Monday, December 20, 2010

Neon orange is eerie enough, 
Neon orange at perfectly spaced intervals 
Gaps filled imperfectly with odd patterns, bathed in 
Odd brightness
Thrown out in a circular net.
And then grass
Neon turns to candlelight 
A black figure
Candles melted into different lengths
Glowing up at it confusedly.
Somehow, so much stranger.
The lights, they were meant to be there
But the candles I could not understand
Who put them there?
Too uneven and human
To be logically explained. 
Buddha, one does not associate with candles. 
And streetlights, we never wonder about.
Where did they come up with streetlights from? 
Did they start off as candles, unevenly n spaced
To light the way for divine feet?  

Monday, November 29, 2010

Nonsense Verse

What am I?
You're the sunshine in the centre of a block of butter
You're the little squishy baby peas,
The tiny ones in a bowl of buttery boiled green.
Why is the earth round?
Because when things explode, they spin into separates little blobs
Spin around in circles and make their own paths.
Where did you come from?
From the centre of the cluster-flowers,
The tiny little middle
Of the tiny little flowers
That haven't opened up yet.
And where are you going?
To the ends of the earth
To bring you a little silvery magic pea...
And what will I do with the pea? 
You will eat it my love,
And understand how important
The little things are
And because I am your pea princess.
And why do you love me?
But that, my love,
Is a question for the ages.

How to lose your way

Spin around five times on the tips of your toes
And blink rapidly at the slightly unsteady world around you.
Then walk two steps north
As long as north is not to your right.
Rub your eyes until you see little black spots that dance as your gaze shifts.
Lie flat on the ground spread your arms and legs out and pause, and make a snow angel in the dust. 
Pick up your feet in your palms and trace your fingers on the soles and tickle until, they are helpless with laughter, and set them down to trip you up.
Try to think of the important things, 
And when you make decisions, feel their gravity's plastic suction blobs stuck to your legs like a million starfish and pull them away with little pops and traces of red circles that only vanish when you ignore them.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Toothless

Huge eyes on a tiny face, luminous amber honey like eyes that constantly look surprised. Ears like tunnels, half transparent in their disproportion, as if someone stretched them out too big; and a tiny tongue, row of pointy teeth, with a yawn as big as Africa. Tiny, skeletal fur-wrapped torso, warm and wriggly, and a yowl of interest every time you see my face. A rippling spinal cord that struggles to explore everything around it, leather-velvet paw-bottoms and sharp little digging claws that ripped my purple scarf. A mewling, scrambling, little ball of burrowing fur that purrs like a boiling kettle in contentment, and snuggles into my sweater, with a strangely prominent heartbeat and the sweetest half-shut sleep-eyes.  
I think I want to keep you forever.    

Sunday, November 7, 2010

rolling down a hill

grass grazing exposed skin and vague discomfort; the thrill of hurtling like a log onto a patch of flat grass and sitting up laughing dusting off fragments sticking to your clothes.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

sometimes, i hate that i can't survive without you. 

i'm a

neurotic
pschosomatic
grotesquely
picturesque
blurb of a profound thought.
taste of what is to come.
a shadow of something that could be
spectacular
i'm a
feather
heavy
weather
storm clouds
that never burst.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

woke up thrice to three different mornings. warms sunshine streaming in and groggy phone calls trying to carry the night into another day. waking up feeling like its still morning, and having eggs for breakfast at two o clock. weather smiling and everything feeling like a holiday. reading a book in the sun while everyone did their own thing.
but somehow the day turned into a monster and dread settled in and unnecessary tears and fears and cliches sunk in like the titanic.
different mornings mean different endings and different ways of dealing with things. morning became a three headed hydra that smiled and laughed and made me cry.
but however hard i try, i cant just be crazy.

Friday, October 22, 2010

make you smile

i want to write you something, that'll make you smile. I want to see you read it, and watch your eyes crinkle up, as you glow a little inside, and awkwardly try to smile it out, and mumble a few embarrassed words. i want to see you concentrate on something, and ignore me trying to hold your hand, and then suddenly start and realize you love me; and beam at me and give me the biggest hug. i want you to be here, i want you to want to be here, and i want to lie down, and fall asleep with your breath tickling my hair.

Monday, October 18, 2010

plane magic

the plane descended slowly over the city and bright lights made it look like magic was afoot. streams of traffic snaked along and clusters of yellow and rows of white and twinkles of chaos. and the plane lowered and lowered and the city became grubbier and the lights became a singe row of runway markers. and the reflection on the wingtip outside my window of fuzzy yellow sparkles was all that was left of the intoxication of a city looked at from far away.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

lost.

you see, I'm painfully shy.
and a little bit slow, sometimes. 
and I'm very sensitive, things affect me, you know, 
I cry very easily; I'm a hypochondriac,
and I love babies and fluffy things. 
I play the piano, 
and I'm very musical, actually, 
except I just don't seem to practice, 
and I'm not very good. Its because
I'm too shy to play in front of people, 
and the few times I've tried have scarred me for life.  
I'm very perceptive, and a good
listener, and I have the kind of face 
you can share all your problems with. 
did I mention, that I've sung, danced, written poetry, 
and done well in school, and 
taught poor children?
I'm quite lovely you see, 
and I'm almost completely 
lacking in personality.

and did i mention, that i loathe my list of accomplishments?
and that i see through every pretension,
but I'm so scared of my own being dissected
that i will never dream of opening yours up.
and that i was never this daft
my thoughts used to race
faster that i could catch up to
but i was too slow to use them
and now i cant hear them anymore
and I'm too scared to type long sentences and paragraphs
and have to break them up
so that they're smaller, and I'm surer of them.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

i want to go to sleep.

and at the end of the three headed hydra of a day, thats all i want. i want to stop caring about tiny things and unnecessary people and what they did and thought and will do if i don't do. i want to stop taking on more than i can handle and let go of everything i ever got myself into and stop regretting and just forget, because they probably have too. 
all i want, is to find something that i really want to care about. 

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

its odd,
that sometimes,
some words just click together.
and some things that you write
work
for some people.
and others,
they work for you.
and some poems of yours
that no one else seems to like
you like
because you feel special understanding something
that noone else does?

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

in the begining

in the beginning, there was nothing but a tiny little glowworm of a thought inching around the darkness.
scrabbling fingers, fumbling for a pen in the dark.
a flicker and scratch of a match, the smell of flickering light.
a slight glow, warming cold fingers, puddles of dripping wax, oozing into shapes. a scratchy start, word crossed out and rethought, a glowworm frantically flashing around, to escape being pinned down.
a fleeting glimpse of a person in the candlelight; a yellowed shadow.
people and places begin to whisper around and stale the air with their crowded smell.
befuddlement, crowded thoughts and noisy lonely people and horses and carriages and shiny trains with automated voices that say everything wrong. the remenants of a day dredge themselves onto paper.
lonely worlds echo into the words and lonely smiles seep into the ink.
the candle melts away and white neon light burns into everything, searing it and tainting the carriages and yellowed faces.
and the glowworm inches away
to be captured
by someone else, another day.
when neon lights blind the skies
and inspiration turns into a tubelight on a metallic wall. 


Holiday

i have cream and mushroom pasta,
and the weather is a part of my imagination
and depends on what i feel like wearing.
i have a sunny balcony with plants
and cane sofas with lime green cushions
and a peaceful looking buddha in the corner,
to keep me company as i read.
i'm waking up not too late, but not early
and i can feel the sun on my face,
and walk into a bathroom
that smells of potpurri and pomegranate shampoo.
home,
is a vague recollection
that swirls away with work and backaches
into a big glass of iced tea.
but somehow,
you don't swirl down as well
and i cant help
wishing you were here.

Friday, September 24, 2010

.

somehow,
little bits begin to crumble off
and wobble on, 
and it hurts a little,
that i dont feel beautiful anymore.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

mellow

is it strange,
that it feels nice
that i can sit in your arms
and think about other things
and feel happy,
that you're just there?
is it odd,
that mellow is the nicest its ever been,
and chicken momos and hugs and dogs make my day?
:)

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

T.

its your birthday.
and i thought I'd let you know, that i love you. :)

because we are the only retards who laugh at our own jokes.
because i'm the only one who hears your nasty little comments, and then goes red in the face laughing while everyone stares.
because you think i'm funny and noone else does.
and i laughed at worst puns on the planet.
because Sanskrit and ants coming out of Garuda's ears and a hypnotizing lion, will make us burst into laughter even fifty years from now.
because we've been through pretty much everything together right since we could talk. almost.
because of our matching Chinese shirts and Russian dolls.
because you're one of the only people who will actually tell me exactly what you think.
because you were all vague and nice about the various boyfriends when you could totally have taken my case about every one of them. (except nick of course)
because you are pretty much one of the smartest people i know.
because sometimes, we know exactly what the other is thinking, and if we're in a good mood, anything under the sun becomes funny.
because of iced tea :D
and cause your house is home now.
because you always listen to me for hours, when i'm telling the most inane stories, and nod very seriously at whatever i say.
because of KAMEYAMEYA. (dude. seriously.)

because you are awesome.

and you are eighteen.
and you must have the best birthday ever. :)

Sunday, September 19, 2010

sleep

sometimes,
sleep heals things
that you never noticed were breaking.
sometimes
being able to
sleep in someone's arms
means more than you realized
sometimes
sharing dreams
is less important than sharing silence
sometimes
when you want everything to go back to being better,
go to sleep together.

Monday, August 23, 2010

pause

you thought you would just go plodding along
and read ahead sometimes
and take it as it comes
when suddenly you pause for a breath,
and realize how much has flashed by
and how behind on your reading you are
and how monotonous those few days seemed
when all you did
was pause to catch up.

Friday, August 13, 2010

"the dust has only just begun to fall"
as the voice of your footsteps echoes away

Sunday, August 8, 2010

i already want to grow old
i want to sit quietly
with nothing to do
with no purpose
but to rock back and forth
and embroider happiness for you.
and people,
they come and go
talking of Michaelangelo

and walk around
inside your life
little pattering feet
filling up your day, and
when they walk away,
sometimes the grain of silence
they leave
grates against every other sound you hear.
people come and people go and nothing seems to mean forever
love will come and love will go but tears will wash themselves away
and the whites of your eyes are yellow skies that shine your love for me today
but
a burst of your breath and the warmth of your skin and the whirring fan and heartbeat din and the muffled sunlight catch my heart and trick me into forever.

bump

a new bump
to roll over.
a little one.
a small protrusion from the normal.
the first tremor of breath
a cottonball wisp of hair
and tiny fingernails.
grasping fingers
sunshine eyes
and a gaping
sky-bright smile
starting with a tiny rolling bump
covered by a sunshine yellow cotton dress.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

so save me some
azure light
firebright
moonlight shining off the whites of your eyes
save some starshine
on the skyline
colours bouncing under the soles of your feet
save me a
splash of your heart
worlds part
with the whirl of someone you were meant to meet
save me a goodbye kiss
quick hug bliss
fluttering souls of fireflies


deaf
a blast of shots fired blindly and me standing in the middle with my heart pointed to the heavens.
blinded
a shooting star exploding in my face, the blast firing me back into the past and exploding into my senses.
dumb
tears wracking me as i weep silently, body quivering dewdrops and grief, as my heart wrenches itself apart to spill a million dying stars.
beauty
shiny bubbles surrounding me in my grey clothes and rainbows exploding all around as i shrink and pale into translucent nothingness.

slow dance

slow the music down
and hold me
we don't know how to dance
but we fit perfectly
and move clumsily
together
slow down
and hold me
sway gracelessly
across our tightrope
balancing
delicately on
our
moment's breath
spiderthread of starlight.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Spill

she smiles, as she looks at it again.
frowns, and makes it perfect.
a comma missing, a deliberately placed capital letter.
and a heart crying
to find a soul that understands it.
she smiles in satisfaction,
and presses a button.
and a sign pops up
asking her
if she is sure
she affirms
with a slight nod of her head
and holds her breath
for it to appear
and for plain writing to tell her
that once again
like every other day
she has spilled her heart
in Trebuchet.

backwards

sometimes
i turn the rewind knob in my head
turn it back just a little
slowly
and watch everything
as it goes right,
backwards.
i watch as
our hugs become shorter and stiffer
and i watch the light in our eyes flicker
from day to day
growing not colder,
but different
i watch your smile
and it changes
in a way i don't understand
i watch
as i reach the skepticism
confusion,
and wondering what just happened,
and wondering what will follow,
as it melts from the bemused happiness
i watch as we sit cold and perplexed,
waiting for the other
to realize what love becomes.

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

=)

i love the fact
that i can't get into your head
that i can't predict anything you're thinking
and i'm sure of nothing
but the fact that
you can hold me
and fall asleep in my arms
and your tiny snores
mean that you're happy.
i love holding you closer than my heart is
your arms squishing my cheek
and warming up my heart
feeling you breathe
and tracing circles and squiggles on your arm
and watch you sigh
completely unaware of me
and drift away
and waiting impatiently
for you to drowse back into our moment
and mumble an i love you
i love you so much more than i thought i could
with almost every ounce of my being
keeping only a fragment of my sanity
to remind myself that you love me too.

'Radhika- Abanindranath Tagore'

she is pale green.
and i stand in front of her,
with my mother smiling,
next to me,
i'm captivated.
her hands are lifted,
delicately,
and her eyes have no depth
demure,
and turned away.
a fallen pot,
grass,
a dancing figure,
gracefully silhouetted.
my namesake? or so i'd like to think
a flash of gold
floating green cloth,
beauty and eyes turned away
and then i walk on to other paintings
lesser and bigger
and brighter and deeper
but only wanting to carry her away with me
and turn her eyes towards me and
bring her hands back to her sides
and have her look me in the eye
and see
whether her legs move awkwardly
and whether her smile is too wide
and her hips too broad
and her laugh too loud
and whether her soul
is fragmented
and was still captured in an instant of beauty
or whether her eyes
are only beautiful
because they knew when to turn away.

tuned away

dodder into yourself
shudder away newness
and mutter at the buzzing
listen carefully for
anything that sounds familiar
adjust the knobs in your head,
lean back,
and enjoy the world your recreated.
tune yourself into your own century
clatter away at a typewriter
and iron decade-old suits
push away the ties that crackle with newness
and adjust your grey cap
and smile at the world
and tell them confidently
that a hundred rupees is
far too much to pay
for ice-cream that cost one paise
back in the day.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

my *.

...
beyond a title,
these days I've run out of words.
beyond loving you,
I've run out of feeling low
I've run out of room
to magnify anything
because we're larger than life.
i don't know how to tell you that
my universe will tune itself to you
even if someone else's doesn't
'i will be as cheesy as the cheesiest person can be'
but i love you
and i suddenly want to tell you that
more than i can.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

la bibliothèque

it is a place, that crumbles everything away. the newest of books acquire the same maroon binding, and within weeks, start decaying away. the smell of old paper pervades everything, and soon enough you don't even notice it's there.
and in this crumbling world, an old man sits at a big, old fashioned desk that is large enough to accommodate at least five people behind it. stacks of books clutter the desk; the books that have just been returned that he is still too lazy to get up and return to the shelves.
the shelves, tall, imposing, narrow stacks, that seem to turn up their nose at you and tip their books in crazy directions just to make it harder for you to find what you want.
uncomfortable chairs are lined in un-companionable positions, one in front of each shelf, stiff backed, sagging into itself with age, with an occasional doddery man nodding off in one of them. fusty musty smells and yellowing pages, greying magical dust wrapping its spell around you, so that you either run away from the tall brown stacks, or submit yourself to the dulled crackle of old words; and keep coming back for more.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

=s

So maybe, my blog needs a direction. eerily symbolic, perhaps, (da da da daa) of how my life needs direction (dhush).
Maybe i should dedicate it exclusively to my admittedly crappy morbid poetry. Or maybe i should take an interest in the world around me and write with refreshing perspective, keen insight and at times, touching wonderment and naivety. Or, i could write about my delightful life and hopes and aspirations, in the heart of a bustling metropolis, and about the nice young man I've found. So many novels seem to have made themselves a success from this and surely with my insight and perspective and wonderment and naivety i could too. I could also, blog about my family. I could write a book about my family. A whole series of books. They are quite fascinating. And i could put up pictures of cute little children. And maybe even find a dog from somewhere, dogs seem to complete things somehow. Maybe. I could start four different blogs. The poetry one would have a black/brown background, with brooding colours, and images of inkpots and quills and scrolls scattered around artistically. The second one would be crisp and dull, with a white or light blue background and a discreet AdSense column. (no reference to anyone, i swear). The family one would be flowery and appealing, with lots of borders and curly fonts and tastefully bright, almost-but-not-quite cheerful colours. And the Life in New Delhi one would bright and kitschy and have lots of pictures of fruit stands and rickshaw pullers and Holi. (I'm beginning to see why this theme works, i like it best so far.) So i should lose the Bunbury bug and green blobs, and get rid of the nondescript grey blobs, and vague attempts at colour, and pick a direction. where do i go from here?
i could adopt a whole range of fabindia prints. or large shades and an oversized leather handbag. or lose some weight and wear extra short shorts, which are apparently all the rage nowadays. no, scratch that, too much effort. and I'm not even going to think about the too much kajal and black clothes with strange metallic studs. i could get glasses, which I'm sure i need, and wear collared shirts and discuss poetry and social issues and delicately plunk out Fur Elise on the piano.
so, now, after mocking the more ghastly stereotypes, which one do i fit into? its quite shocking how versatile i am, come to think of it. or conversely, how i don't fit into a single of these categories properly, and am still so incredibly boring that its a bit of a stretch to call me "unique". maybe, before college starts, i should devote myself to one of these groups. just to make it easier to decide what to wear everyday.
I'm thinking fabindia and feminism. at least that way no one looks too closely at you.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

***

I can call up sadness in the blink of an eye
sigh, and feel it rushing into my heart
like i'm standing on my head
with the sea roaring in my ears.

I can fall in love at the sound of a heartbeat
with the sunlight streaming in from imaginary French windows
birds chirping softly, lemon tea, smiles
and a heavenly stillness

I can cry without you even asking me to
you just need to look at me
to laugh at me
and to drip the slightest grains of indifference

I will bare my soul
because sometimes, I have none.

writer's block

clumsily,
lumbering around words
and phrases
and tripping guiltily over metaphors
trying so hard
to trick my brain
into slipping something intangible
in between the words.
trying to "just write"
all the while
thinking about a thousand other things
and still being painfully aware
that it never is "just" writing
its always about trying
trying too hard.

burn

thats foolish.

the finality

yes, thats.. interesting.

the condescension

burn down my thoughts
ravish my hopes
crush every word I say
and beat my beliefs black and blue

weep
frog-like crocodile tears
and croak apologies
and realize
only once the truth
slipped out through your yellowing teeth

stagger and shriek
and pour with abandon
and wave the bottle around
share the goodness with the world
slosh it everywhere
on everything you see

burn
the hiss of a match taking light
the air around you gasps
as something huge leaps ablaze

and then stay
and watch
and wait for what emerges
stay and wait for
the people and the places
the moons and the tides
rising
ash like
from beautiful
burnt down clouds.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

blahh

i thrive on feeling, thrive on knowing that there are problems to fix. i thrive on thinking and worrying, and contemplating my feelings. and i thrive on knowing, that there are more paths than one. not the little paths, those are a waste of time. the bigger ones, the ones which you know you can't turn back from. the ones that your peace of mind depend on. and in some twisted way, i always pick the wrong one. maybe its my brains way of making sure i never get bored, my hearts way of making sure that its constantly worn with what-ifs and regret, and my way of not letting myself be 'content'. and weirdly enough, what i was sure would be the wrong path, turned out to be the best could ever have taken. and contentment has solidified into three extra kilos. and boredom hasn't made an entrance yet, but this strange, restlessness has set in. and I'm cursing myself for waiting for something to go wrong. because paradoxically, i never want anything to. i never want anything to break the reflection and I'm too scared to get too close to the mirage to check if its real, or if its going to shimmer away into silver nothingness. maybe having nothing to do is driving me crazy. maybe I'm too lazy to actually do the things I'm supposed to do and i want to be crazy. so what do i want? i wish someone would tell me. and also, while they're at it, explain a whole lot of other things as well. like why i never want to play my beautiful piano, although i love it almost like its a person. and why i never write down the snatches of thought that i know could be something special and different, and only sit down to write in bad moods and end up writing trash instead. and why i bought a blue phone when i should have bought a white one. well, i know its cause it'll get dirty, but now i want the white one, it'll make the purple cover look better. and why mangoes are never perfect. only Alphonsos (alphanso? alfonso? =s) are sometimes. and how the little sucking-ey mangoes that you don't peel but squeeze, are sometimes the yummiest of all. despite all the gross fibre-ness. and what i should do for college, and what i should tell people when they ask me what i want to do in life and go all bug eyed when i say i don't know. everyone has a plan. hell, i ALWAYS have a plan. i make a list of things to do the next day every night before i go to sleep. sometimes i write it down, but even if i don't, and forget by the morning, it still counts right? so why don't i have a bigger plan? why am i so confused and feeling all weird these days? i think i must start pottery classes. and volunteer at an Ngo. and go to colour factory. and download a better version of minesweeper. and get addicted to new shows. and shut up, and get on with my incredibly meaningful existence. blah.

watermelons

watermelons, are the most frustrating things in the world.
firstly, they are so damn huge, that you have to saw through them. and then sit and chop it all into little red pieces and squirt diluted reddish liquid all over the table.
and then eating them. the reddest pieces taste the best, but they have the most seeds. so you sit and cut them up into tinier pieces, and poke out all the seeds with your fork. or, you can have the less red, whitish pieces with less seeds. but they always taste slightly bitter.
and so you spend an hour on your little bowl of watermelon, patiently poking out seeds and eating tiny tiny pieces, and then finally, when you finish, you're left with the thank-god-That's-over feeling, and nothing even remotely close to hey-that-was-yummy! watermelons are supposed to be a special summer treat. that I've had forced on me every morning for the past week. and I am SICK of them.

I think all this sitting around and doing nothing is getting to me.

I love everything I've written for you

that poem,
that you never read
that still makers me smile when I read it
that poem
you don't know was about you
and then
that last one,
that no one else understood, or liked..
that ones my favourite
because I put something special into them.
I don't put You into them,
I don't know you well enough to.
I don't put myself into them
I don't trust myself to
I weave them around something even I don't understand,
so how could anyone else?
blindingly obvious
yet so intricate, and so ridiculous,
that no one, will ever really see.
and why do i write them?
am i crying out for someone to see,
and call me foolish?
or is it another shot
at 'letting it all out'?
i know;
i know what you think,
and what everyone else does.
and i think it too
but i still
cant help myself,
and i still
love everything i ever wrote for you.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

strange things move you

strange things move you.
i was sitting and doing something I've gotten thoroughly sick of over the past two years, editing. what i started off thinking was trash.
and then i realized that it was far from that. behind the crappy sms language, reams of pages that they DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO SPELL-CHECK, punctuation and spaces in the wrong places, spaces instead of bloody pressing ENTER to reach the next LINE... and the most minute and frustrating shitload of editing (yes, i see that you can tell how annoying it was), i found some beautiful things.
who knew, that a person who I've spoken three words to over the past six (?) years, a science geek who spoke in robotic monotone, could write the most moving poetry? who knew, that the resident bully, had actually cared about people he called his friends, enough for my heart to finally forgive him for slapping me in front of the entire class in seventh grade? who knew that a diminutive little boy who spent fourteen years of his life being the butt of a million short jokes, had enough left in him to put that much of his heart out onto paper?
some people, when they want to, can be shockingly honest.
and that's another thing. writing seems to do it for some people, writing things, and not having to say them, and knowing that there isn't someone judging it immediately at any rate, makes sides of a person come out, that i had no idea existed.
and it feels.. humbling, ridiculous as it sounds. to be editing something someone has put their heart into. for the sake of feeling them smiling as they wrote it, you don't feel like deleting a 'lol'.
and i know I'll feel stupid and frustrated when i get back to it tomorrow.
but right now, i just feel like thinking, about all the people i missed out on. all the people who i made snap judgments about and didn't bother with any more, all the people i could have understood better. all the people who's hearts I've suddenly seen into.
i hardly ever bother with people, who don't show an interest in me first. and suddenly, that feels like the biggest regret I'll leave with. i always scorned the socialites, and convinced myself that all i needed were a few close friends, but now i feel like it was just me being petty, and jealous.
there is this one girl. who's head no one can really get into. she, beyond a doubt, needs a great deal of help. with many, many things.
but suddenly, it hit me, that she has the most relationships. she has the uncanny knack of developing a personal bond with anyone she comes across. and how deep that bond is, how much it means, I'll never know. i have one with her too, from ninth grade. and i always thought i understood her, and pitied her. called her "messed up" and shook my head. but then it hit me, does she care about more people than i do?
there was a silly little quote somewhere in A Passage to India, of no significance, about how emotions are not like a sack of potatoes, that can be weighed out evenly. but you have to weigh them out somewhere, right? so why do i feel like i weighed them out all wrong? i gave too much to the wrong person. too much to the right people too. but i had none left over for the other people. the extra people.
that girl, shes weighed them out wrong too, hers are too thinly spread. but now, i have a sinking feeling that she got closer than i did. in her own twisted way.
regrets are horrible, gnawing things. bitter things.
in a strange way, i regret that no-one will miss me in the same, honest way that so many of those questionnaires put out there just now. yes i know, my friends are different, in their own retarded way. and I've only recently come to realize what an odd thing a "group of friends" is. and how all of these groups are probably as strange on the inside.
i can't put out the same amount of love, if i were to fill a questionnaire. I'm filled with too many thoughts and doubts. and even though i love them all, it's in a very different way, and i know it is for them too. some of them.
but i want to be heartbreakingly honest. and that's the flip side, i know i never will be. there will always be an element of facetiousness in everything i do. trying too hard. and consequently, less real.
i don't despise myself for it anymore, I've grown out of that, and thanks to someone, i feel beautiful on the inside again and all that jazz. I've stopped thinking thaat much.
but not enough? when is it enough? i don't want to become dumb. but are all those grammar-deprived "i love you guysss!!" filled questionnaires dumb? my intellect would say, of course they are. look at you, you're much more meaningful. but you know what, i don't know that anymore.

***

and you can never see both sides of the coin at once, right? so i guess I'll never really know. maybe that's what God, or Nirvana is, being able to see everything at once. existing on a crazy millionth dimension or something. losing cognitive and social filters, being able to Be on a different level.
sometimes, i want that. just to not have to make decisions that i could regret anymore. twistedly, it might make decisions easier, or a trillion times worse.
i don't like making decisions.
once i shared my very secret decision making strategy with a friend, and he has never since stopped laughing at me for it. and i swore not to leave decisions to something as stupid as the number of letters in a word again. you know, Kirat, it was actually a very smart method. it gave me a 50-50 chance either way. anyway.
so where do i hit that point where i get to decide on those 5 personality factors that Costa and McCrae came up with, hm? when do close my eyes and point to the scale and decide how far along either way i am? if there are so many decisions we have to make in life, why don't we get to set the groundwork for our decisions? somehow, it seems oddly unfair. why cant i go back to when i was six, and decide not to be scared of making friends, and then ten years later be dancing drunk on tables and know everyone in the city?
and another question is, how fair is it to ask me whether i would have done it differently? how the bloody hell do i know? right now I'd say- well, some of it. i survive on mediocrity, living on the fine line that divides both sides. not committing to either.

what was my point? yearbook questionnaires.
they made me think. which i haven't done for a while. i don't know that that's a good thing, this kind of thinking really isn't very good for me. but its nice to regret, sometimes.
if you don't regret things, you never end up justifying your decisions to yourself, and its always healthy to do that once in a while.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

--

walk along,
in a daze
and walk,
keep walking,
until you stumble over it.
trip a little
stagger,
and let yourself be steadied
as you slip gently
on the jagged,
polished stones.
stones
made shiny,
by the countless feet that they have tripped up.

Monday, March 22, 2010

shell

a shell of a thought
tantalizingly polished
glowing
out of reach.
a shell of a moon,
washed by the seas of time,
someone once said.
and striving to love
in the old high way of love,
he said too.
a shell of a love
worn
by trying.
a fragment of a feeling
lying in a corner
exhausted,
incomplete
without someone
a fragmented world
broken
because someone was missing
and the hope
that he will will make it whole
is all that keeps the shell floating
moon bobbing
heart beating.
but hope,
sometimes,
wants to be forgotten too.
and hope,
scared of drowning,
leaves the fragments incomplete.

prufrock and his cat (?)

I sit
silently
and watch
wishing my eyes were amber,
molten gold.


she watches
stealthily
and then
thinks a while
about what she is watching,
where it is going
she bats it around


and then i roll it towards you.


it unravels slightly
and wobbles
from the direction it is meant to go
bits start coming apart
little little bits
but it keeps going
shakily
heading towards
You.

trails
left behind
some bright
others dulled
with weariness and regret
little shots of colour
scattered around the floor
so bright
almost alive
so pale
as if they never existed

she watches
as it slowly makes its way across the floor
finally
reaching
almost intact.

but
now
what will you do with it?


every thought
i ever spared
every
breath
i took thinking of you
every ounce of my being

"To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question..."

is it really the same though?

it rolls across
rolls away
it won't roll back.


i love you.

"...
...for you. "

Carpe Diem.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

deaf

her eyes deepened
as she watched
him walk

where was he walking?
away
or towards?
no one knew

and everyone knew
and no one knew

and they wouldn't tell her.

she watched
as he breathed
and his eyes softened
into something
so
unfathomable
she felt the world tremble
but who his eyes
lit up for
no one could tell her
they all knew
and they didn't know
because everyone
said
they couldn't tell her.

his head turned
and the fraction of a glance
a smile
a voice
the world burst open
but
why did the world burst open?
no one would tell her

so she stamped her foot
and she
raved
and ranted
and walked up to him and glared
and split
the mirage at the seams

and then he gently said
but
i cant tell you
so softly
that she knew something
but still didn't know anything at all.

?

will you ever know
what you do to me?
how your walking into a room,
will break my heart?
will you ever know
how happy you make me
will you ever know
that somewhere
someone will love you
more than you
can even imagine?
no, how could you
you exist
on a different plane
you're unfathomable
to anyone but yourself
and
i
still
love you
more
than
you
can even imagine.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Pfft

i love you
more that anyone.

we can turn
and holding hands,
face the world
and go "Hah"
at everything
that laughed and rolled their eyes

because we are
flawed,
tainted,
beautiful,
iridescent
Perfection

that

lasted.

so
HAH.




title credits- a grumpy songbird

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

sigghh

i am so sick of the sound of numbers.
i went and looked at all the cut-offs of last year.
and i died.

its just not fair that mediocrity doesn't get a shot at brilliance.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Return to the Hundred Acre Wood


i think i like Pooh and co. a bit too much, and i know that it doesn't say much for my mental level. but you know what, that's okay. judge me. go ahead. if you are a Winnie-the-Pooh hater, you don't count for much in the scheme of life anyway.

i... liked the new book. it made me smile. and that's what pooh is supposed to do, right?
(i have board exams going on, and I'm reading Winnie-the-Pooh.)
okay, so i see where you're coming from with the raised eyebrows. but oh well.

i appreciate the fact that David Benedictus stuck to the original concept and didn't go the Disney way.
i mean, really. Pooh bear with his red t-shirt is cute and all that, but Poohs aren't meant to be "cute". they are meant to be Bears of Very Little Brain, who eat Honey, and make hums, and say these lovely floaty things that make your heart smile. they are not meant to bounce and have odd little put-on voices that are neither man nor bear.
the Disney hundred acre wood works, and is adorable, if you consider it to be something completely outside A. A. Milne's original world. different galaxy.

but back to the latest Pooh on the block. some are rather critical. but i have to admit, i like him.
it isn't half as good as the old pooh, and you know, pooh could have been left where he was. but in a way, I'm glad he wasn't. i liked the illustrations, they were sort of halfway between shepherd's originals and Disney's wobbly-creature.

i think no one could live up to Milne's style. when something exists in a person's head, only they can bring them out properly, and i don't think anyone will ever do justice to it. But the new book, almost, almost got there.
and the fact that I'm not left outraged, furious, and broken hearted at the latest massacre of my all time favourite friend, but instead, left feeling quite happy, has much to say about the book.


Saturday, March 13, 2010

Half

The One-Minute Writer: Friday Fiction: To Half and to Hold

i'll hold half your hand
give you half a smile
a half-hug every single day
i'll halve my world
and give you
one whole half
if you'll only promise
half of half your heart
for me.

=)

Sunday, March 7, 2010

String

she waited and waited
for her dreams to catch up to her
waited
for the butterflies
to chase her instead of the wind
she waited for the world to dance to her tunes
but somehow
she found herself chasing her own words instead.
she tied knots around herself
wrapped her world up in
slithery
strings of thought
wound and unwound
and then tried to
knit
them
into a
ball of black yarn
she walked a while
along cobbles stones
and tossed her hair
at the empty streets
and waited
for her dreams to catch up to
her
and then
sighed
and began
to
walk
behind a train
of hollow words
sleepy thoughts
picking up pace
and they grew
bigger
bolder
and ran further and further away.


Sunday, February 28, 2010

da da da dum

am i selfish? is it wrong that i don't want other people to finish my sentences and interpret my words, and still appreciate me? is it odd that i want to be accepted and loved, but exactly as I see myself, and not others' interpretations of me?
***
this blog started out as escapism. a tiny little bunbury. it started out as an Algy-ish bunbury, where the point is to escape, in style, but nonetheless what he does on his bunburies is never the point. but now its evolving into an Ernest-like situation. and i feel inordinately happy when people rate my posts.
and slowly, the stubborn my-blog-is-for-me-to-write-not-other-people-to-read complex receding into sheepish, oh-YAY-someone-actually-READ-it!

sigh.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Room

she painted herself a room
and walked into it
just like that
and lay down on the rich blue bedspread
and watched the world pass her by.
she
saw as they
lifted her world
into
another.
a room
a room full of rooms
other peoples rooms
with other lonely hearts
dozing on leather couches
staring at bowls of sunflowers
looking out of rainy windows
and watching the watchers go by
she watched
as the dissected rooms
parts of them hidden
to all but those who painted them
were looked at
talked about
pondered upon
she waited
as someone walked up to her room
and stared at her across a red velvet cordon.
and she stared back
until he gave up
and wandered away.


because i am that bored.

so.
there are 1411 tigers left in India.
people have died in Jammu and Kashmir.
and i have board exams in four days time.
and inexplicably, I'm content to laze around on facebook, search for poetry blogs that i can read from beginning to end and then develop a complex about, eat fat free fruit yogurt that is utterly disgusting, and generally leave the world alone.
sometimes i wonder what happened to me.


Friday, February 19, 2010

Drifter

drifter
he
floats on the slate-black surface
a glint of stubble
and shadowed eyes
casting blackness over the darkness
drifter
waiting
and waiting
for something to bite the line.
drifter
he waits
floating
between this world
and another
waiting
between
the blurred lines of night and day
and before dawn
and after night
and waiting
for something to bite the line.
drifter
the moon fell asleep
waiting for him to leave her in peace
but he waits
stubbornly
for proof
that fish
exist between worlds too.

***
drifter
ethereal
she floats
between this world and that
her hair browned
bleached
with dirt and the sun
straggling behind her
as she lifts her face
grimy
paled
eyes widened
wider than normal people's can be
light eyes
shocking the rest of her face with their beauty
unaware of existence around her
drifter
she waits
for luck to fall into her palm.

****

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

all of my poems
sound
hollow
because sometimes, you say these things
that just take my breath away
and make me feel like the
most beautiful thing on earth
and feel like i don't deserve you.
you make me cry sometimes
just
by
loving me the way you do.

Monday, February 15, 2010

and so we graduated

we reach the end of a time
a long time
or so it seems.
we walked a long way
through golden sand
and squelching puddles
and through amber sunsets
and overrated moons.
and we laugh
at all the pieces we collected
spread them out on the table
and smile
remember when..
remember when
you made me laugh
harder than anyone else knew how to
remember when we
pointed at them
and laughed at her terrible clothes
and how bad his jokes were
remember when
we sat on the bathroom floor
and you watched as i cried my heart out
remember when
we walked
and felt the wind blowing in our faces
and somehow, never thought that it was a moment significant enough to remember.
so many little pieces
its hard to keep track
and we know that some will slip through the cracks
and get lost along the way
and some will lie forgotten in dusty corners
but all of them
someone or the other will remember
and treasure
in their own way...

and so we store our memories,
break them up,
and put them away in a dusty old box,
like a thousand piece puzzle,
the kind that old people have.
even if you never put them together again,
you know that when you will,
you'll make something beautiful..

Monday, February 8, 2010

Sepia

she lay back
dreamily
and waited
for love
to prance along
and tie a velvet bow in her hair
wait till she tightened its bow tie
and then walk off to tea and cakes together.
she lay back
sensuously
and waited
for love to slip through the door
and make her forget the world for a while
and then wake up hours
later
to a tainted,
red-tinged sun.
she lay back
smiling
and snuggled under the covers
and waited for love to snuggle down beside her
whisper into her ear
and hold her
till she fell asleep
and then watch her breathing
with no other thought in the world
she waited
for love
to take her by the hand
and skip through sunrises and flower-gardens
and laugh
and take pictures of it all
to preserve in silver frames
so that people could remark
how beautiful she and love looked together
back in the day.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

=)

“"Well," said Pooh, "what I like best -- " and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called”

Happy birthday, retard =)

smile,
forever.
i'll love you
for however long
our forever lasts
laugh off
what the world says
and know that
you always have something to smile about
hold your glow in your heart
and let it out from your eyes
when no one can see
and know that
i'll love you
for our forever.
we're beautiful
moonlight
and sunshine
measure for measure.
drunk
with ourselves
we float higher and higher
till the bubble bursts
and we cascade down to the ground
and laugh at ourselves all over again
we will always laugh with each other
whatever happens
i love you
my happy place.
smile
for our forever.

Pollyanna

she is "glad"
that she met me
and glad that we cried
and glad that the ocean
didnt fit inside
her palm
and glad that the butterfly didn't want to play
and glad that the puppy refused to stay
because he wanted sometimes,
to be loved a little less.
so what was the harm
in her happiness?
she is but a child
let her heart break
and let her mend it herself
let her see rainbows and moonlight
and think that it will last forever
hearts
were made to be mended
and so let her mend her own
sew it up
with fraying blue thread
and let her smile wistfully
and remember that once
it was the colour of the sky
and let her be glad for it.
let her be glad
for every little thing god gives her
let her make herself happy
you
are the only person you have to live with
so better
that it is you
who makes you happy.
little Pollyanna
look at the world around you
see the people
as they selfishly grasp at the fraying threads of happiness
pull a web of people around them
and make them make their dreams come true
look at them
and be glad for them.

Strawbella

it's strange
how suddenly
i'm glad you exist
how odd it is
that the number of times
I've wished you away
I'm
more thankful for you than for anyone else.
when i feel disconnected from the world
i think of you
and how you're probably the only one who'd understand
you think like me
we're like two cabbage patch dolls
cut from a very different cloth
different colours
different ragged clothes and hair
but somewhere,
some resemblance.
sometimes,
i even love you
because you say these things
that make me wish i had thought them myself.
you're the other side of the rainbow
the realer one
the depth of the spectrum
rather than the different coloured glow
you make more sense than i ever will
you plant your feet firmer into life
than i will ever know how to.
cabbage patch doll,
don't hate me
don't ever let me hurt you
we were meant to meet,
and meant to understand each other
despising each other
for knowing our thoughts better than we know them ourselves.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

...

frustration,
as i pretend to stare into her eyes,
trying to channel some spark of clarity
so that i can see who she really is.
but that will never happen
not in a million years
she is as unfathomable as a black hole
with the colours of a prism
that only show
when you look at it the way it wants you to.
she shines
on the inside
more beautiful than anyone
but lets people see what she wants them to
what they want to
it hurts that i cant see her
i wanted to be the person to
but maybe
its alright
as long as i understand
that she's there somewhere
as long as i know
that she knows herself too.


R.

i look at her
smile
and wonder,
indulgently,
whether she knows how well i know her.
and then think a little more.
and i realize,
she knows me better than i know myself
she makes me laugh like noone else knows how to
she's seen me cry the ugliest tears i had
and still loved me
she dances around
and turns the world on its head
and makes me pale in insignificance,
and still feel beautiful
sometimes i wonder
why she bothers with me
but then i know
that i dont have to think so much.
she whirls and spins
and makes the world dance to her tunes
and makes the sky fall in love with her
and rainbows seem commonplace
she
flitters like a fairy
is as happy as an elephant
laughs like a boy
and is the most beautiful thing in the world.
i'm scared to tell her how beautiful she is
because i'm so scared
that she'll vanish
not in a puff of smoke
but that she'll corrode away
and fall to pieces
and turn into something else.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

disgust

stale smells,
lingering so long
they pale into green-grey insignificance
the world spins on its head
whirls madly
laughing at you
your fingers slip desperately,
refusing to do anything you tell them to
with monsters crawling out of the covers
and seeping into your brain
until time seems more confused than you are.
stale, lingering disgust.
it was always there
not bothering to hide
waiting,
bored,
for you to notice it
it curls the edges of everything
taints all it touches
making it impossible for anything to be beautiful too long.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

in the Hundred Acre Wood

sometimes, all you need to hear is a word that makes your tongue roll around it, and wibble and wobble around inside your tummy till you're forced to smile. sometimes the thought of marshmallows is more delicious than the overly sweet multi-coloured disappointing little blobs that they turn out to be. sometimes, you just need something to Delight you, to tickle something inside your brain and make you laugh out loud. and that’s when you should read Winnie the Pooh.

“It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily. "So it is." "And freezing." "Is it?" "Yes," said Eeyore. "However," he said, brightening up a little, "we haven't had an earthquake lately.”

i love Eeyore. and his balloon. and tail. he makes me smile.

“He respects Owl, because you can't help respecting anybody who can spell TUESDAY, even if he doesn't spell it right.”

as I respect all those opinionated, talkative people, who talk because talking is their passion, not because they have much to say. how true is pooh? we all meet these people, the talkers, who we can’t help but love. we all know at least one person, who can spell Tuesday wrong, don't we?

“When late morning rolls around and you're feeling a bit out of sorts, don't worry; you're probably just a little eleven o'clockish.”

“People who don't Think probably don't have Brains; rather, they have grey fluff that's blown into their heads by mistake.”

“"Well," said Pooh, "what I like best -- " and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called”

you can learn a lot from Pooh. sometimes, children's books make more sense when you're a grown up. sometimes, when you remember a poem from when you were tiny, can recite it backwards, and then suddenly read it again, it becomes even more delightful. sneezles and wheezles are always important to think about. as are Heffalumps.

“Poetry and Hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. And all you can do is go where they can find you.”

“When having a smackerel of something with a friend, don't eat so much that you get stuck in the doorway trying to get out.”

now how smart is that?

And finally…

“"I don't see much sense in that," said Rabbit.
"No," said Pooh humbly, "there isn't. But there was going to be when I began it. It's just that something happened to it along the way."”