fetters and a latch,
to myself I make a difficult promise
to never let ardent love to attach.

Trudging along with such a misery
under the burden of such a vow,
I seethe at my misfortune in fury
unable to allow insecurities to go..

I do not know against whom I wage wars-
Against my own uncertain emotions or destiny?
Was it written by those faint distant stars?
Or by someone stronger-a greater divinty?


Spring creeps in on tiptoe,
buds open up to a tender sun-ray,
the frostiness would soon flow,
the chill eventually go away...

The heart has learnt to accept
and tries to move on with life..
I take courage from the floret
that flowers despite winter strife...

March has brought the colors to fore,
Meadow greens, roses red and golden entice..
I have never seen such beauty before-
Was I too busy in mourning to once notice?

I owe my heart to life's such glory-
I'm sure love, as it knows, would understand.
How long can one wallow in melancholy?
How long does one, for grieving sake, lead life so bland?

I tread on tentative steps- not yet
ready to hurl myself head over heels.
I find love but play hard to get,
there's still that promise to deal..

Try as I may, I fail nevertheless.
Love overpowers me yet again,
And I submit easily, helpless
to fight and deny myself a haven..

Bright summer sunbeams seem to melt
my frigid metal bearings.
And again, yet again, I just assent
to flow with springtime tidings..

Yesterday's bitter wounds still pain,
And there's a lot to worry about tomorrow-
But not loving today would go in vain..
Hope is the best, perhaps the only answer to my sorrow..

Hope's been crushed and lost much in past,
and it is but unborn in the time to come-
the only time it promises to last
is today, now- while waiting for the dawn.



I write this extra long poem after finishing James Patterson's- Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas which is "for everyone who's loved and lost and learned to love again".


http://www.orkut.com/CommMsgs.aspx?cmm=18314183&tid=2528808952142235890&na=4

Poetry is dead...

poetry has died a lonely death
overshadowed by mundane musings.
of words and rhythm there- a dearth
created by a dreary view of things.

sonnets do pale in comparison,
as lyrics fall in their stature.
ballads now lie forgotten
in the wake of poetry's departure.

a letter not written to love,
a song not sung from the heart,
all the romance that you could have
its now gone and forever lost.

Milton has died and Keats too.
Frost lies frozen in some corner.
wordsworth an anonymous forgotten hero
Emily and Plath were remembered never.

poetry's death i sit and lament
the magic's gone it seems, forever
if only literary fate would relent
and bring verse back on paper.

we've run out of words now

resorting to banal platitude.

time has finally taken a toll

poetry has failed our fortitude.

all our attempts are futile,
we just dont measure up ~
the passion is missing.a title
for dead poets society's come up.


http://www.orkut.com/CommMsgs.aspx?cmm=18314183&tid=2520683644964833522&na=4