An Elegy

I want to visit the suburbs
To weave a tapestry of time and faint memories
Trailing through the moat surrounded  ffort
And the green lanes.

Peering at  the once familiar Ganges
Rippling at its easy pace
The gardens landscaped with exotic flowers
The homely vines climbed the fourth floor
To mourn the lover's pensive face.

The changing pattern of life evoked an
                             Unspelt spire.
Assuming there's  no uncanny shift
                              To emotional disruption.

Life does not stand still and change
Leaves no marks.
Once I , hurried here to be with my mate
Eager to finish all that we had thought of...

Today I am an eager onlooker,
Watching strangers visit that place.

Time runs its race,revealing secrets
All the way...
New adjustments and equations are being
Forged everyday.

It drizzled ( like that day ) and the soil
Wet with nostalgic tears smells
The same.


   

Forlorn it stands..

It is an old house.We all know it.
Silence seems to scream from every pore of its
broken walls.The dusty floors have long erased
the lost footsteps.Memory and Nostalgia cling
together and a murky smell envelops the eerie
air.A damp patch, like a tear courses down the
wall, mocked by nostalgic fever.

It is an old house.We all know it.
A dying soul in shackles.

Yesterday...Today...Tomorrow.

*iRead*

I am the hungry reader.The one who reads and wants to read continuously...why do I love books is easy to answer ...perhaps as easy as breathing or easier...books have changed my world and life..I still remember when
daddy would come from his business tours armful of books for me...and how I would get lost in the wonderful
world of fairy tales...the giants,magic castles,the prince charming....

 I read because I feel  that is the only thing I can boast of being skillful....I just read...To come back home
after a hard day's work...when I feel unsure of the very meaning of life..books come to my rescue. They
teach me that there's so much to live for...they are my companion for life....a worthy lover who doesn't judge
me,will never criticise me...but will always be my side...I love you dear daddy to give me the love of my life.

The authors they  make me shed tears ,laugh,be angry ,they make me move a thousand ways....they provide me the much
needed sanctuary...a safe haven...where I read about people but I do not deal with them...I just need my cosy corner to get immersed.

Books and a cup of chai is a pleasure only known to those who read...I read because words they speak
to me in all possible emotions...words that listen and make you think....I am in love with books..so I read because that is all I need....

My Daughter's Wedding Card

My Best Friend :*

The red kumkum smeared card

means nothing at all  to those invited .

I know , it is just a card...

perhaps it will be thrown away

or used to swat a fly.

To me,it means....

the girl who came to me

when she was thirteen.

I couldn't enjoy her infant days,

her pigtails and pink cheeks.

Her baby steps and toothy gurgles

were sorely missed by me.

She would soon fly away

to her new found nest.

To return perhaps some years later

with a pink or blue bundle....

And I will then relive

the days I could not...

So,

the card means  ...

my 13 year old baby

with her temper flaring

and her skirts dragging

will not come to my bedside

to wake me up from my afternoon naps..

nor will she resent even a fly

that comes near by.....

Our Mountain

Years will slowly roll by,
We will never visit the road taken..
We knew it in our hearts,
Memories were thus collected..

Shadows of our mountain will grow bigger,
Cutting our flight...making us meager.

I held steadfast to our broken dreams
I kept my promise...
You?....
You held them in open.

Alone in darkness
I pick the pieces of broken heart,
Your careful wrong steps
Shall live inside me forever
till death do us part...

Unanswered...

 'Twas a faint night, when two dying 

  whispers bid their final adieu, near the 

  revered river.

The whiff of wet earth 

       mingled with rain filled the air.

OR WAS IT TEARS?

Two procrastinating souls,pretending otherwise.

Two drops of tear on those starched linen sheets

mingled with  blood left a damp patch.

OR WAS IT THE BLEEDING HEART?

The change of existence jingled

doubting their presence.

Two voices mingled with 

        mournful sobs pierced the air.

OR WAS IT A SINGLE ANGRY VOICE?

Two hands of clock ,took solemn delight

of this faint night.

The two trying hard to keep their

'paper boat' life from toppling.

OR WAS IT THE QUAKING EARTH?

The music of the two still goes on..

LUB DUB......

   LUB DUB..

LUB DUB......

Long after the harp was silenced...

OR WAS IT THE END OF THEIR  TIME?

 

Let's bury it...!!!

It's a long lost story...
A forgotten tale
of love
awakening inside
an old nagging pain..
pain of longing
pain of yearning
It kills me.
You came like a fresh breath of summer rain
touched me
thrilled me
hugged me
kissed me....
but now it's time to bury
your false promises
your fake dreams and
your subtle betrayal...

Bury...bury....bury deep
No sunshine here can ever peep.

ADIEU MY LOVE.

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

Fran-gi-pa-ni…a strange,exotic set of syllables for something

That is so ‘everyday’ in my memory. Perhaps that’s why the

Name….Frangipanimoments…the trees with their abandon

Of white flowers touched gently with gold sets up mood to

Remember days that live in me. Oh yes! Not to forget its

Exquisite smell of faraway. A fragrance that is invariably

Associated with the coming of spring.

Writing has been therapeutic for me…bringing to rest the

Darkest in me..the written recitative of words has a healing

Touch. For the mind has to go on working , moving ahead

With times..for the broken heart never heals .

A Splash of Rain

The sudden spell of  January rain took the dwellers in

the East by surprise.Yes, to many, it has a sorcerer's 

touch,conjuring

                       passion (among lovers),

                                    conviviality(among friends) and

jocularity amidst the little ones.I, sat alone with the rains

splashing my face...sat with my bunch of pensive days.

The misty spray fails to bring back joie de vivre. They seem

to have died on an autumn night. The drops now sting my naked 

arms and face. 

So,sitting alone with the misty spray splashing my face....I

pray for the clouds to drift to those shingly shores. For 

there dwells a soul, some kilometres away from the sea, who still
rejoices the descending silver threads.