be sweet tomorrow

freak out today so that you can be
sweet tomorrow
when your hairs turn grey and disappear
love as much as you can today
before bitter memories
bite like frost frozen on window panes
“hey, i told you so,”
someone will come and tell you
when you fail to listen and do as you are told
and when life flashes by in quick frames
and you seem to smile
when you want to cry
and you seem to laugh
when frowns are the only way to get by
dream today so that you can be
sweet tomorrow
when you have no dreams to sweeten your soul
laugh as much as you want today
before the moth of loneliness
starts hovering over your distant eyes
and when they start yelling
instead talking sweetly
just blink your eyes ever so slowly
let you hands fall down limply
and cough till your sputter geriatric saliva
all over whoever is yelling
and they will disappear together with their discords
…once they are gone,
breathe again
and be sweet to yourself
tomorrow when the world is sour
and everything moves in a blur
so fast, that you want
to lie down against the parched tree trunk
and wait for your turn…
but till then
freak out today so that you can be
sweet tomorrow
if not to the big bad world
at least to yourself

long gone home

home
we have been gone
far away for long
but you,
are not waiting for us,
are you?
have plots of mind
awaiting your development
from foundation to foundation
from wall to wall
from roof to roof
from window to window, and
from door to door
we long
to imagine the colour of your plaster
the paint of your door frame
and the soft bristles of lush green of grass
under bare feet – tiny and adult alike –
yes, it’s been a while
and enough so to speak
now come to us for good
stay on…and don’t desert us anymore
we have been homeless orphans without you
and it’s about time
that you set it right
come and embrace us,
let us cling to you for a lifetime
of happiness
and a lifetime of cherished memories
come, we beckon you
we coax you…
to come to us.
now.

silly clouds and an umbrella

sunshine where have you gone
it’s been a while
since the sun shone
like a hot ball of tropical fire
all the heat waves
seems to have been kidnapped
by grey, dark grey and darker grey
clouds
looming ominously
without any linings
silver or otherwise
if they were mere spectators
standing by
enjoying the going-ons
i wouldn’t mind
but they are howling
roaring
and generally pissing around
dropping an enormous amount of
…well…rain
and that is my bother
you see…
I absolutely abhor
carrying a silly brolly!

mourning wife

a man died yesterday
he left behind many grieving loved ones
and a mourning wife, who
really didn’t love him
at all
she had loved him
when he was a husband
loving and caring for her,
sharing her smiles and frowns,
listening to her inconsequential
and yet substantial
little whines – about
vegetables, milk, neighbourhood housewives
mother-in-law and television
one day he returned home
late
drunk
exhausted
and with a lipstick mark
smouldering like a embryonic ember
on the right shoulder of his pin-striped shirt
he begged, when she demanded an explanation,
seeked her forgiveness; and
was granted one; and all seemed well once again
till the embers returned sometime later
this time in the form of a few strands of hair
which definitely didn’t belong to her, or him
there were tears, there were wars
there were a few tacit scratched
on her tormented mind; and
on his bruised back
but a truce was called for and
dust settled on the rusting coupling
but not for long…
…till in the end it didn’t matter at all
apologies evaporated
together with feelings
and what remained was just
a mere arrangement…for the sake of children
and society
the fury, masked by her face – smile-less and blank –
roared in her heart with each evidence of misadventures
then he died – not an easy and immediate death -
sliced by a psychopath’s sharp knife
not once but a few times, till a criss-cross of negation
was marked all over his philandering body
the device of his sins
was chopped off and left to decay by his side
together with his tongue – which MUST have uttered
endearments not meant for her
his eyes – admiring eyes that pried on beautiful surfaces –
were scooped out without finesse
his fingers were chopped too
leaving behind ugly blunt stumps on his hands
which deviated and caressed the wrong curves
but he was left breathing,
bearing witness to his own crimes
he wanted to die – yes, he told her so himself many times while he survived –
but someone called for an ambulance
and rushed him to hospital
where they revived him
and helped him live a life less ordinary
than before.
he lived – like a dead animal – for a few weeks
agonizing, painful weeks those –
and in between the apologies returned –
this time from his heart
but she didn’t once say that she had forgiven her
though he begged her, beseeched her
with his horrible, faceless face and useless body
even till a moment before he –
crouched in pain and shrouded in utter darkness
- finally died yesterday
people wonder, will wonder for a long time,
who could have done a deed so heinous
for such a wonderful man.
only his mourning wife could tell…

never mind a little sweat

sweat it out this afternoon
so you can sleep well tonight
mind you though -
the sweat is not be a mere trickle
it must be a stream that runs dry
caking salty layers upon your temples
fine lines on the nape of your neck
and watermarks on your black tee
run, run, and run wild
with summersaults
and hangings from the monkey bars
run like lola ran
in run lola run
run like bourne ran
in bourne identity
run like tom runs after jerry
run like missiles chasing innocent bystanders in Iraq
run like a pack of wild dogs after a “poacher’s” car
in an indian national park
run like obama is running to be president
run like the seven dwarfs ran around snow white
run like the cheetah hunting for dinner
or just run like a man running in front of a swarm of stinging bees
just run…
and yeah, while you are running,
never mind a little sweat

a little boy and his seeds

the little boy
observed the little green seeds
intently for the hundredth time
in his outstretched, taut
little palm
he was pained to see
that they had not
become plants yet again
then he put them back
in the little plastic container
filled with water,
went around running
crazily, crashing into doors
and throwing tantrums
and things at a pace
his parents could neither cope with
nor understand.
then after 20 minutes or so
having spent just a miniscule of his
boundless, fathomless,
bundle of energy
he was back in the empty room
his plump, dexterous fingers
extracting, scooping
the tired seeds out of their sanctuary yet again
he placed them one by one
on his soft palm, slippery with water –
and, again he wondered
why his seeds had not become plants still…

the blue bottle [to read]

oh i can’t even fathom
how to tell you
how the blue bottle haunted me!
days in and nights out
it hovered above my head
hanging just an inch above
my hairline
by an invisible thread
it bumped my head hard
each time I got up
without intending to
sometimes it swayed and poured
unheard, unsmelt, unseen, untasted
drops on my ears,
eyes, nose and even mouth
i cursed myself
for having patronized the thought
of a blue bottle
how it metamorphed from a blue bottle
to THE blue bottle
i haven’t the faintest clue
but it surely got stuck to me
with a very sticky glue
now that i have transferred
it from my mind to paper
and to cyberspace
hopefully it won’t make
lie sleeplessly awake