Living ‘Life’

The calendar dictates my days,

The clock my time.

I snooze between alarms,

And dream through the commute.

Blinded by my false sense of self worth,

The beauty of the newly blossomed gulmohar

On the path I rush through, escapes me.

The mornings are maniacally hurried,

And the evenings pass in a daze.

Of the afternoons I remember nothing;

The nights are long and silent.

I like to believe that within me,

Lie the depths of the ocean.

There are oysters with hidden pearls.

I don’t have the luxury of deep diving,

I console myself, and then I sigh in relief;

This fear of searching within, only to

Stumble upon the silence of the hollow years.

The lack of profound sorrow and

The absence of any exhilarating joy

Am I blessed or just plain cold?

At the shore, my heart aches for the

Electrifying currents that run deep;

And the sinking ship, in the middle of

The blue, envies my sanctuary at the coast!

7 Minutes

The piquant sacchariferous reek of jasmine flowers

The clamor of the vegetable hawkers and the fruit sellers

The dogs and human beings competing for the same stretch of space

The rush of the sea of commuters rising and ebbing in waves

The undecipherable announcements on the screechy microphone

The shriek of the siren and the halting breaks

The cacophony of women exchanging notes on food and family

The drooping backs under the heavily loaded school bags

The grey ash smeared foreheads

The long never ending queues at dirty windows

The red, yellow, black and blue lunch satchels

The hand-bags clutched close to the bodies

The constant elbowing to find one’s way

The stepping on the other’s toe without an apology

The stinking perspiration of the Indian summer heat

The family of four tip-toeing on the lesser used distant tracks

The wannabe heroes hanging on the foot boards

The wandering flirtatious glance of the guy with the ID tag

The indulgent smile by the salt and pepper haired gentleman

The neighbor’s humming to the latest hit on his ipod

The low-toned mushy romantic tête-à-tête on cell phones

The dexterously fast-paced texting fingers

The assembly of the men with white walking sticks

The folded creases of the morning newspaper

The rattling of the bowls for alms

The wind in your hair, the dust in your face, the urgency in your step…

…The seven most crowded and happening minutes!

Companions

A broken butterfly wing

A creaking old swing

A moth half alive

A smoked bee-hive

A dirty lazy snail

A sluggish wet trail

A slippery chameleon

A stray dog so forlorn

A new-born birdie’s chirping

A temple bell’s tinkling

A pair of laces tied wrong

A melodious old song

A whiff of fresh air

A pervert’s creepy stare

A love struck couple

A graying man’s mumble

A lady offering prayers to god

A bright pink ipod

A beautiful virgin morning

And these my companions when I’m walking.

Washed away!

An exquisite pearl nestled on
the delicate bend of
a verdant olive blade;

That gentle venerate breeze
was just beginning to attempt
to court the demure divine bead;

When that sullen dark sky
bellowed in distraught,
and let out its fury.

The deluge that followed
washed away the traces
of what might have been
a wonderfully romantic morning.

(P.S. Please indulge me, I am trying to find my way back.)