Morsels of Dreams?

Fragmented sentences brutally, beautifully, boldly true

Meanings don’t always require tape, adhesive, glue

Hail Woolf, Joyce, prophets few

Freud. Slips of tongue. Dreams. Shoofragmented-dreams

Shoo them away,

You, shoo them away.

Yet mirrors passé, Dreams life’s actual hue

Carefully crafted. Bending phrases. Poetry.

Sue. Sue all poets. Imprison these enchanters.

Sonnets flowing through iron bars.

Cold cemented floors demand inquiring existence

Blooded charcoal answers on stenchy, filthy walls

Hazy manifestations or mildly true?

 

 

Tinging a Tear

Have you ever tried to mix the ink of your pen

tear

into the tear fallen fresh

on your book?

Tinging a tear,

how surreal it sounds,

but try it comrade,

and you will love to see what happens.

How you can modify a bio-chemical reaction

of someone’s action outside your body

How the transparent salty product of your eyes

turns into teal, fuchsia or pitch black

How I wish I could colorize

my thoughts|actions|feelings in the same way

How if I could find a pen,

Whose ink could possess the power to affect me and

transform the work of a mortal.

Scared? Scarred.

With terror in bold,

With love striked out,

Chauvinism italicized,

Like the sound of a whip underlined twice,

“Sudha!”, he screamed,

While she hid in the closet,

The one behind the big storage room,

At the rear end of their ugly mansion

Which led to the open, suffocating verandah

Where hopes and dreams lay with the dead in the tomb,

Garnished with flowers of gold.

 

Is no pain my pain?

Maybe my pain is staying alone.
Waiting, is that a pain too?
Maybe it’s not a heartbreak,
But being too happy being single,
Is being happy a pain too?
Maybe it’s not refusal, rejection,
But never being in love altogether?
Maybe it’s not growing grey with fear of death or losing power,
But being fearless since forever?
Or maybe this quest for pain,
Is the pain to be in no pain my pain?

I’m afraid of people who hide

I’m afraid of people who hide
-Avleen
I assumed I was mature enough to handle what people felt,
To know what they actually meant behind those carefully chosen words.
To comprehend what their big eyes were hiding behind the lying lids,
What would turn out to be when those colored curtains were raised?
What dreadful magic would those corneas posses?

What image would I see of myself?

But I’m afraid. I’m afraid.
I’m afraid of those who choose not to vent out,
You may scream and shout at me, and tell me how you feel.
You may curse too, but let me know what’s in your mind.
For I dont fear pain. Of any kind.
I don’t fear loss, or death.
All I fear is people who don’t speak their heart out.
For I have no clue what would follow.
A serene mirage or an erupting volcano?

Noon Rush

Noon Rush
A weekday it was I’m sure,
Crossing the road, right in the middle I stood,
Couldn’t traverse the streets, the road was full.
After a score of minutes from noon the time stopped,
I couldn’t move an inch from that white painted equator.
Wondering what all these people were upto.
Cycles, rickshaws, bikes and cars, what work did they peform that time.
Toddlers coming back from preschool in buses,
A man taking his sick wife to the doctor,
Ladies car pooling for a kitty coffee.
A young fellow following a maid,
Some tax officers in a jeep planning a raid.
Soon, noon rush didn’t quite appeal to me.
But I found a kid who held my hand,
Planted a kiss on my confused cheek,
Said tomorrow at the same time he would meet.
Taught me life could surprise anytime.
Little packets of hope and glimmer shining through the scorching heat.