Thursday, December 31, 2009

Getting that bride back!

On January the Second this year, I made myself some promises, or resolutions as you would have it. Twenty critical, humorous and insignificant points were listed down, and it was hoped that a few of them could be achieved.

It is with great honour and Pride in my heart that I announce that fifteen of the twenty tasks laid down were completed (partially or otherwise). Taking this breath taking and awe inspiring success rate into account, I have been motivated to draw out some more Commandments for the next year. (Which is now precisely two hours and sixteen minutes away).

The mind has started running in full gear and crucial things are being thought of. Shoo away now!

On another note, there's a thought thats been on my mind for quite sometime, It's hard to believe that another years' passed by. How life has worn this white wedding dress, and is not really walking down the aisle, but is running away from you, on a horse with a Hot shirtless man, while you just stand in your black suit with a yellow rose pinned, watching helplessly.

But still, I hope for fresh starts, for anyone who needs them; and perfect endings to dubious beginnings. Because its not really about how to start a race, but how you end it.

This year is quite the race for me, the one which decides where I'm headed in life, lets see how I fare.

I hope I get that bride back to where she belongs, in the kitchen!

Thursday, December 24, 2009

That goodbye........

As I kiss your forehead
and our hearts beat
beat down our tears
and steal the strength from our knees,
they buckle into one another. ....

Winter Love....

If I could dream, for just one moment, I would hold you tight the first time we met. Would kiss you under that mistletoe, as the snow flakes fell on your nose, making you giggle. That red rose, resting above your ear would freeze in your thick smooth hair.

But we wouldn't let this cold winter bother us, because we had each other. We would devour those vanilla cookies and drown in that mulled wine. Swimming in circles, catching dreams and stuffing them in our pockets, as we went along the way.

We would make love when it snowed and kiss when the rays shone. It could be our little game, our little secret. We would never have to go outside, just be wrapped up in that warm Red blanket you won at the Fair last year. I would hold you in my arms and rock you slowly, blowing in your ear every now and then. You nudge me with your elbow, but giggle it off. The only light in the room would be from those burning branches I cut in the morning. You would wear that green scarf I bought you two winters ago, when we first met, under that mistle toe.

The white flakes would glisten outside and play tricks with us, as we would get lost in its sparkles. You would run out, spread your arms and go around in circles ever so slowly with your eyes shut. And I would follow you, ready to catch you. But you would go around trees deceiving me, all over again. I would give up eventually, and you would do that little old snow dance you love.

Under that tree, is a patch of brown. We could sit there all day, and dream a little more. I would make a list, penning down all that you did in the past year and whether you deserve Santa's gift after all. You could say you steal. Hearts, thoughts and lives. Guilty as charged.

But this is still our dream. Please be gentle. With that red rose, resting on your ear, frozen in your thick smooth hair.

The snow wouldn't be cold enough for those long walks......

...on lost paths,
to lost spaces
and lost time...

...where we would find each other
in the greens, reds and whites....

Thursday, December 17, 2009

I wonder...

I wonder how the word Hate can exist when I have a double Chocolate Brownie Sundae topped with nuts and cherries lying infront of me.

Making that mess.

Pick up that green
and mess your hair with it

Paint your dreams
that perfect yellow

Get that red
and tear that love letter

Take that pink
and just leave it be

Draw that blue
and chase the sky

Dip your fingers in black
and run streaks across your face.

Blow on that purple
and make those bubbles pop!

Throw a dash of white
and then walk away

before someone sees you
Making that mess.

Toasted Bread.

As he tip toed across the wooden floor in his white linen pajamas, he wished that the sound of the creaks wouldn't wake her up. The first light broke calmly on her face through those thin cream curtains. Today he would make breakfast for her. It was one of those few days when he beat the alarm and wanted to do something about it. He entered the kitchen and thought to himself how best he could put his amateurish skills to use. He hoped burning the place down wasn't one of them. So he heated the pan and prepared the batter. Tossed the pancakes and beat the eggs. Popped the kettle and placed the cups. Put the rose in that vase and sang that song ever so silently as he did that little dance. He was at his cheekiest best and he loved it.
When suddenly he heard her giggling across the room. Startled, he turned around, only to see her wearing his oversized green checked shirt from office yesterday. Without saying a word, she walked towards him, pecked him on his lips and said "the Breads' burnt, Mr. Cook."

In that coffee shop.

Stand near a window when it rains
and make up shapes with those droplets
or just race them down.
Fog up the surface
and write your name
or just a smile.
Make faces at your reflection
or just raise an eyebrow.
Press your nose against it
and then your cheek.

And before you know it
Your favourite chai is served.
Just as you ordered.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

2 a.m.

The ash fell outside the ashtray as he flicked his cigarette, but he didnt even bother to notice. That book was reaching its climax and there was nothing in the world that could keep him from enjoying it. He tilted to his side a bit more, so that the bed side lamp could throw some more light on the page. He did, however, make sure that he was careful in flipping those pages, he didnt want his anxiety to wake her up. He adjusted his glasses to rest on his nose better. There was a peculiar smile on his face, one that would seldom show. He drew some more nicotine into his body as the intoxication from that book rose.

She tugged the sheet as she changed sides . On other days he would fight for his share of the sheet, but not today; That chapter was spectacularly captivating. So he let out a bit of the sheet, making sure he sat on its edge so that she wouldn't take it all away. Yes, she was evil and Yes, he loved her so; but right then, the book tested his fidelity. He flicked the pages faster, at times jumping paragraphs to learn what happened. "How this could potentially end?", he asked himself as different scenarios took shape in his mind. And then came the last page, he read it ever so slowly and took it all in. He shut the book, looked up and smiled; that smile which transformed itself into a big yawn. He placed the book on the bedside, stubbed his cigarette, metled into his bed, switched off the lamp,tugged at the sheet and then cuddled up with her to sleep peacefully, and Satisfied.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

That little old book....

He picked up that little black book, dusted the years off it and put it to his chest; as if he were trying to merge his soul with the lifeless object's all over again. Come to think of it, that rusted and frail diary was quite the contrary. Flowing with secrets, lies and tales; he knew it could crush his life as he knew it. It knew his deepest desires, absorbed every ounce of pain and reflected those seldom moments of euphoria in his life.

Today, I lived.
Her dance was intoxicating.
As she twirled, kissed
and touched.
She touched,
killed and smiled
Ripped me into shreds
and redeemed my soul.
I smiled.

It spoke his mind, and even after so many years those damp and yellow sheets still smelt of his cologne. Some pages were wrinkled with his tears and some beamed with his joy, as they spoke the truth and many lies. The black leather binding was melted, her back was torn and broken. That title embedded in gold was rusted with time and emotions.

I can't breathe
and I can't miss you.
You're not here.
And I'm just trying to breathe
and my knees scrape the floor
Just breathe.

The corners were bent, turned down from the burden of ages, he thought to himself. Those tender pages melted together to form this wave. He closed his eyes and ran his rough hands over them, taking in the scent of his being. It was hard to imagine that those pieces of parchment captured his life, every crazy emotion, every living breath.

I smirked with my eyes.
That one lazy afternoon
and she knew me.
She saw my temper
and I was helpless
All I could do was

As he flipped through his life, looking at glimpses from the past, he understood his being. That love poem he wrote for her, their photograph placed beside it, that leaf he preserved, the locks of her hair, the lyrics of his favourite song scribbled on the edges, his hand at art, his triumphs, his fall backs; The book preserved it all.

Today, was one of those days
when my heart swelled
I couldn't tell the exact moment
But I knew the feeling
it was calm and peaceful
Of contentment.
Of not worrying where the future goes
And when the past comes on through.
I just lay there
as I played hide and seek
with the sun
through those canopies.

He tied the red ribbon around his life and knotted it tightly, then folded it in that piece of blue silk to preserve what was left and placed it in his carved wooden box; switched off the lights and kept it there, in the dark.

With each written letter
from the falling ink
of that feather
Some letters formed words
A few exuded that peculiar pain
Many were exultations.
Screams of joy
A bit were random articulations.
some were plain ecstatic
but together
they spoke of his life
and what it used to be......