Weekend dreams

Barely half a day gone by
And my foot taps restlessly
Pages flicker beneath my eye
But the mind dips into poetry

Furrowed brows and furious fingers -
fly swiftly across keyboards
Silence pierced by whirring of printers
And scratchy writing on the white board

Laws and rulings swim before my face
And the window breeze beckons
Weekend dreams bind me to my place
As I count the passing hours and seconds

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A quick scribble during my first day at my first real job!

Feel alive

Oh, how I love being high. The kind caused by liquor. The ‘drunk on life itself’ kind of high doesn’t come to me all that often.

That warm feeling as the rum settles down into your stomach. You feel the air around your face heating up and a flush rising up to your eyebrows. A beautiful cosy feeling of happiness that hugs you and lulls you into believing that everything is going to be so goooddd and you just need to sit back and relax. More alcohol, please.

Then it begins to work its magic on your organs, one by one. It’ll loosen your tongue right up, fire up the no-nonsense neurons of your brain and rattle your humor cells till they burst out in the silliest ways possible.

It’s like time itself slows down. If a friend keeps blabbing on about work pressures, when you’re sober it may bore the shit out of you. But when the world is a blur and time hangs suspended from the ceiling, you do not even realise how long you’ve been thinking and day dreaming about that guy you think you love but can never really end up with.

You realise you have extraordinary persuasion skills and somehow when you’re that high you manage to convince your friend to go to the beach with you in the middle of the night. You get to act the part of the lone artist who keeps alternating between thoughts like death and suicide and depression, and sudden rapturous glee when you watch the waves form in little ripples scurried along by the breeze to join hands across the shoreline and come crashing onto the beach. The sound makes you think of your own life crashing around yourself and the reasons you started drinking in the first place.

You want this feeling to last forever. You’re floating on your own cloud and don’t want that bubble to burst. You can spend hours lost within a moment, wordlessly admiring the sound of the waves echoes in the numbed recesses of your brain, and the feeling of soft sand melting underneath bare feet as the tide swallows the waves into its darkness. All you want is to treasure these ‘I feel alive’ moments with such precision and detail that it can never be filtered or pixelated to a lesser level of happiness than you presently feel.

Invisible strings

She was no stranger to the pangs of love, and her body was attuned to the torments of passion and lust. But this was neither love nor lust. And yet it was a little of both.

It wasn’t love that made butterflies scatter deep inside her stomach, or filled her ears with violins playing hauntingly beautiful music while he kissed her. He wasn’t the warm fuzzy feeling of being wrapped within a blanket when it’s cold outside, only to realise too late that one can’t live inside a blanket forever; just until it’s warm again.

It wasn’t even lust, making her skin long for his touch and his touch arousing that fire within. His touch was gentle and questioning, and her understanding smile sheltered his inexperience and guided him into the depths and folds of her womanhood.

Long after he was gone, she’d lie in her bed thinking of him, inhaling his scent, and trying to relive their moments. She would think of the way he kissed her, how he’d let her sleep with her head on his chest, and how he held her close. She decided that this is how she’d remember him always.

She knew very well that need to feel close to someone, and she knew he needed it too. She was aware that in his heart there was place for only one, and she was not the one for him. She had never known what it was she wanted in life, but she knew this little thing wasn’t going to last. So she would hold on to it for as long as she could.

It wasn’t love, it wasn’t lust. She couldn’t define what it was, but it seemed a little of both. Or a lot like it.

Broken

Cause I’m broken…
It’s win or lose I’m open
No more I decide my fate
It runs it’s course; I’ll just wait

I don’t care what’s written among the stars
There’s always the pain that leaves behind scars
I can’t think this phase through I’m frozen
Cause I’m broken…

Some chicken, a haircut and a blowjob?

Have you recently strayed (for no apparent reason) from the way to your man’s heart? Are you looking to cool things down just a little, where some footsie or a little grope under the table says bring it on, but makes you want to run a mile when things start getting a bit too serious? Is this the point where the arms of a relative stranger suddenly seem comforting and inviting, and the temptation to cheat gets overwhelmingly real? Have you expressed all this (most of it) and broken his poor simple heart and now want a grand gesture to make it up to him and ease off some of your guilt? If so, some chicken, a sexy haircut and a good ol’ blowjob will make his day. Soon he’ll get his jealous nose out of your cell phone and personal texts and want to bury it someplace else.

But it won’t ease off your guilt, not really. At first, you might be shocked and outraged at your own thinking. You know this was just the easy way out of a hard (difficult) situation. Then you’ll start questioning whether you are turning into a slut. And after a night of casual tossing and turning you realize you don’t really care. You tell yourself that you deserve to have some fun, a couple of close friends agree and say this is what ‘youth’ calls for, and then you come up with terms like ‘innocent fun’ to explain your loose morals.

Yet you could never possibly begin to explain this type of ‘innocent fun’ to anyone in your social circle. They wouldn’t understand, and you’d never try. Why cheapen yourself in the eyes of others and risk being branded a slut, especially when you haven’t yourself figured out if you are one? It’s an hypocritical society where every girl keeps her inner slut hidden deep inside and then finds it prudent to gossip about girls bold enough to let the world see her for who she is.

Wondering what happens next? Probably you get over this phase of flirting and fooling around and decide to get serious in life. Maybe you’ll find someone who understands and even channels this side of your character, and you find true happiness with this lucky guy. Or perhaps you end up passing through a string of meaningless sex and faceless guys till you realize you are more fucked up than ever. And then you find you don’t give a shit about loose morals and prudent bitches. You say, ‘Fuck it’ and then simply start living your life exactly the way you want to, like there’s nothing left to hide deep within.

Showers of Desire

The soil had awoken with desire
When a light rain began to drizzle
It was soaked yet it felt afire,
Unable to mask the scent of its arousal

I walk barefoot under the moaning skies
that unleash their passion onto my face
drenching me with their unblinking eyes
Till I’m wrapped within rain’s loving embrace

I’m frenzied, I’m lost in its grip
Its touch soothes my heated skin
And the trickling water opens my lips
For a kiss that makes my head spin

I’m unguarded, overwhelmed by lust,
I put up no resistance. Undaunted it pours,
It’s fearless and rough, yet blindly I trust
And it seeps through to my very core

Conversations over coffee

A rainy evening strolled lazily
Into the open arms of a café
Where sat four spunky young lasses,
dressed in attires almost passé

The conversations were lilting
and the rain paused to listen
to the melody of their laughter -
So spirited in its composition

Their lives no longer inextricably weaved
But they embroider a beautiful pattern
on time-worn fabrics, a soft array -
of tears, smiles and tender heart’s burn

The taste of friendship lingers long
after the last dregs of coffee are gone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reunions with old friends are always the best. There’s that sense of familiarity that washes away all awkwardness accumulated with time. There’s the closeness and comfort that comes with knowing each other for so many years. These are friends who will know in an instant if something is wrong, or if you’re holding back something.

This poem is for my friends who made this weekend so much fun and interesting! Linking up with dverse, it’s Open Link Night! :-)

Fading footprints

ee3e9a922574cb5d0141b6d3a8ae04d9

I know you thought of me,
Once you realized I was free
But now I leave it all behind
You, her and the world that disagrees

Watch me walk out of here
Without ever turning back
I exit this space you inhibit
With my memories and mind intact

I etch footprints in my wake
Leading further and fading away
But footprints are not like ink on paper
The tides will turn the very next day…

The frog’s no Prince, but I’ll marry him

Sometimes a girl may have to kiss a lot of frogs before she finds her prince.

I’m sure the frogs agree. One or two might even be daring enough to use this as a pick-up line.

images (1)

Pucker up, baby!

To my surprise Indian parents also seem to agree. Parents anxious to marry off their well-educated, beautiful, hard-working and independent daughters into good families of their choice, overlook the fact that while they are opposed to the idea of the girl finding her Prince Charming on her own, they are willing to let her mingle with a lot many frogs who are brought up the right way. Continue reading

Nomadic June

Incredible India: A Himalayan experience 

The train journey

I turn my face away, away from the stench and the suffocating heat, the hawkers and the little beggar child performing to the drum’s beat. I drown out the low complaining voices and block out the train compartment to my senses. I glue my head to the window to watch the shadows in the water below that keep changing as the sun dips low. I watch the corn and rice fields whistling merrily in the wind, and the stretches of land left bare by summers that forced the rivers to rescind. At each bend I watch the train till it is replaced once more with plain terrain. We jump up with unabashed delight as we see on the rail tracks a peacock taking flight.

The growing dark stares back as the wheels run steady on these age-old tracks. The train whisks us through villages and across states but it’s a two day journey even at this rate. I feel the miles grow longer and I know the nights will get much colder. I count the passing days as time takes me further and farther away. Continue reading