Wednesday, 21 May 2008

The Sore

A sight for sore eyes,

Like sunshine during rain; a warm surprise.

Not perfect beauty, but on me it grew,

Clean straight lines, shared by very few.

Not an ounce of extra flesh from his head to toe,

Beauty which brought him love, and also many a foe.


It wasn’t love at first sight,

But with time it felt so right.

Of course there were ups and downs,

On him and me did many pounce.

But night after night, day after day,

He managed to keep my demons at bay.


One day there was no more black or white,

Only a dull seeping grey, no bright light.

The shadows seeped into my heart,

The monsters drove us far apart.

We’d sit, hands holding, skin touching,

But the spaces were only widening.


One day when the sun rose slowly,

The grey had spread, deadly and surely.

As I went about my morning,

I didn’t know what was coming.

Then I undressed, ready to shower,

I saw it – at me did it glower.

It was a sore on my chest,

On my heart, above my left breast.


That night he didn’t notice it,

Though in the light, in front of him I did sit.

It did not hurt me, the sore,

But I felt it as I didn’t before.

Sucking away my warmth and life,

Bringing gloom, grey and strife.


The next morn I cried as I rose,

The sore, to grow did it chose.

Day by day, night by night,

It took away all my light.

Invisible demons tortured me,

Love from my life did flee.


With the coming of the sore,

I saw what I’d never seen before.

The demons were right to abuse me,

My lover was laughing behind my back you see,

In our home did he play a charming host,

Each day with new notches on his bed post.


Light never returned, darkness never left,

But he never once noticed how’d I’d turned bereft.

He never spoke with love as he did earlier,

His dark eyes to me grew murkier.


A long time did this go on,

Over him did many women fawn.

Till one morn I packed up and went away,

Without a hint, nothing to him did I say.

The sore on my breast has faded since then,

And I’ve since kept my distance from men.


You see,

The sore had reached deep into my blood,

The grey had seeped in like dirty mud.

On me it slowly grew,

Noticed only by very few.

So closely was it linked to my love,

So heavily did it cover my eyes from above.

Sometimes I wish I'd cut his heart out,

But I think maybe my heart would I be without.

My rage would have gotten me nowhere,

It was peace I seeked now away from his lair.


The sore has gone now, left me with a mark.

I can almost see it even in the dark.

It has left me numb, in a sort of peace,

But without any grey, without any disease.


I look at the stars tonight and think of him,

Though I know he will be where the lights are dim.

With a fawn draped over his arm,

One submitting to all his oozing, deadly charm.

Thursday, 24 April 2008

counting down

10 things I hate about you- (author's note: this is random, names have been withheld, and no offense meant. really.)

1. your inability to admit when you’re wrong or full of crap

2. excuses, excuses, excuses

3. your smoking. get a room already

4. your excessive questions and not-so-subtle prying

5. your excessive syrup and fakeness

6. lying by omission

7. how you excel at everything you do (kudos to you though)

8. your vanishing act

9. the distance after you got a boyfriend (yes, yes, I am happy for you)

10. how you’re just like my father


9 things I would like to believe

1. not all men lie

2. I will find my niche

3. she doesn’t hate me

4. no, my grandparents aren’t watching me from heaven

5. people can’t see through me

6. I’m an ok daughter (as opposed to bad, black sheep)

7. I don’t have worms, just a really good metabolism

8. I’m not that selfish

9. my work makes a difference. to some people


8 things about me

1. sarcasm

2. my mom, dogs & other animals

3. lately… odissi

4. nonchalance (I try)

5. writing

6. ze curls

7. Madras (no, not Chennai)

8. the zen


7 things I want to do before I die

1. right the wrongs and find out if she really hates me

2. write a novel (maybe several)

3. travel all over India

4. adopt a child

5. find out what ‘true love’ means

6. find a man who doesn’t lie to me and loves me

7. make my mother proud


6 things I’ve thought about today

1. I want to do more cover stories

2. why’s he suddenly being nice? hmm

3. I want six weeks to pass queeeeckly

4. it’s not poetry, it’s just pseudo prose

5. I want to go back to sleep

6. I have to buy gifts


5 things I love

1. odissi!!!!!!! even waking up at 5 am for it

2. my dog waking me up

3. being transported to another world by a good movie / book

4. being able to drive myself around

5. Bengali food


4 things I consciously avoid doing

1. saying ‘hee’

2. telling people I don’t like or barely know stuff about myself

3. using smileys. ugh

4. talking like the people I sms too much


3 things I splurge on

1. books

2. beer

3. er… does filling fuel count?


2 things that make me sad

1. my dogs’ deaths

2. never having enough time with Dadu and never having met my grandfather


1 thing I need more of

1. self control

Wednesday, 23 April 2008

compose


pure white, untouched paper.

I sit before it to talk to you,

since I can’t do it to your face.


what to say, how to say it.

all that come to me are images.

amidst the headache of heat and cold.

memories.

my palm over your face,

toes interlocked,

giggling at the feel of whiskers.


but the questions

unanswered haunt me

when I sleep.

my toes grow cold and lonely,

my fingers hurt from texting you.


great expectations.


where there is joy there is pain.

when I smile, I know I will cry later.

but not in front of you.


you once licked away the tears

and told me it would be alright.

I was not crying because of you.

now I am, and you’ll never know.


more images.

limbs entwined in the dark.

but it isn’t you and me.

more giggles.

a palm over your face.

toes interlocked.


notch, notch, notch.

I smirk.

what can I say?


now I have no expectations.

in the dark my toes are warm.

I sleep deep

so I can rise early

and live my dream.


but the paper remains white, virgin.

I can’t bear to touch it,

make it soiled like me.


you will misunderstand, twist,

make me cry more,

never forgive me.


pen shaking, I twist the lid back on.

and put the paper away.


my thoughts are composed

of things I cannot tell you.

entwined tongues,

heavy limbs,

the smell of your sweat

against me.


picking up my clothes,

I drive away quietly.

back to my work,

back to my life.

and you back to yours.


call when you want.

I keep my toes warm myself.

I giggle with other people,

people I had forgotten about

when I met you.


I wish I could be like the paper

I could not compose on.

white, pure, true.


true I can try to be now.

to myself and my dreams.


the composing is hard.

will leave it for tomorrow.


I leave you to your new notches.

slowly embedding myself

in my own life.

searching, finding,

answering, doing,

writing, expressing.


I will write to you tomorrow.

by then you will

already know.

I’m not me anymore.

I’m fang.

hear me roar.

Monday, 24 March 2008

The X chronicles


I don’t get how men can ride on animals, especially during war.

Why men stare at me even when I’m inside my car.


Algebra, trigonometry, compound interest, quadratic equations,

Advanced technology side by side with inane superstitions.


I don’t get why women are masochists,

And how they handle men without using their fists.


Plastic surgery and I-love-Justin blogs,

People who don’t like (and eat) dogs.


I don’t get why movies are re-made,

Why people would want to die by a blade.


Why some people love the rain,

When all it does is sedate my brain.


I don’t get why we lie so much,

Why some people always like to touch.


I don’t get why people like to smoke.

How they can inhale and not choke.


I don’t get,


Pink bows, lacey tops,

How men always call the shots.


Britney Spears or Paris Hilton,

Different men each week who are smitten.


Freud and dream analysis,

How I’m related to my sis.


People who are beautiful and smart,

People who are perfect and don’t fart.


I don’t get me.

How suspicious I can be.