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rain drops

whenever i have been sad it has rained,
i m not the rain daughter but still somehow...
all major sad days of my life as i look back have been accompanied by rains

rain drops on window panes...
the thundering of clouds and the continuous noise of water surrounding my being.
i sit here again on a rainy day trying hard to recollect my thoughts...
somehow they seem to be running away from me today,
my fears and insecurities...
my lunatic side all seem so distant and unfamiliar...

in symposiums and academic gatherings,
we often hear them talk about the self
but from a distant third party objective standpoint
what one does and intends are all objectively dealt with
but this is no symposium
and yet i can see myself out of me
i can see what i have done and why!

is it time for me to regret yet...
is it me at all in the first place?
to have done these things with myself,
why is it that i feel so indifferent?
to what has been so precious all this while...
why is the thread burnt beyond repair?
i know this too shall pass but what if this happens to me again...
where is the life that i have known so well slipping away?

postiche!

A lot of what is in thoughts...goes unspoken. The games that people play, the badly rehearsed and re-used phrases of intimacy at inappropriate times, all pass without pointers. Nothing is said to pull out the profane from its profanity. Games that people play - I wonder why? the real and the unreal get blurred at the level of conscious. Its difficult to keep the eyelids open when i am intoxicated...just like the blurring of bodies & spaces. but then I suppose lies are harmless...when both parties know its fake, then postiche loses its charm, its entire purpose of dupe!

if illusions are not real and the words spoken are not real then why is it that fake considered negative? truth is - both are far away from reality.

gradually I think - I am learning to endure, be more tolerant towards fake. I suppose, I am gradually accepting fake as a part of life. and with this acceptance, detachment is becoming easier a process...even though bodies blurr into one spaces don't

shades...!

where did it all start...the fights the craving for space and the then finally the beatings?

it was all so rosy and nice in the beginging,
you waiting for me at the bus stop,
and i would bunk my afternoon classes to be with you
the long lazy afternoons, spent rolled up together smoking pot and making love.
sharing every wee bit corner of our lives with each other...our ambitions and our and fears.
the vulnerability and the jealously, the companionship and the trust.

end of collegue and the struggle to make a mark of our own, the first job and the salary, the party thereafter. the future that looked so bright and the need to stay together. where did it all go today?

the reality is a cold hospital room, two fractures and sixteen stiches...a policeman trying to ask me when did all this start?
what happened and why?

what am i to say, two decades of my life passes by my mind in a fraction of a second.
where did it all start?
and why did i let it linger so long?

battered wives and their psychology was a distant reality of which i knew nothing, and then one fine day i realized i was one of them!

when did it all start, a simple fight, a slap, a push a pinch, when did it all aggravate to something so serious, and fatal!

the love that receeded and the frustrations that grew between us
was it hatred or simple intolerance?
and what was it that i was waiting for so long...was i actually hoping that it would all end one day and things would change...i will be able to turn back time!!!

what was it i was waiting for so long?

frenzieeeeeeeee

winter morning...a hot cup of coffee, thick fog outside covering the open field.
a warm blanket, on an old rug with fading colours
the morning sun that reminds me of a distant past
the cigarette smoke with its strong nicotine flavour
and in between somewhere
there is a conversation of you and me

the long journey we both have made
the route we have at times taken together and at times separately
the long walk that was once a reward after a hard days work
with your hands tucked into mine

but today we are sitting far apart...
and trying to talk about how things have changed and we need to accept.

and all i am trying to actually figure is
what is it that has really changed...?
you...me or the time?
how just is it to remind you of the promises made and forgotten...
of old times that no longer remains the way it used to be like
how just is it to put you through an interrogation and ask
what is it that you mean?
what was it that you meant?

yes truly times have changed...
i have to now think before speaking to you!

when did this transformation come about...?
how did times change so surreptitiously and yet sting so hard
am i to understand...you?

Who Are YOU...?

as i look out into the fog and try to see the decade that we spend together
i can see where it all had started...
it started with you understanding my silence
you heard me when i said nothing...

but then with passing times, the very silence engulfed the companionship
and then my silence stopped making sense to you
it no longer spoke to you about you and me...

its still a morning, and a new day today!
but what is it that stops me from asking you to start from the scratch
from giving myself a chance to speak to you again

why is it that i want bygones to be bygones
the time lost to be never found again...
why am i so eager to accept what you have to say?