Art of Belonging-ness

The walls are melting red.
Do you see that, too?
Let's pack our things, honey.
Where are you?

I'll get the charred dreams
Pick the memories on the way
There's orange in the settled dew
Even my damn mind's astray!

But Oh Heart! Oh Sweet Love!
Time waltzes on the piano
Peach. Magenta. Red. Blood.

Let's wear our shoes on the go?

The walls are melting red.
Do you see that, too?
I've sewed my heart on my sleeve
Have you too?

Ship to Wreck

Frozen blood and half dawn
Long forgotten wood and rust.
Sails breathe and reek of home
Naive and frail. Oblivious to storm.

Burn to Build. Build to Burn
Sang a chorus of ash and dusk.
Embers suffocate within clutch of dark
While dancing to hope, oh so stark!

The burden of a thousand dreams
Alight with a million suns
Irony is what rings the final bell
What warms, chars as well.

Conceived with the lust of blinding stars
They say, I was meant to stand tall in light.
Shadows shape me, the grey claims my make
Death draws on my lower lip, for memories sake.

Frozen blood and half dawn
Long forgotten wood and rust.
Infinite is abyss, so is home
Solace is the eye. The lap of storm.


P.S. Earnest gratitude to Florence and The Machine, for inspiring the title of yet another post.

Heavy In Your Arms

She was grabbing the hem of my dress. Her tiny fingers were struggling to find the right grip. I smiled at the blurring image before me. I could feel my fears sliding down my being as her hair filled the air with the smell of new.  Her tiny pulse drubbed against my wrist. But all I could really feel was the boring of those chocolate honey eyes against my face.

….

The morning sun was kissing her thick curls. She was apprehensive. I could say it by the way she tapped her feet continuously against her seat. I picked her up and placed her on my hip. “Is going to school important?” said a voice so small that I could have almost mistaken it to be in my head.  I brought her closer to my body and dropped a kiss on her temple. “How else will my little one do big things one day?” She looked up at me, and nodded with sincerity inappropriate for a 3 year old. I placed her carefully on the floor. She picked her bag up and started walking towards the door.

….

The windows shook as the thunder rumbled against my chest. Her breath was fanning my strands away. Her hand was resting possessively across my waist as my voice tried matching the weather outside. Reading before bed was always a time both of us looked forward to. Even if our eyes drooped of exhaustion, we made it a point to read at least one story before calling it a night. “And the prince charged against the tower where the princess was being held against her will”, my voice ticked away with the dreary clock. “Mommy?” said the curious little voice, I half smiled against her hair expecting a strange question to be thwarted in my way; those were curved balls my little darling liked to throw. “Yes love?” I said feigning importance. “What if the prince fails?”

….

Our drawing room erupted in applause. Our favourite team has just scored. I hugged her tighter at my side. She clapped her hands gleefully. Her perfect white teeth shone in the darkness. We liked switching our lights off while watching important matches. Today was no different. But what did I know. There was a loud knock at the door and our lives were never the same.

…

The same chocolate honey eyes stared at me. I looked down at my toes momentarily but straightened my shoulders again. “What do you think you are doing here?” I could almost see the heat coming off his ears “Hello. Hi. How have you been?” his voice tumbled across my room. “That’s how you greet people when you see them after 8 years” he said softly. How I wished he would shout at me and be done with it. “Why would you need to run away?”, he asked, in an understanding voice, as if he already knew. I answered by lowering my gaze again. He looked around the room curiously and raised an eyebrow at me. A small soft minion landed with a thud near his feet. His eyes darkened. The edge of a yellow dress peeked from the other room. She took a few unsure steps forward, fear written all over her fragile form. His looming form suddenly seemed small too. Like magnets they were moving towards each other. I have hated myself for a long time now. I hate myself a little more now. He picked her up in his arms, and she settled against his chest. I walked towards them and held her hand. “This is Daddy” I said against her palm.

…

I was falling through dense air. I instinctively reached out for something solid. My nails brushed against some rough material. I would not fall. I could smell raw hope like a perfume smeared on my neck.  I kicked my legs before my eyes flew open. A dark room came into focus. My phone was buzzing somewhere beneath me. The AC has been on for too long. My nose was dead cold. On my night stand carelessly strewn were my reports from the clinic. I sat up and reached for my phone. It was 3:52. I still had sometime before I would start to get ready. I have a meeting early morning. I was a lot less excited for it though. My disturbed sleep would do my mood no good. I unlocked my phone and dialed the one number I should call. He deserved to know. It would destroy his career and he would let it. He was just entering the sweet spot in his career. I will not be the reason to ruin it. He can do great things. He will do great things. I dialed the other number instead. A sleepy voice answered me. “Dr Dey?” I asked unsure “You and your ungodly hours, why can’t you ever sleep properly?” the elderly woman groaned. “I..  would like to book an appointment for noon tomorrow.” I squeaked. “What is it dear?” the concern was palpable from her voice. “I would like to get an abortion”.

Dim - Toast

It had rained dark grey last night. The skies had rumbled in appreciation as the drops had lashed on the glass panes. They bear scars still. Faint trails of where drops must have slid of to their deaths. I smiled slightly at a distance. Then controlled myself. The person sitting beside me on the bus was eyeing me curiously. I raised one eyebrow in an attempt to bring some seriousness back to my face and continued reading my book.

The bus was moving in a lulling pace. Most people were nodding off. The conductor was failing hard in attempting to control his temper. He had to ask everyone for the fare twice. I smiled sympathetically at him when he asked for mine. His face softened immediately. I gave myself a mental high-five before thanking him and counting the change.

I stepped off the bus and felt the ground beneath me growl a little. Must be a tram nearby. I didn't hear the bells though. Must be hallucinating. I tugged my earphones in and started walking again and kept my eyes on the ground while I took the footpath. I liked walking that way. It's a little game I like playing with myself. Predicting the movements of people around me. Try maintaining some distance from them their shadows. Before I knew, I had reached my destination. A warm smile greeted me.

"Dim-Toast", she said out loud. Smiling at me. "The rains aren't doing us any favour, are they? It's still boiling hot", she said while wiping drops of perspiration from her face using her pallu. She came from behind the little table where she was standing and started pulling a bench for me. I noticed that she was trying hard to keep it in much shade as possible. I intervened, "I am not feeling too hot. Let it be". She smiled again and went on to light the stove on the table.

Her husband appeared sheepishly a few minutes later and mumbled some apologetic words to her. She was trying to be angry with him but failing miserably. He had a playful smile on his face, he knew she would understand why he was not around. She tried saying gruffly to him, "You are never in sight whenever it's necessary, Didi is getting late for office. Hurry up." He looked at me and smiled and without a word started by picking a couple of eggs from a carton. I opened my newspaper and smiled wryly at the news on the front page.

I could hear the oil simmering and waited for the exact moment when the eggs would hit the pan and the delicious smell would waft to me. It did. Just as every time. I looked up and saw the man cutting vegetables religiously while she was washing some dishes. He put some bread on the half made egg now and I could feel my mouth water.

She handed him a dish and he deftly put the toast on the plate. He then started garnishing it with some pepper. In just the exact amount that I liked. I smiled at him widely while I took the plate for him. He spoke up finally, "You did not come for two days." I looked down. Almost guilty. She answered for me. Thankfully. "That's not a nice thing to say to anyone. Didi doesn't like eating the same thing everyday, isn't it right?", she looked at me. I nodded. "I got late the other day, so did not have time to stop by". An explanation was not exactly required of me. But I still did. Not knowing the reason why.

I wolfed down my breakfast in minimum time. They looked at me. Both of them. Satisfied that I have enjoyed the meal. I handed the plate back to them and paid them the money. Then stood up dusting my pants. It was getting late.

I sighed and started walking towards office. 

New Year!

She tried capturing me between the threads of his sleeve and her fist. If only she knew, even if I want to, I cannot stop. I must pass. I must go.

He estimated me by looking into his watch. He did not have much of me left. He cursed me. I felt bad. I always do. I can't help it, can I? I stop for none.

She thought she was successful when he dropped his bag on the floor, and enveloped his free hand around her waist. He, for a moment thought he had me. I was running out.

Somewhere a giant clock struck. I like clocks and watches. When people tend to forget me, they have their ways of reminding everyone of me again.

Both of them stood watching the sky. It was ablaze with a thousand lights. People were celebrating my passing and welcoming me again. They call it dawning of a ‘New Year’. It's weird that to suit their own selves, they have bound me in units…all so to blissfully turn a blind eye. They pretend that they don't know that I slip through the crevices of their stretched fingers even when they sleep.

He looked at his watch once again. He must go. He cursed me again and looked down at her. Her face glowed against the night. The cold breathing against her cheeks. He was determined to steal a little of me. Their lips met. For a moment even I thought that this is it, this is when I have the permission to stop.

Golden Days with Lemon Sun!

I will not deceive you and say, that
I never wished for balmy summer nights
To stay. Yet, My Love,
Golden days with lemon sun
Are what my tunes really yearn;
When your coffee skin glistens like
fresh silt, kissed by the fickle brine,
and the horizon envious of the sight
treacherously does with the real entwine!
But Oh Lovely One! I swear, I swear
I had then heard the night bird sing
Weaving tunes off salty breeze, that
once had sighed against cities at seize;
Perched up on the highest tower,
Ignorant of its beauty, as a sinful flower!
I will still not deceive you and say, that
I never wished for balmy summer nights
To stay. Yet,  My Love
Golden days with lemon sun
Are what my tunes really yearn; 

Fate of Ideas

As she stood at the edge of the parapet that evening, she was reminded of the day she first realized how beautiful the city looked at night. Back then it was less congested and the glittering city lights, an almost reflection of the night sky above. She still remembered how light the air was, and how it used to fan her baby curls, flying away with her even lighter spirit.

She pushed her coffee cup off the edge and saw it diminishing to as small as a pebble. A shiver ran down her spine as she heard it shatter against the pavement. The last bit of coffee must have trickled down its sides like blood. A sign board glowed back to life somewhere in the distance. It’s late, she thought.

The pages of her journal trembled in the warm summer breeze. She sat down beside it, her legs aware of the several feet of nothingness just a toe away. Picking it up, she leafed through it carelessly with her ink smudged fingers. Sighing, she picked up the pen again.

a heir-less billionaire, a parched rose, some forgotten words, his limitless eyes 

She struck of each of the images in her mind as she scribbled out their description. They were not images exactly. They were flashes that felt like former life. 

She could swear her life that she has almost seen that billionaire sitting in a park quietly, watch kids play, his Armani picking up a little dust from the bench, his eyes a pool of fulfilled dreams that somehow kept inching into nightmares...

Not just that, she could feel her fingers crush the parched petals of the rose, its light fragrance wafting along, while she had felt a thousand hearts cry...

Also those words that never came back no matter what, words that she had stumbled upon she didn't remember where...

And his eyes, she traced them every day, with one paint brush tucked in her bun and the other frantically stroking the canvas, those lashes were thick and more importantly, that shade of brown with a hint of caramel and honey was almost impossible to recreate, she would still toil for hours, failing, failing everyday...

Someone trampled the cup under their feet. It took its last breath. She let a lone tear slip through her lashes. It was a gift from him... on her 21^st....