Jaunts waiting to be relished

To wander through streets lonely and full,
staring at passerby's with flaming red and soothing black hair
as the spaces next to my feet gets quickly filled with feet
holding and supporting heads held high and tears dropping low.
To be there for the unknown baby that unclasps her hands from
her mother to run on the grass;
to help her up as she falls while her gray eyes still gleam with joy,
to have that face registered in my memory, to forever remember that smile.
To have some tea in coffee houses as the snow falls slowly
scared if it'll hurt the earth;
to stare out of those huge glazed windows as the next page of my book awaits
in silent understanding of my thoughts that fall along with every snow flake
finding its journey to the next level.
To love the winding roads as they take me with it
like the curves of a woman on and off a diet,
to enjoy the sunshine that plays between my hair set free
To enjoy a bonfire with people I don't know of
and get drunk with all shots mixed
so that the dance in me mixes with the rising and falling fire
in its blues, yellows and orange.
while in the end I gaze at the stars and get myself lost in constellations
trusting the moon I love to take care of my guitar who lies alone
in the darkness that lives.
To eat food I haven't eaten before and laugh like I have never,
to dance and sing in speeding trains
as strangers smile in amusement looking at who might be a retarded girl
losing her mind over good ice-cream and waffle rolls.
And probably
while I walk back colourful alleyways and paved paths
to a house I don't know of,
I find someone who plays with baby monkeys and takes solitary walks
at the cemetery I land up at with a notebook in his hand.

                                          Image from the internet

~Hemu 

Her life that they paint...

She weaved a sheepish smile at the mention of his name,
and giggled like a girl unlike the laughter of a woman I wanted to see.
Screens acted as saviours and telephonic voices were all that she heard.
There are people around, friends and family
who know how she likes her eggs and the mood she is by her strewn slippers..
yet she seems to love that man who comes online
or who she meets with consent of families, a grown-up thing I never did understand.
What about silent glances and stealthy kisses?
Where is the secret of love?
I stare as blatantly as I can to grasp the system that keeps slipping off
my cheesy hands and
a heart very easily flattered by poetry.
I try to see the love, the fights and the memorable moments that shall flash
through her eyes as she gets married,
but what if there are no memories?
What if casual conversations are all that reach the mind that tries
to tame the already trained heart to bring out a questionnaire to know the other?
Where does that feral hope of every woman go,
the one who waits for a dashing young man to speed by and catch her unawares?
Probably there is some logic that my small (or fat?) head seems to reject...
It has created a population that beats most of the world.
All this picks up its pace in my jumbled brain as she bows down
with a twitch near the corner of her lips and a hesitant smile.
Waiting to start a new life with someone she may just hardly know.
I wonder if it works like a different kind of weed.. full of excitement and expectations..
I look through the falling petals
for I know the mehendi on her hands will grow red even if he doesn't know her...
but, will he stare at it smiling, looking at her and kissing them as they grow dry?

                                         Photo from the internet.

Hemu