Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Unseen Tears

There survives a clown.
Colours so bright on his clothes
and people's smirks so humiliating and full of glee, 
when they see that painted face..
in red, green and vivid colours 
showcasing the stark reality of human emotions,
ones that they find so entertaining.
Exaggerated eyes, open to happenings, 
Ears that listen to what they have to say..
Hair of Nature's vibrant hues, 
catching and grabbing everyone's attention- To be laughed at.
He is who they call a clown...
In funny clothes and a big red  nose, 
which manipulates a smile on their faces..
On this stage, he brought out his caliber, 
Qualities that were surpassed upon as yet another cheap trick to make them laugh..
The world's sadistic thoughts and pleasures were revealed,
when they see him jump up and down, to fill his stomach..
coz then, they laugh till their stomachs ache.
Masses just fall off their chairs, laughing at his antics
and the talent that they don't realize,
just seeing that smile. A powerful one.
At the end, they get up to leave, 
not bothering about a man who is calling for them to stay,
or a hug to share,
or a mere handshake to remember.
All that they did was, still laugh at his face.. 
and the bogus walk that he possessed.
Everybody was convinced of the large smile painted on his face,
that just smiled despite sad drooping lips and looks.
Nobody cared to come near,
assuming the happiness he faked.
Had they come near and seen a little farther, 
they would've seen and felt
the tears dying into a ground so moist.
It's just tears flowing free...
beyond the painted smile that they all just see.


Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The Roadside Whore

I had never seen such a man before, 
in all epitome of his handsomeness, and a smile that washed ashore worries.
I called forth to him, while he stood at the end of the street, 
by the lamp post crossing his legs and staring at me. 
My rouge grew redder, like I've never felt before,
I set my hair, smoothening my curls looking at the man. 
Not knowing if a second call would be needed,
So, I just stood watching his body, naked behind the clothes I shed from my vision. 
He looked like a man of word, more than flesh,
as I hoped what he would be, in all his being. 
He would be different I hoped, a writer perhaps, 
documenting miseries and glees. 
Perhaps, he'll understand my pleasure at seeing a man like him, 
a man in that black suit pressed to the last crease now invisible. 
As my thoughts grew, he walked towards me, 
holding a smile that kindled my inner soul.
What if he was the one? What is this was it ?
I held my breath as I walked with him as he slipped his arm around my shoulders, 
unlike the other men who walked away from me, 
only meeting me in a cramped place so desolate. 
Probably he is, oh, he is. 
We walked somewhere, I don't know where, a man with me, 
who didn't throw me dirty looks, looked at me as a woman. 
Like a person who knows what femininity means. 
Into his room, I waited for him to say something.
Yet, there were no words.
He tore my blouse down to mere shreds of cloth, 
releasing himself from the stiff clothes.
Raw feelings grew as we hit the bed, him biting away at my flesh, 
full of meaning. Everything he did, was a feeling 
I had never felt before in my life. 
Our bodies locked, the world faded as I gave myself to him in a way 
I never gave myself to anyone else. 
More than mere flesh, more the lips to tear open. Something beyond.
Something special. Something like him. 
Hours passed and the rage subsided as he slid out of the bed, 
bereft of a blanket around us, there is nothing to hide. Nothing to conceal. 
Fumbling into his pants, he looked at me through the dim light.. dressing back to what he was. 
He stabbed into his pockets bringing out some pieces of highlighted papers. 
And kept them in front of me. 
I stared up in shock and nodded, acknowledging the pay. 
He pulled his coat over and adjusting his tie, 
just like before, dressing in perfection, just like the 'perfect sex' he just gave me. 
Only now, there were creases on his coats, that stood out laughing at my face. 
Laughing at my crumpled hopes.
He turned and walked away without a second glance, 
as I sat naked, my face down in disappointment. 
But I won't cry, I won't lament.
For I've seen more than this. 
I'm the roadside whore, calling out to you, 
I, who fake groans and moans in bed. 
I, who still search for miracles everyday.
Waiting for it to hit my bed before another man does. 
For, I'm the roadside whore calling out to you.  
I shall live. I shall fight. 
For, I'm the roadside whore calling out to you. 

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Many hazy manifestations

You look at me like the early morning sunshine that hits the blooming lily,
calling out to her, pulling her baby petals out so slowly that her transition doesn't reveal. 
She flowers, growing up, and to gaze out at the sun, 
He, who lured her out to the world that awaits, splashing his light across her breasts. 
She got up from her sleep and dreams amidst weeds many, 
and fallen leaves of sizes, imploring, in want of attention. 
In need of a warm caress, even as someone does pass. 

You talked to me like the winds to fawning chimes, 
animating metal, arousing clinks and taps of wood. 
I sat in front of you, in all your obliviousness, listening ;
like an enchanted forest living in the hands playing a harp,
The dead who listened and returned to live, against the courts of nature. 
But I only went close to being dead, living in a trance, all in one. 
Listening to the spirit that spoke. 

Time sped against itself, as I fought for moments of togetherness
to stay, to accumulate what I heard, and accentuate the silences full of unnoticed stares, 
to the reflexive smile that sent sparks up in the air, 
flaming what I might call mine, because it burnt me so hard. I felt like I was on ice ;
wanting hot beverages in total contrasts to situations that hold, 
living where I wasn't supposed to be. 
Roaming in dreams yet to come alive. 

We walked together in brief moments of eternity, 
like the waves kissing the shores always wet, like snaps of the fingers 
of a man, a slave to music, wherever it played.
Like the one moment in dance, the air under feet reaching the ground from the past
attitude, knowing which lines of the wooden board would engage the next touch. 
You rolled out my sensitivity like a carpet, my skin feeling every step, living in every touch. 
Like the need of a baby to be rocked at her father's chest. To be lulled to sleep. 

I saw, I perceived, floating up and about, like a balloon released of it's content, 
in slowness, in grace, visiting all eons in the present, blowing out ice patterns 
in the air, and falling limp later, on the cold snow. She didn't know she could create. 
Like a woman chased by a predator, running as fast as wind, 
in speeds she never knew she possessed. Meandering about fields so green, 
so that she wouldn't fall to scrape her knees, or to trip on beds of flowers. 
So that even a valley of flowers don't awaken her. 

I stood at the faint distance to see you smile at another, 
waiting like a farmer on his parched land, sitting on open throats of the earth, 
calling out to the rain, asking for the heavens to throw open, what it locks in it's greys.
But it was summer and rains were far behind,  I was there in a light that you couldn't see. 
In a land of songs that you couldn't hear, in numbness that touch doesn't manifest, 
In browns swallowing withering whites, sunshine that didn't last, 
and my thoughts that you were dumb not to catch.  

And so, I end up seeing you as what I see you. 
Something that you might be or something that I only imagine you to be. 
Seeing little bulbs on a decorated deck like stars falling off the black skies. 
Soothing myself with talks that I proposed for you, 
listening to it all my myself. Seeing it run in my head. 
To the living boy in a muddled head of words, paint and music, 
who just crashed open, taking with him my hope. 
Something that was mine. Something that isn't him. 

Silence, splashed colours and crumbled words cried together,
in soft whispers as I tried to gather. 
But my hands are too small to hold them all,
to throw them back into the sets of my dreams.  
For now, there is nothing to bind them with. 
No him to put them behind and gaze at the beauty of it. 
So, i just walked on.

Catching them all in the soles of my feet 
hurting myself as I stepped over dreams that fell.

This was my entry at Saarang Writing Awards 2013

Friday, April 1, 2011

Rain dance

I opened my eyes to the lashing waves growing in unison,
syncing somewhere, to the calls of it's long lost waters.
They crashed, livid,  on the rocks jagged in it's shape,
not caring enough if it'll hurt, not bothering if it'll kill.
The azure spread ahead, merging with lines I couldn't see,
throwing about grey blotches of clouds, mizzling against the skin of my arms.
I stood rooted, under a pavilion ancient, taking it all in,
sights I saw and the sounds I heard.
Sea brought with her, winds so loud,
singing a song I had never heard before,
blowing into my ears secrets I haven't known so far,
telling me to get out and see all that I've missed.
I saw the music travel through the blues and reaching the black I wore,
which, held the drops of the misty drizzle concealed,
as the afternoon sun refused to show..
throwing at me a wash of blue and light, at my face.
I stood there against the slapping drizzle through the small marquee,
trying to pull me out, and away from the diary and a pen,
while I stood rooted looking at the foam hit the rocks,
staying on still until air broke it's soul..Staying..
until he beckoned me out.
Beckoned me out to listen to the tune of the wind,
the joy of rain and the price of the sight I saw..
He beckoned me out. Out of what I thought and held.
I flipped the diary on the granite table so wet,
and walked out into the open to hold his hand.
How long we were each other's hands I barely know,
how long we talked in hushed whispers, I never reflected.
His words reaching me in, one word a time,
one syllable stretching into echoes into the empty mind he recreated.
I clung to his shoulder in completeness, dancing to the whisting winds,
and the beating waves on the sands hidden, beneath travelling wetness.
 The moistened air held me to him, his hand gluing us together,
as he made me realize what I had just stared at for so long.
Terpsichore, it felt like, all elements bringing him to me,
as he further wet my lips, the call singing like an unknown force,
not to be heard, but to be felt. To be electrocuted with.
 I danced and danced, until my legs became too tired to stop,
I closed my eyes to take in the moment I had lived through,
to breathe and feel his smell upon my neck,
I closed my eyes to him, for that one moment, outstretching my hands,
to welcome him to reality. To feel the wetness seep through my skin.
An eon passed as I opened my eyes to see the agaze of my friend,
a smile on her lips, a question in her stare.
I ran into the shelters, grabbed my diary and ran downstairs.
Not looking back. Not looking up.
But only the ground, because it kept my feet fixed to the earth.
Not like him, making me fly.

This was my entry at Saarang Writing Awards 2013