JOURNEY

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 19; the nineteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

The little wooden boats, the ones that gently rocked when you blew at them, cost thirty Rupees at the village fair . Rickety little things, that never left shore enough to touch another. This one was different though. The minute he clutches at it’s smooth, symmetrical polish – scented edges , he knew. He also knew it was not to be owned. The setting sun rippling on the river, the perfect postcard background for the grand launch; he let it go – envisioning it’s grand travels along it’s puny path on the mighty river.
And it travelled. It touched Benares and carried a whiff of the evening “aarti”. It touched Bengal, and the “baul” song reverberated in intoxicated rhythms from it’s then ripped sails. Somewhere in Howrah, a girl touched it during her late afternoon splash. And she saw the ‘pujari ’in his pot bellied , ‘tilak’- in –place splendor. She felt the cool breeze of Rishikesh , just a draft – but nonetheless. And then it stole away, leaving behind the illiterate girl with a glimpse of a highly coloured , high school geography book dream.
The shepherd found it in some crevice of the almost frozen river. Motion was difficult then. The smooth flowing meanderings replaced by icy obstacles. He breathed in long forgotten summer dreams in its hollowed length. It was like the last time he had picked mangoes in the orchard, he could still taste it on his tongue tips, the uniquely mango-ish juicy sweetness. The thrill of secretive climbing of forbidden trees.
And having delivered that last smile from far-off lands ; it breathed it’s last in the icicle cave. A furry creature scurried forth. Somewhere there were meadows with enough sun and trees.

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off the merry go round

one fine day i wake up sleeping
oblivious to your song
my heart and curtains that had been shredded
in the dawn light reborn
as the ground beneath my feet stop spinning
i see your dazzlingly colourless merry-go-round
have your new shoes, and games and parties
keep running towards the glittering, beckoning calls,
would rather have my unshapely hopes, and fears and falls
my closed circles, my square shoulders, my empty wallet and heart
for lately i have seen, and measured, and shudder to think
how hard the fall from that spinning high horse would have been
what late stabbings would have taken these vessels apart,
if life had not played its wisely cruel part.

The Fire

Velvety embers stroked into the feel of a warming, un-numbing glow
A million little twinkles of myopic vision- encrusted, fire particle jewels
Purple and green and all that’s in between
Dry burns the branch that hung from the low enough bough
Its not cold, just a shiver chill
Swallowing the night air, not always the bitter pills
Yet. Again. A meandering wander of the mind. I think . I feel. I tuck in my cold heel.
Rambling again, the thoughts talking inside the head, enclosed in whispers.
Here, I am me. But it’s not like a part that’s still there, will cease to be.
The nagging thorns, the sudden spurts of energy or withdrawal.
That lingering taste of acidic, tongue burning, truths and lies.
The bittersweet symphonies I left behind.
Its healthy though , too much not to read.
Into the scenes and behind them,
Today, tomorrow, maybe a month into the life of this well watered , growing tree.
Its better still, to let ebb and flow. Bask in that glow. Slow burns always smoke.
Let it be.

remind me when its gone

as life unraveled around her resigned, stooped, frame,
the voice echoed,
the one that said,
you had it and you never knew,
and now its as good as dead,
a mere shadow, that tired feet tread.

nightfall

it was night
and it had not yet rained
instead the drip drip of whispered words heard
hearts and minds clenched in clasped hands
the fallen and the risen in one sad embrace
the parting leaves, rustled in agreement
silent winds lent a ear
no questions asked. no complications of answers
just soft pulses and heartbeats in scattered, unmatched patterns
it all fell, if not into place
into the leaping flames of memory making fire
phoenixes live another day
while blackbirds live in songs that the goodbye people play

the big kablooie

in the silence of the noisy night
the clock ticking tickathon
the breath ran short, ran out
and in a moment of insensible sense numbing lightlessness
the grenade fell, and the dam broke
and it was blinding light before dawn

the hands went to the shell shocked mouth
words spilled out of splintered shells
and the casualty was that conscious heart
red-bled into the cobwebbed alley
the carpet of the whiskey coloured thread spun round and round
the camouflage served not the wearer
gun slung on the broken bones
and casts and cast in stone mingle
some kind soul went looking for the healing potion
convinced it would bring on utopian stupor
yet the truth
it was clear as day
obvious too, that war was over...no skirmish even
winner takes it all, loser has to fall

just a bit

just a little broken
just a little crooked
just a bit of bitter in the evening cup of tea
just that pinch of salt too much with the tequila, by the sea
just that one flash of wry-oh so dry grins
just a touch of almost fallen fear
but its relieved-belief, its not tears
just a bit of lemony-melody time, a swig or two,and a few mattress jumping sprees
just so, just right again, we shall see....