Pricks

You;

I prick you all the time yet ignore

How could I

How shall I

Still I do.

You are a thimble

Lying wryly on my finger

Being looked at

Infallibly ignored.

Years of closeness

Pressing sweat,

Mud and depressing afternoons,

Broken conversations and constant stares

Nausea.

Now for the silence-

For you in my role

For me repeatedly in my role.

I remember the day I woke up next to you

Sly, capsized into silence

Flying away, shedding the pollens of unknowns

Farther away from you into the deeper depths of you.

I sewed my quilt of silence

With you and it smells of you

I wear you, love you and prick you constantly.

Man in the plumeria garden

Rain was still pouring on him in the plumeria garden even though he was dead already.
At times drizzling and then raging with thunderstorms, rain never stopped around him.

Robins left their nests in the unsettling madness of the rain.
The madness of never ending love. Ludicrous.

'Now that he is dead, when can I stop loving him?' Rain asks. It sings and it sobs.




The drops rolled through his dreamy eyes and aquiline nose.
He was still warm and the drops fell down through his badam shaped nails.

Those tiny streams could not resist thinking about the time they spent with him, while flowing away with the plumerias that had fallen around him.
His charm was increasing with the rain.

And one day, slowly he flew away with the rain drops and rest of the plumerias, leaving the garden empty.

The Oil Painting

I went there during night with a floating cloud inside me. I don't remember the path but I always reach there.
That night it rained and the hot bricks smelled like earth. Raw.

Listening to the slow rain, I sat inside, clutching the arms around my legs. I had been thinking about the dark circles around those eyes, those kind and lazy eyes.

I had never seen such kind eyes before.
Rather I never knew there can be kindness in eyes. Those small slits into a whole another world.
Like slipping on a wet oil painting, I fell deep into them.
Those eyes freeze me every time and take away all the vapors inside me till I fly like a pollen.


When I woke up, it was sunny.
White lilies had bloomed around the corner. Lying on the floor I watched them up close.
I thought butterflies would fly around.

Later I went out and walked through the meadows. Around those many flies and crickets, the earth laid nude. It had already forgotten the night's rain.
I wished if I could also forget those eyes like that and be warm again. I wanted butterflies to fly around the lilies.

It never rained again and the eyes and the kindness inside them never went away.
Watching the finches and mynas I had walked long enough to lose my way.




Finally I could lose myself in that oil painting. Of the lilies and butterflies.

Memoryless

New year dies when it is new. Like everything else that is new.

This year nothing new followed after the so called new year.

I felt boredom and mundanity were waiting for a chance to come out.

"Was it like the same last year also?"
"Must've been, right?"

That made me think. About last new year and many others that came and went before.
I could remember only one when my dad was angry and almost tore off the hall ticket for my exams. And how I tried not to miss the midnight show on TV in between the moments of fury.

"Why are you smiling?"
"Nothing". My lies start with 'nothing'. "I was trying to think about my childhood days".

He senses my lies and beats me down with a smile. Nonetheless I let him enjoy that with my stupid being.

"So what about the childhood memories?"
I couldn't possibly think anything about my childhood days. I am not able to remember any years of my life. I became numb. I am deprived of memories.

I thought of paying attention to the cactus garden we were visiting. I read all the details and carefully looked at the flowers which had such pungent smell.

Probably I can think more and let my imaginations grow boundlessly if old memories aren't hovering around always.

But that was not an easy decision to make, after all being in a cactus garden.

"What about childhood memories? Everyone has them, not so much to talk about". I managed to roll over.

"Really?". Now he is being different. "You know, I don't remember much about those days, I don't know how I used to be in school or at home. Is this only me?".

He was not sad, if not remained cool. Around the cacti, we lost the smell and emotions. They store everything inside them.

"No, not just you!".

Tied by memorylessness we started talking more about cacti.

Summer Titles

Title Brown:

I feel like plunging into the yellow deeps of the swaying wheat fields and losing myself.
Giggle inside my stomach and listen to the dry leaves hugging each other in the dry wind.

That never ending chirps and hisses of summer dryness mixed with the warm burps of quenching soil. I am going to dig my head deeper and deeper into the brownness of earth, till where I can find the sour slates that will stop my mouth from watering.

Title Soil:

One day, after seeing you, do you know what I felt like?

To get tanned. A tan that will make the paleness under my cold eyes into a mix of brown and black.

Brown of the bony skin and the black of the weary eye lashes. A sharp hot valley below your eyes sent the mad arrow heads into my head. I need help. I need you.

Title Wind:

I am woken up by the wind while jay sleeping on my stomach. Through the open windows and long aisles it comes and swirls around me in this afternoon.

A guffaw of it's pride frolic makes me hate it more. The light that comes along and fills every corner, allows no compromise. I prefer to close my eyes. I am tired and I feel it on my thighs.

May be some other day. I sure, will come to the veranda and run with you. I am learning to be in the art of loving you. When I am ready to run away with you, come in white frocks.

Oh, and these pollens are tickling me and I feel my tongue so sharp. Let me bite my tongue.

Gooseberry

From everywhere hot air evaporated, cracking the roads and walls. My most light cotton dresses whispered to me, when I walked under the sun.

With a cloud of disturbance around, when I reached home, the jute curtains were assuming an awkward silence.

"And what happened?..." The questions make me deaf.
"How do you feel now?"
"Like a gooseberry at the bottom  of a saline jar". And that's when I felt like laughing.

I went to the windows and looked outside.
Is it raining?
Yes! tiny drops of hope. But they disappeared fast on the dry floor.


"You know, lately I've been feeling that you are no more summed up at home...". There I was on a role of stranger, known to everyone.

                                                      ******************

Euphoria was in the air when I was scattering dry leaves in the park. The more I imagined being heavy with thoughts, the lighter I was going.





Gooseberries were raining down when I opened my eyes. No, I was floating up with the cozy lightness of my thoughts.
Crossing the rain drops and dust, I moved up with the lightness and laughter.

Routine

We walk home ignoring the petunia and pebbles. The house stands frozen from outside.

The broken conversations reach an end at the front steps.

With an uncooked mind I open the door.

Were we unexpected? The silence and warmth gushes outside forgetting to pick their giggle and guffaw.

My home looks at me and the stranger sharply which I pretend to ignore.

Sitting on the sofa I looked outside. Green purple and haze under the yellow light.

Thoughts never reach anywhere. It’s still green purple and haze.

Aimlessly I walk around inside the house. She is sitting in the balcony crossing her legs leaving one of her sandals.

Do I feel pity for the left alone sandal?

She is looking outside, and I watch her from behind. There is green purple and haze outside. We both

see it.

And then I go near and move the sandals close by.