Wednesday, 6 September 2017

Octopus Diaries

From the page that accidentally fell off from the golden book...

Dear Coward,

I'm sorry you fail...
You miserably fail to realise
That you actually lost...
And that ugly scorn on your face
That emits dominance
Is but futile...
I pity the instinct in you that preaches cruelty...
Dear inhabitant,
Do you realize that the fear in you is breeding your cruelty?
Ah! Now that wry smirk on the mention of fear!!
Pathetic that you fail to realise that you killed because you feared...
You feared the voice-
And the dormant surge within.
The wave that you thought would drown you.
But do you hear the sirens of silence?
The silence that you seek to create
The silence that your comrades say, is your mission...
The mighty silence that's  prepared to echo louder!
And I doubt your preparedness for its intensity.
Fellow dweller,
Be prepared
The trumpets of tomorrow blow high-
You may remain and all of us may have left,
But the silence that you run for
Will haunt you...
And I'm sorry
Will kill you.

From the Octopus that has outlived the earth.

Saturday, 5 August 2017

A Lost Monsoon

The "new" sheds its charm
Amateurish and incomplete
And stoops down-
As if in defeat-
To the peerless grace and completeness
Of what was-
Of the beauty in cracked walls and leaking roofs
And wrinkled hands and damp floors-
Of an old rain that was a unique contrast;
Days when the droplets poured into our hearts
And a warmth spread in our souls-
As if proving to be a visual oxymoron-

Today, the rain sends chills down the spine;
Forming a frozen void within,
Searching in vain,
For that lost solace,
The cuddling hands
And that serene face
That are now stiff and pale
And numb and cold-
Indifferent and invisible
With tears burnt
And emotions buried-
Dissolved in the monsoon.

Wednesday, 10 May 2017

Morning rains

These morning rains
Remind me
Of musings
I once thought and forgot;

The moist earth
Hits the Rewind
And replays the things
I once smelt and felt...

Tiny water droplets
Give away to the breeze
Transforming their state
With cold and absolute ease...

Courtyards that flaunted intricate patterns yesterday
Now hold obscured kolams-
Struggling to retain their skeletal forms-
As they reluctantly disassociate
From their connecting dots.

As little canvas shoes trot on
The wet roads
Swept clean by the overnight downpour;
I see myself in the tiny kid
That whines at the school bus
And sighs at his heavy bag.

The shoulders didn't know.
The baggage has just started.

Wednesday, 8 March 2017

Women's Day

The alarm that never snoozes
Alarms at the hullabaloo
On the day
Earmarked for its mistress.

The newspaper winks
And flaunts the glossy cover page
Even as it gulps down the fearful bulletins
Within its innermost columns.

Hashtags preaching boldness and change
Flood the virtual world
Drowning the million disturbing voices
Beneath its surge.

And finally, as “she” braves the stares
And defies the norms
And knocks down the hundred question marks
A raised eyebrow wishes her;
“Happy Women’s Day”.

Wednesday, 22 February 2017

The adaptation anomaly

Sometimes it just creeps in

The adaptation anomaly-
Those “literally-fed-up-with-all-this” moments
When we simply cannot sync with the ambience-
And grow sick of all the complications in the air-
And wonder if the nomenclature of those around
Be reworked as “sophisticated machinery”…
When we forgot the last time we interacted with people-
Real, simple ones sans adjectives-
And that’s when we involuntarily move the curtains of our dusty window
To catch a glimpse of a view that we already knew by heart-
But this day, that view has got a different shade-
As if each thing outside the window-
Is finally letting out a story that it held back for so long-
Stories told in a language comprehensible at these exceptional moments alone…
And then when we come back to our (in) sanity-
The bustle looks meaningful for the first time
And it suddenly dawns upon us-
That each of these machinery has a unique story for itself-
That makes them apparently so dense-so complex-
Humans, at last.
Certain exceptions are beautiful in a way that they deviate us to new spheres altogether...
Things that we would never have explored but for this strange incompatibility…


A Simple Message...

A Simple Message...