Purple Riot

The purple riot began

And took root slowly.

Who would've thought
Who would've known

In the rear view mirror
It looks like spring again

It's snowing every morn
And melting by evening.

The beauty that returned
The songs that don't cease

One day sitting nearby
Feeling the full purple riot

The deep desire in your eyes
That sang to me whole night

The hand that almost reached
The purple riot in your heart.

Boomerang

This rain and your memory  
Catapults me into whirlpools 
Of never-ending desire.

Sublimation

The master of all absurdities wrote,
None comes, none goes, nothing happens,
Truer of this slow-moving life,
Than of anything else heard or seen.

The hourglass looks still apparently,
Though time moves in steady moves,
And will erase, rewrite, edit whatever was
Written with much pleasure and much pain.

Now the time has come to smile and part,
A farewell that tastes of victory and tears,
Victory that never came when dying of thirst,
A stream of delight for the tired warrior.

For there is no going back in any form,
The absurd heart knows too well,
That some solids shed no tears
Those who only sublimate.

A growing hunger

Twilight

Summer Love

When we meet again, this summer, after a long while;

We sit once again in our favourite spot near the fountain,

On the pink carpet of blossoms, we make our seat to chat

The serious thoughts about life, the trivial about the world. 

Again the words couple goals make sense to us both,

Who have been lone wanderers in this weary universe,

To dream of the world of delights that we can travel,

To sip from the wine of togetherness till death parts us. 

May be we could dream of watching the nightskies now,

To spend time reading books or chatting for long hours,

May be one might spend time roaming new destinations 

Treading the surprises that this Earth has to offer us. 

We celebrate this second bout of love in this midlife,

To weave dreams around a bond of growing understanding.

To buy or not to buy: A shopper's story

Pic: Dreamtime

What I find is that for some years I have been buying things from the supermarket and enjoying the lack of a human element so much that I cannot tolerate when a very efficient looking (read polite, well made-up and dressed in stylish uniforms) comes and tries to interfere with the process of choosing a product. 

These shops do have cameras and motion sensors and I have often wondered "Do I look suspicious?" but the plain fact is that I have to check prices at closer levels than it is normal because of my eyesight as there are instances when I have quite overlooked digits before and after. 

After roaming around for hours, it is only natural that one knows many of these aisles by heart but at times, they do shift things around and I like to keep things in my mind and their availability for future purposes as well. 

But recently, I feel that I have been coaxed into buying things that I don't want to buy any day. Even a look in a particular aisle might end up in products that might be of no use. I was forced to buy two shades of blue nail polish instead of my usual shade of pink plainly out of courtesy. It's almost like they look into your eyes and shake your decisions. At times, I refuse very politely but I am rather piqued looking at my fingernails. 

When I shared this experience, I got a similar story, one from a friend and one from my mother. Many of these girls are overtly made up and say dialogues like "This toner is so good for your skin" and I always wonder have they really used it themselves!

But then I think I decided to play a different game because out of habit, I know their products by heart and can ask for a brand or a product they may not have! And, I think does work in most cases and sometimes I just name something that I really need and run as fast as possible as soon as I find it. 

But I guess it sure has spoiled the pleasure of shopping of finding where things are kept and then buying them. I do remember that during the early days of marriage, my husband would hold my hand tight so that I might not go missing in one of these aisles. 

Bottom line: I think my gripe against them is that they keep recommending cosmetics that I really don't want or may be because of some very lovely remedies for acne such as Himalaya Facewash or Age Miracle and so on. Part of this might be because of a very absent-minded childish naive expression on my face and I am working on a cure for this.

The Night

Like sugar on my dark kitchen counter,
The night has spilled countless stars
And undressed fair jasmines in the bushes.

A cup of comfort

When I drink you in like my cup of coffee;

With a little milk to bring in the right colour,

Strong flavoured robusta with sugar added,

In my large brown mug, with a tome in hand.

When I drink you in like my cup of coffee;

With slices of brown bread slightly toasted,

A little marmalade and butter thinly spread,

As I read the current tome that I’m reading.

When I drink you in like my cup of coffee;

I dream of your eyes that drank my desire,

My eyes stay on the page and the storyline

But my heart falls back on our little fantasy.

For another day, when I drink you like coffee,

When you sip my desire your eyes only on me.

You

You come when your thought flashes my mind-
Your smile as you lean against my shoulders,
Or the way your face crinkles when you see,
The red henna pattern I'd made on my palm.

Your warm body as you lie curling against mine
As the rain pitter patters on the tin roof outside,
The lazy rainy mornings when we often run late
To greet more sunshine in our open wide arms.

Your moist lips that scrawl on my soft cheeks,
Your rough fingers that taunt my every desire,
Your cruel gaze that stirs me from deep within
In the soft ochre light of our dawns and dusks.

It's when I am set, all ready for this twilight,
That you seek me again with your warm eyes.

Just be

I think the trees don't fish for compliments,
Of making the world a better place to live in.
So full of bloated egotism and the desire
To prove yourself and bring others down.
I think the clouds don't advertise their deeds
And say its all their doing and not of others.
So sure that it is their words that really matter
And not what they think secretly at heart.
Not that I am in anyway perfect than them
But when I read the secrets of their hearts;
All hope turns to dismay and love to ashes;
Envy, anger, jealousy and real hard feelings.
Yet with smiling faces and heart full of venom
They blow their own trumpets and grumble.

Beginner’s Mind

You have taught me the art of the beginner’s mind, taking small steps, internalizing the rules and learning day by day. Though this art of being completely aware in the present moment has brought in its turn, both happiness and sorrow.

This mind was often like a cup ready to be filled in, with nothing to boast of or previous knowledge to fall back upon. It often stood still in silence and dreamt of a peaceful future with its soul mate and at times set on its own charting out territories to explore.

Yet it knows how to balance its trust in the infinite gifts of Providence yet to keep its eyes open for the wonderful gifts that each brand new day brings.

Quixote

Remembrance

You and I,
These magical words,
I can never utter,
About another.

You and I,
Like day and night,
Never meet but to play
Hide and seek,forever.

You and I,
Carry an unspoken love,
Unfulfilled yet deep,
Hidden like a treasure.

You and I,
Away but together,
In sleepless nights,
And lonely hours.

You and I,
Wordsmiths who love
To coalesce liquid pain,
Into songs of remembrance.

And you and I,
Like parellel lines,
Stretch across miles,
Strange before strange eyes.

New Woman

This soul was once like a huge flame leaping to the skies,

Then it withered, dried and drooped to the very earth;

Sometimes, like Icarus, it leapt out of its many mazes,

But burnt out in the heady dash for total freedom.

Then she brought forth a new-born, a swaddled baby

She sang her magnificat of newly found motherhood;

The soul forgot its troubles for a joyous interval

And learnt how to escape the many mazes again.

Yet mostly this soul was a single-celled organism,

Cowardly and crawling in this huge universe,

Too silent, too shut out and too withdrawn,

Incapable of learning or making its way around,

Sometimes, it longs for the crazy days of yesterday,

When the sun of total freedom had burnt its wings. 

Cat stories

My mother has never been a big fan of cats but since an year or two, she has been accosted by a family of cats. The mother cat is all white; one kitten resembles the mother; while the other is black and white. Anyway, these two can smell food from far off and I have never seen a cat eat cauliflower fry or chapathi or grated coconut with so much relish! 

An empty garden pond

One single waterlily
In pond can splash colours,
Make a huge difference.

For a lost friend

A green-dot on my screen,
Dribbles my heart with pain,
Remembering a lost lifeline.

Time

Words have lost their shine
And have faded and died,
Like the blossoms in my garden.

Irony

You dab colours with a steady hand,
While mine shakes and shivers,
When putting colours on a blank face.