in a roomful of plates...

why did you get me inside this house-
displayed me with the plates
I am not at home here
outside is what I prefer
I have a permanent grimace
it isn't just a phase
you have placed me in a miniscule space
separation from friends is unbearable
they sit on other shelves
I can't look down from that top shelf
my thoughts stumble and fall
I want to smash this room and break free

"merely a rooster for you, I too have a will"

This didn't come up as I desired it to yet I posted it. I might work on it a bit after some time.

lost in our own world

my two older brothers did their sums
my dad watched over them
I, with my pencil, scribbled
in a handmade journal-
my dad had got the sheets,
my mom had bound those-
a line, a few scattered words,
some numbers thrown in-
(in today's world,
those make a password)
likewise my little brother lay beside me,
his nimble fingers fixing a toy car-
each one of us lost in our world
my mom our binding force

(you see, it was love at first sight for us)
I still prefer a pencil,
along with a handmade journal,
both older brothers dabble with numbers;
younger one fixes things,
dad watches over from above-
mom is still the binding force

red sand

I let the grains slide through my fingers
each one reflecting the lights
I can feel the beginning of my planet in those
a story in each particle
I don't know any of those tales
I can feel the heat and the grit-
abrasive on my body
yet I can feel the life
and the character of the land
red sand takes in my life force
giving me back in thousand folds
since inception of the particles
it was pre-ordained that we live here
sharing equally with everyone
however, destruction is our other name
we will disappear into nothing
but the red sand will live here forever
telling our tales to whoever who cares
to listen, to learn, to continue the cycle
" to be destroyed yet again. and again"

tumbled thoughts in a silver tumbler

I don't recall how but it started as joke-
I told my mom I wanted all my old things
my mom handed me that tumbler,
a small one of tarnished silver,
edges now rounded,
I don't remember each and every mark
but she does.
(I had made them by throwing it in fits of anger)
she said, "you always wanted the same tumbler
to drink milk, water or juice
somedays you even hid it from my brothers."
no way, I tell her,
I was ever ready to share with one brother-
I was always hanging around him,
even when his friends visited
he too indulged me,
he would have bought me the moon
and stars thrown in a good measure
if I wished for it
also the way I was ever ready to do
whatever he asked me too
(he never did)
I stored my share of goodies for him
(which he did take once in a while)-
the same one who is estranged from us now.

I put aside that tumbler
and I ask my mom in a desolate voice
does he ever think of me, of us?
will leverage of our love remedy the space?
I want my feelings to reach out to him
my tumbler of love and affection to overwhelm him
I fear what if it doesn't,
will I survive, will my mom survive?
I hug that small silver tumbler to my heart

half-way through

when I think of those times
how life used to be then
paper boats floating on water
paper aeroplanes flying all over
origami made my mind sharp
also made my fingers coordinate

when I think of those times
how life used to be then
I used to serve tea in my tiny cups
(those times were rare)
my dolls were my guest
and my brothers envied me

when I think of those times
how life used to be then
writing notes was the norm
photocopying was unheard of
hanging out in the canteen
used to be only guilty pleasure

when I think of those times
how life used to be then
half-way through I stop myself
what I have now is priceless too
I possess my memories
not to forget my creativity too

when I think of those times
how life used to be then
I don't regret anything
not then, not now
you can't stop the time
from going leaps and bounds

musty scent of love

those old notes- yellowed,
in tatters, words smudging
I tape them carefully
to preserve them for you both

it is not quite dawn yet-
what am I doing in the wee hours
going through old letters
taking in the musty scent of your love

you know she sleeps in the next room
I don't wish to wake her up
like the way you were
ever so careful not to disturb her

what I see through my hazy vision
your words lovingly penned for her-
her words reciprocating,
my heart aches for her loss

I am no connoisseur on recipe of love
(but I know) she is still spellbound by you,
you can see that from up there,
but she cannot and that hurts her

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I get glimpses of my mom missing my dad, it hurts me too. She is careful not to show it to me but as her daughter, I understand how much she misses him. I miss him too but it is different for her. As it should be. As it ought to be. I always have wished for a love as strong as theirs. I write it for both of them, even though I know she will not like it that I can read her so well.

About comment boxes...

I thought I would take a moment to rant here. I do that once in a while although in the recent past I have not done much of that.

Today I will talk about the comment boxes.

As we all know blogger has introduced the embedded comment box, and it has been a while now. Somehow I don't find it user friendly, especially if one uses word verification. Why do I have to click it at least thrice to get my comments through? It truly pisses me off.

I also don't like the intensedebate way of commenting. It also takes a while and I kind of desist from commenting there unless , it is something I can't miss.

Open id is a good way. Wordpress uses it, although it is somewhat different. Commenting on wordpress blogs is a pleasure.

I don't mind comment moderation and/or word verification, but both being used together, is not a good option. Have either of the two, not both. I didn't have either but due to spam, I have resorted to word verification. And any comment older than two weeks, goes into moderation.

We all thrive on comments. And the least we can do is to make it easy for our visitors to leave their foot prints.

That's all I gotta say for now. I do welcome your inputs too.

now it is there, now it isn't

she created patterns
some with bold strokes,
her charcoal sliding smoothly
predict of her fingers just right

when she went to fetch colours
feeble ones ran out of the paper-
leaving behind a chaotic art-
a hole here, a vacuum there

she poured paint over it
waited for it dry
when the paper fluttered in air
she inhaled the essence

disorder in an orderly piece
gave her such a high
elation of creating chaos
is better than any drink

wolfish grins

this road is curvy and wavy,
uphill it is not,
you can walk all of it,
still end up nowhere
the beginning is the end,
the end is the beginning
a paradox or whole truth
even great seers can't say

you see a wolf, you see a little girl,
wearing something red
with a hood on her head
both stand at arms length,
apparently arguing.
we see the wolf crumble-
run to catch him before he falls
she ditched him for a dog,
he can't take it anymore
his grief tears you apart,
the road unravels itself
you traverse through it-
consoling the wolf
I stand there with our girl
her red aura spreads to me
I too walk out, away from you,
never to return

"you see it is a woman's world now"

crumbling walls

I create miniscule space-
hide there blissfully
when the walls hit me
I don't feel the pain
where did the walls come from?
I did not build those
I like vast openness
with surprises in between.
minds eye journeys through
obstacles, stops at a corner
to rest and rejuvenate.

thats where I find you, my hero-
with your arms open for me,
a cocoon of love and security