lay in lace

nipped at waist
bodice laced-tight
LOST IN THAT MOMENT
both bodies lay together
fingers nipping into waist


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washed by words

one-legged, tilted to one side-
rusted garden bench
now sprouted with weeds
witness of my past deeds

the way I used to sit there
waiting. waiting for you.
the glances, the kisses
we shared, curled to its corner

we talked of our future
you did. I only listened
totally washed by your words
love radiating from me

which could be felt from
a radii of a kilometre.
it went on and on
basking in your words forever

one similar day, same place
same me, but not you. never again.
no words. sound of breath,
one's own, is so hard to listen to.

this present, which in a way
is well into the future of what
not to be, is as colourful
as the drab earth you joined.

twenty odd years, I still can't let you
out of me. whole of me. in the
bigger picture of my dead life
farewell holds no meaning

that word you lost

that word you lost
I found it under a rock
hiding with horror-
out of sheer terror
it had become a recluse

that word you lost
wished to eat itself
swallowing itself whole
as with a bitter pill-
now losing its temper

that word you lost
I cajoled it out
tied it in my hanky
to give it back to you
as it wanted to say sorry

that word you lost
a mere word
with so much power-
works both ways
to hurt as well as mend

~~~~~~~~

I had posted the raw version on facebook:

that word you lost
i found it under a rock
it was hiding out of shame
although it came from you
out of its own volition

i cajoled it outside
shook it, cleaned it
tied it in my hanky
to give it back to you
as it wanted to say sorry

a mere word
with so much power
instilled in it-
works both ways
to hurt as well as mend

twister

tingling tongue
tantalised by
TANGY ORANGE-
now traumatised
the tongue tingles

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Personal stuff

Lately I have not kept in touch with my blogger friends. There are various reasons for that. Feb and March are very busy for us teachers when academic session comes to an end. We are busy conducting those, along with evaluation work and also tabulation of results. All this takes a toll on us.

There is also the fact that I am kind of taking stock of my life and find I have been laid back too long. I need to change all that. I have short listed various options and would be getting around those in the next few months. I don't mean slow changes but drastic ones.

One thing that I won't be changing is my writing. I need to write poetry just as I need to breathe.
I also need to be connected to all of you. Without your love and support, I wouldn't have progressed this far in my writing. I will come visit you, as and when time allows.

chop it nicely

coiled strands fall flailingly
on the cold floor
sticking and coagulating
staring at it with revulsion
I curse myself at my stupidity

feeling like a clod I am left watching
unappetisingly congealed
cold noodles falling on the ground
all this, as I had chopped my sticks
& thrown my fork on the road

let me be

you chose your path
I too have to go my way
my outwardly open palms
will not close and let me sway
listen up because
I got only this much to say

I am moving ahead
sidestepping obstacles in my way
so-called promises of forever
wouldn't let me sway
listen up because
I got few more words to say

my silences ought to tell you
to keep out of my way
now my closed fists
are making sure, I don't sway
listen up carefully because
now I got nothing else to say

at age.....

at age seven, I dreamt of you
your lopsided genuine smile
reflected on my facade

at age sixteen, I craved for you
siding up to you for your touch

at age twenty one, I woke up
next to you, your ramble
tickling me senseless

at age thirty, I basked under
your love, only your love

at age forty, I am all alone
picking up the pieces after you
avenge what, sadly I know not

out of focus

blooming on pots
dangling from there
DAZZLING BUDS
bloom out of focus
dangle deadeningly


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circling in, into you

oozing out, out of pores
unevenly ragged spots,
spot raw patches of skin
holed in, into the bones
held by the thin veneer

blood spurts in, inside you
plastering the walls
of stomach, intestines coil in
embracing itself, stuck together
food within is gloriously naked

what pleasure are you getting
relishing in your yucky muck,
muck that is sickeningly sticky
save that drug for something else,
something which needs to be fed

"diseased, decayed decades that
have taken over our will, no less"

******

My Beat poetry has not come up the way I wanted it to. It had a mind of its own and ended this way.