Tuesday, December 21, 2010
plucked a fruit off a tree
was a nice golden to see
overripe it turned out to be
for i plucked it when i was hungry
not when the fruit was right
and the other fruits on the tree
are now a far better sight
so stupid stupid stupid me
will now be a little angry
for even though it was free
it cost me heavily
Monday, December 13, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
inside of you,
yet an impassive face
would be your truth.
you'd blink twice
and cry inside,
and wonder why, the world
you'd bleed inside out,
but never show your doubt.
you'd be walking on sunshine,
for everyone, you'd be fine.
it'll only take one
you could just be.
for once you find that one
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
you say it looks beautiful.
From where you’re standing,
I wish I could too.
you say I’m beautiful.
From where you’re looking,
I wish I could too.
slowly, but sure.
You’re saying enough
I want more.
just right here.
Next to where it beats,
a line of little cheats.
C’mon little forward,
I want to see your eyes.
Do they hold the world for me,
or can they just be?
Friday, August 6, 2010
Kya baat hai.
Some rules of the Game:
3) I like saying 'Bebe'. A little too much for my own good.
4) Raw mangoes will get a reaction out of me that you will never expect.
5) I secretly liked reading Twilight. It's just the movies that get to me, and the inordinate amount of sparkling. Also, the 'I wanna eat you, but no, I'm just gonna snog you because I can't tell what you're thinking.'
6) I love easily, I don't hate easily, or at all.
7) Sarcasm is an art form lost on me.
8) I really do think the world is conspiring against the lefties.
9) I'm plenty paranoid as a rule.
10) I think 'EEEEEEEEEEEE!' is an appropriate response to everything.
As for nominating more people, meh. Too much work.
Take is forward yourselves, and consider yourself nominated, since not more than 7 people will read this anyway.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
before the last of the firsts,
Before you are my past,
its the first of the lasts.
Its time for me to say goodbye,
this time, please don't sigh.
What we had will always be,
an enchanting memory.
Maybe glances few and fleeting,
will now be our only meeting.
But with me it'll stay,
the look of you smiling this way.
Forevermore shall I think of you and me,
a reason as beautiful as one can be.
But now, its time, we shall part,
you will be, in my heart.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
"She lacked direction," they said.
In the rolling meadows, a fluttering petal was carried by the wind. Lifted and buffeted along the way. It came to rest on a marker, a tombstone, nameless and unadorned.
The petal looked shrivelled as it talked about its past beauty.
If you looked in her eyes, you could see the careful blankness she had cultivated.
If you looked at her face, you could see the animation she played with.
It was his heart that beat for it.
The grass around the tombstone rustled as he sighed. The vast rolling emptiness in his heart would always be centred around the tombstone.
He could remember the night vividly.
Her eyes spoke as she drove into the wall.
She clearly had direction.
Now he didn’t have any left.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Do they remain? Memories? When the heart stops, does it stop your life?
Sitting atop a hillock, staring at the clouds, she tried to find the faces of those she had lost. Smita let the wind play with her hair, it flew all around her face, momentarily obscuring her vision and halting her quest.
The clouds swirled around her, barraging her with a multitude of visuals. It assaulted her senses. She could smell the clouds; they reminded her of old souls.
In all her 23 years, Smita had already felt the pain of being, her bones felt weary, weighing her steps like the moisture laden pregnant clouds.
If she tried, if she tried really hard, she could imagine herself standing in a land of white, surrounded by towering voluminous columns of cirrus clouds; and the people she wanted to see.
She saw unicorns and mammoths and chimaeras but she couldn’t find her mother’s face, she couldn’t feel her consciousness amongst the ones that tingled her skin.
“Umm, Excuse me?”
Smita turned around to face the person who had interrupted her mental soliloquy. She tucked her flyway hair behind her ears and looked questioningly at the intruder.
The first thing she noticed were the eyes, they had the same melancholy blankness that hers had seemed to acquire. Even though the laugh lines around her eyes seemed ironical, they somehow complemented each other. The art of having learnt to laugh in ones misery is hard learnt.
“I hate to bother you, but you’re standing in my spot.” She stated.
“Your spot?” Smita asked, a little bewildered, the concept belonging to classrooms in her mind. Since when did clouds figure in real estate?
“Yeah, it’s just that this is where I stand every time I come here.” She said, somberly, even thought the corners of her eyes had started crinkling in amusement.
“Yeah, ok, whatever. I’ll leave.” Smita gathered the corners of her mind and began to walk away when she felt a hand slide into hers. It betrayed hard work.
“You could stand with me if you want.”
Smita looked at her.
“Who are you mourning?” she asked.
“My mother, amongst others,” Smita said, “Who are you mourning?”
“Myself,” she stated matter of factly.
Both stood there together, letting their thoughts get lost in the faceless faces that shifted around them.
Somewhere in between her entangled thoughts, Smita realized that her hand was still clasped within the peaceable stranger’s comfortable grip.
The name suited her perfectly; the hollowness in Smita’s eyes began to acquire life. Sunaina’s hand never left hers since.