Will there be a day?

Will there be a day again, when I skim 

Through 1000 faces & catch a glimpse of u?

Will there be a day again, when
We wake up from our realities & I'm beside you?

Will there be a day again, when 
I stare into the empty walls, too shy to meet your eyes?

Will there be a day again, when
You ploy a skillful deceit for me to
fall in love FOR you. 

Will there be a day again, when I slip deep

Into your chest and weep vehemently?

Will there be a day again, when I hold

Tight to your arms, not to let go again?

Will there be a day...ever...when 
With arms around your neck,
fingers running through your hair,
Drenching you in my tears,
I get to tell you... I get to tell you...

Do not worry, my love...

You haven't hurt me much.

You haven't hurt me much... Only as much as I love you!

Mulberries

I sit under this tree, the name of which I do not know,

The shadows so soothing and healing.
Birds chirruping all around,
tiny worms nourishing on fallen fruits. 

The fruits resemble mulberry, 

Like the ones I saw on my uncle's

Neighbor's terrace when I was young, 

So young that I hadn't 

Started bleeding.

So young that butterflies were just insects
And Chikkus were just fruits... 

How I wish I was there!

On that terrace, my tongue purple

From nibbling the mulberries

Will the bridge I see ahead of me,

Take me there, where I want to be.

Where I can twirl and twirl in my 
Red long skirt, never to lose a step, 

The merry land with sweet ripe berries.

Nothing Land

I wish I go on a trip, far far away

Into a mythical mystical island

Where there is no love

Where there is no warmth

Where there is no dismay

Where there is no fright 

Where heart knows nothing 

Nothing here, nothing there, nothing everywhere. 

Where trees sparkle like Amethysts

Where wild fruits sate my appetite 

Where limpid streams keep me content

Where I need nothing, but nothings.

I wish to go on a trip, far far away! 

Mirage

As I walk across the arid sandy dunes

Hungry, thirsty and weary,

Steps away, Just a quarter furlong away.

I sight the island, with flowing streams and lush greens,

Eager to soak in the cold flow 

of the stream and recline in the tranquil green grass, 

I go a step ahead, but stall.

I fear the island is a mirage

If I step too close, it might vanish.

I stay back, thirsty, not to lose sight of it.

Autotomy

He felt like a prey in a Boa's clasp, 

constricted by her tight grasp and

suffocated by her intemperate emotions.

Lazing on his unclad chest, finger nails bruising 

his biceps, toes restful on his arched feet,

She whined and whined to him,

"Talk to me, my love"!

"Flatter me for my brown eyes, 

my unruly hair and tiny lips.

Praise the imprecise lines I form as

I dance and my imperfect posture as I walk.

Laud my nagging concern for your well being

 and my subtle fragilities".

"What is in words"? he spewed. 

"Nothing, nothing beyond dilutions", She said.

What is in words", she wondered, 

Shall I ask the deaf, the dumb and the mute?

She knew - Words are like lizard's autotomy,

a defense; the balancing tail that is bitten off 

Fearful it will become a threat. 

Another tail will grow in its place.

She knew and yet she whined and whined again.

"Talk to me, my love", she whispered. 

The charcoal collector

Be prudent, Invest in gold, they said.

What use is of gold to me? I thought.

Gold is a tawdry shiny metal in my closet,

Which is worth some dimes only when I sell it.

Not contemplating, I invested in dark coal charcoal,

Coal is a catalyst and a propellent, I was taught in school.
Appealing! 

With all my savings, I bought them all,

All the charcoal I could possess.

I saved it in my prettiest boxes,

These boxes, a family inheritance was adorned with jewels
 I gathered over 3 decades, very exorbitant purchases.

I hand picked the coal and placed them in my box, 

Glancing at them with delight and pride. 

After 100 sleepless nights, when the last box was closed,
I was struck by disbelief.

The boxes appeared tainted and drab, 

the jewels sparkled no more. 

Would gold have tarnished my boxes, I
I mused and brushed the thought away. 

No trains run on charcoal anymore,

Electric trains are cleaner and smokeless. 

My fingers aren't long, fine or tender like an artist's,
 to generate from the coal beautiful 

Sketches of children, landscapes or animals. 

Stubborn to vanquish defeat,

Exhausted and dozy, I transferred the coal to the new boxes,

the fancy ones, stain resistant. 

On the 10th working day, my reflection on the 1000th
stainless steel box surface spotted a glimpse of me. 

It saw black blotches all over me.

It saw an imbecile buffoon, inert to the laughing audience. 

I was still cautiously placing the coals,

In the new box, in order, one by one. 

Baggage lost at Chennai

What is really going on- like everything that is happening to me isn't stressful enough? My baggage is missing. All I wanted to do was get home and just take a deep breath. It's been around 30 hours between airports and aeroplanes. 

Demented

Tear me into pieces,

Burn me into ashes,

Drown me in the Ganges.

But when I'm reborn, 

I will reincarnate with this

Same heart; red, blemished and

disfigured by your long lost warmth.

Like the hunch back of Notre Dame,

Let me be dubbed the demented of Nothing Damn! 

Red Sympathy blooms

I planted these red roses in my front yard 2 years ago. I planted 3 other different variety roses with this one, but this was my favorite. Every spring since I planted them, I consistently checked on them, watered them, fertilizered them and waited for a full bloom; but in dismay. While my other roses bloomed in hundreds, this one thwarted my wish, only occasionally giving me 5-6 roses here and there.

With so much going on this spring, I never payed attention to my roses. Never gave them a drop of water; but look what happened. They bloomed better than I had ever imagined, more beautiful than I had expected. These photos don't do any justice to how beautiful they are. They are blood red, not pink as it looks here. There isn't even a bud on my other roses, probably because I didn't trim them in time.

Look at this one. Looks like this plant wanted to bring me some color amidst all the drab.  But the whole time I paid attention, it disappointed me, but when I stepped back, it made me happy. This is probably what some relationships need too, less attention from me to bloom! 

May be it is just a pity bloom, the roses feeling sorry for me; Do not know, but I like to believe that unlike people, these roses really love me. They didn't come to me when I wanted them, but they did when I needed them! Wish us people were so considerate.