What dreams were made of

Home
With you and me
The two of us
Enough to be a family

How long have I waited
Not for a white dress
Or a knight in shining armour
Or for a red poofy skirt
Or to throw puffs of rice

Neither did I long for the yellow tattoos
Nor for the henna to darken
The big special day
Never trumps the normal decades that follow
Not for me

What I wanted was
The weekly trips to the supermarket
Fights over monthly expenditure
Small wins over who gets the remote
And then sleeping halfway through it

My dreams were full of
Sunday morning drives
Followed by a simple breakfast in a corner stall
Then came the lunch
Cooked with last night’s leftovers
And a deep fulfilling nap

No romantic roses made the cut
Nor did vows of forever after or the impossibles
I only wanted the daily routine
A partner to witness and share
The meagre vagaries of life

Was it too much to ask for?

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A clean house

A clean house

Things in place

People in quiet corners

Stuck to their poison

Laptops, mobiles or television

It’s a clean house

No sign of anything amiss

Bedsheets tucked, clothes folded

Utensils washed, windows cleaned

It’s a very clean house

Donned with polite smiles

And goody small talk

A diplomat couldn’t be prouder

One step in

And you’d be wowed

The open floor

The gleaming surfaces

Except for the cobwebs

Hidden in the corners

Or under the table

Or the dust beneath the carpet

Open the closets

You’ll see the grime

The rust that rots the iron

And the rancid acid

That dissolves from the inside

Within the wardrobe

Are stuffed

The broken hearts

Dreams and trusts

Inside the mind

That’s forgotten kinship

Empathy and compassion

Only apathy lies

Behind a face plaid with make-up

Designed to beguile

Designed to dazzle

But it’s a very clean house

Oh, yes indeed

Lady Gaia

An attempt at poetry after years of dry spell

Lady Gaia
In peace, she rests
With a Velveteen cover
Of bright green hues
Dark green lace
Rotund mounds and humps of dew
On a Bed of blue
Pillows of white
Chirping music in the background
Lovely fragrance
Of lush nature
Whiff of tea, lemon grass and pinecones
And whatever wild trees are made of
Light brown veins
Carry her lifelines
Who she let’s live on her
Caring, caressing
Sometimes they tickle
Sometimes they poke
Most of the times they scurry around
Unlike her other multilegged sows
They savour. They support
Her body like she does their life
The two-legged ones, though
Don’t treat her right
But a mother is as a mother does
On she loves
On she leaves
With peace, she let’s them be

Offerings

There was a part of her 
Hidden from the world
Even when bared, she hid it well
You may kiss her skin, and drink her juice 
But give up her soul, she did not 
For how could she,
If herself, she knew not
Nor how to give up her core. 
So many tried, driven mad by want. 
But empty-handed, they stared at defeat.
Until you. 
Now she gives her precious time
To dig into the corners
And scrap every inch, every little bit
Of herself, she could offer
Like a devotee to God
Like we hunt for coins of change
Every single piece of her, 
Broken, hidden or forgotten. 
Body, mind, soul and something more, 
She craves to give and give, 
While on her back on the soft materials
One earth-shattering moment at a time.

Near Time’s still waters

On a bright blue day,

I see time fly.

Reflected on the river’s shiny waters,

Onto my eye.

Scoop into my hands,

I hold my past,

A memorabilia, a proof,

Of times when I had a life.

Still as time, the water flows,

In it, I see me change, I see me grow.

Overhead, the flowers bloom and dry,

First pale, and then green, the leaves turn.

The roots inch towards me,

As if to cajole and caress,

To break me out of my reverie,

To shake the calmness, put away the misery.

Spring turns autumn, and then winter springs,

Unmoving I lay, with time, in sync.

I move, I change; I flow with the waters

Yet on the banks, I consummate my marriage with Hindsight.

The roots finally pull me out

And tuck me under their wings,

Blindfolded, in its shadowy night

A green crow amidst the greens, my sole witness.

Opened, I did, my mouth

I croaked, but the crow spoke

Lifted its wing, and pointed at the red sun

And the black moon, it was hiding behind.

Cried, the white clouds and thundered,

Cried, they, for their black peers, and the fair maid.

The thunder, poignantly sweet to my ears,

A tear rolled and rippled the clean waters.

I woke up, Nostalgia lay beside me,

Unmoving in death, lifeless and unseeing.

With a beating heart, that Hindsight broke.

Time was the catalyst, the perpetual villain of yore.

I blinked, another drop rippled the water

The moon turned red, the sun welcomed the dark

I blinked, the crow flew into the clouds, white,

The roots cleared, and shone blinding yellow light.

Red about Red

It was a happy, happy world;

Everyone, with happiness, wore the shroud.

Without it, step out, one could not,

Or sweep on you, the police would.

Put you in prison, force you to wear black,

If you still refuse the joyous cloth.

Red was its colour,

Or so it appeared to me.

For some, it may have been yellow,

For another, orange with a golden sheen.

But I liked blue,

It induced in me, soulful blues.

I wished, I prayed, I would come to love red,

That I don’t reject the hegemony of enforced bliss.

I was green with envy of those who loved ‘happy’;

Alas, resented and shirked, that colour was too.

Red, I turned, with a burning anger,

Against all those enforcing upon me, red;

Soon, one day, I snapped, into the hands of my freedom,

And walked out wearing black,

Into the arms of evil, free-willed death.

One-ness

He was inside her, she on him;
Every cell of hers tingled,
All of his skin burned.
With an urgent cry, he came, to heaven;
While she lay shivering on earth, under him
She was him, he was her
And yet they craved for the other more
With each excruciating touch, every carving kiss
They moved earth, heaven and hell
Together, they ravaged their souls
Sucked into the eye of the whirlpool
Together, they created peace and magic
Amidst the torrents and pain.