Romance and 3 cups of tea

Leftovers from a

well slept in Sunday

so rich, so dense

I carry them to

This Tuesday morning

Gurgling my phlegm

From cigarettes stale

From a long lost love

I ache and ail

A boy, rather a persona

I loved and wanted

Came to me

In my first cup

of dark brown tea

As I sipped, I longed

To chore on memories

of a Sunday yore

On Marine Drive

In the rains

this persona took my

Palms in his and

asked me for my dreams

I readily gave in

To his charm

and raw wit

I shook and stared

At his boyish hands

They looked at me with

Unbridled warmth

His lip quivered

from cold winds and sea

he asked me

"Tea?"

I locked my locks

behind an ear

hoping to catch his gaze

which so unmasked

my clothed heart

He asked me with a start

"Will you be with me

while I walk?"

I took his lead and

stepped with step

he looked ahead

but smiled within

at my hair blowing

In the wind

This tuesday

is far ahead in time

I look at

His hands

and try to rhyme

his life with mine

He offers me a cloudy cup

I whisper and I recline

I kiss away my week goodbye

and dwell already

on Sunday divine.

My Villain- The Housewife

Get up wretched girl,

Woman now on assumption

Your little one wakes

With flapping eyelashes

trained to find you

in the dark morning

Your kitchen steams

of last night's pots

the ginger wants crushing

the news babbles

trained to rouse you

in the dark morning

The husband emits

One final snore

morning breath full of gore

The bath runs gushing

trained to maul you

in the dark morning

 

Sticky lips

Puckered chin

yellow teeth cruise within

eyes wide shut

headless wonder

The face laughs back

trained to taunt

in the dark morning

It's like cramming for exams

I monkeyed all day, that day about 6 years ago. I had a History test the next morning and super confident that I always was, I kept from my books, "for just another 15 minutes".

Then 2am was upon me and I stood in front of my dear pal Mira asking her helplessly,"How am I going to cram all this in the next 4 hours? I am soooo sleepy!"

She said," Just do it". She waited with me, kept vigil with her snores and finally drifted off to sleep as I thumped my textbook shut. 

Umang has taken over Mira's mantle. As I wait in REM mode to hear my Ayumi stir awake for her mid night feeding session,  I always think about those numerous History exams that have ruined my night sleep for so many years. Nights are for sleeping. No thoughts, words or deeds, just plain simple sleep. Some white noise and mild dreams with non-dramatic imagery.

My mom and others say that I shall never sleep in peace again. It's one in the morning. My last thought and non-dramatic image: Ayumi feeding in peace, her white noise is my beating heart. Her sleep is mine.

Ayumi

I'm back..No, I'm not attributing this long absence to my pregnancy (though it did seem like a lifetime) or to the fact that I have been completely wrapped round my baby Ayumi's (have to write "ole baba go" and "guccha poochie" after her name) chubby fingers.  I am calm now. Realization has dawned that I am a mother now. 

Ayumi is perfect, no two ways about that. My biggest moment and probably my everlasting memory will be her eyes looking up at me and smiling while she feeds at my breast. She looks at me straight with unadulterated affection that has a clear message," Thanks, fellow human, I feel much better. Food's good!" 

Ayumi is very clear headed. She has a lot to say and she says it out loud and quick and doesn't stop till she's made her point. I don't know yet what her point is; she's two months and two weeks old. But whatever it is there is batter to the babble. She frowns and looks skeptical when she deems it right and refuses to pose for the camera. Her stunned expressions are my most beautiful photographs, so are her grimaces at being tossed and mauled by eager family and friends.

Ayumi gives me a sense of startled awareness. I have to get up and GO. There's no time to regret and fret. There are things to be done and goals to achieve. Ayumi has to have a good life. She's my fervent mission and the greatest love of my life.

Stolen from a friend

A writer -- and, I believe, generally all persons -- must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource. All things have been given to us for a purpose, and an artist must feel this more intensely. All that happens to us, including our humiliations, our misfortunes, our embarrassments, all is given to us as raw material, as clay, so that we may shape our art."

Jorge Luis Borges

Ennui

This is a time to gloat 
we are such pieces of work
This is how we go about
our daily Ennui

We bathe in the Sun
We Love, eat and try to gain Respect
We then amble along
Gnawing into space

We hate the sound of white noise

"This is mine, this is yours"

We croak until hoarse,

scratch until bleed.

We send our children

Into prompt assemblies

to ask for wisdom

good thoughts, words and deeds

We build our castles

And etherise our air

Then ask for allegiance

to our whimsical gods

We broker peace

Sober in solidarity

But hide our rancor

To light a wayward fire

Love Goes On

He and She

Sat across open windows

Once in a while,
Over the shoulder
Glances were sought,

Not completed.

That was a long time ago
Between rushed breakfasts
Keeling over happily

From fast moving bikes
Rushing through sentences
Proclaiming loud love

Not completed.

Now there is dry earth

And songs sung

Distractedly so

Still melodious though

A walk in progress

A smile at work

Still not complete