The Moon and her Demon Lover

I saw the Moon tonight,
She was almost full --
White, bright, and full of light.

I saw the vague clouds sweep by her,
Trying hard but could not,
To dim her spirit or her vile smile.

I know she’s been waiting for this;
To wake up her demon lover in the night,
With her ethereal songs,
And her unmindful beauty.

And did I hear the groan of a soul that was bestirred?
Long buried and withered?

I looked up again at the sky,
The ghostly moon had hid behind the clouds.
I could only see the rim of her devilish desire'
And hear again the groans of love from afar.

Oh night!
If only this could pass.
For though seemingly sweet it is but cold;
And this music is too enchanting and wild.

'0' is the most beautiful number

I'm not too fond of numbers,
Though I do have an affinity for 4 & 7.

And talking about numbers - the digits;
The only numbers I find aesthetically pleasing are the ones with the curves,
The 3, 6, 8, 9 and of course the 0.

God, that's the most curvaceous of them all!
And in normal typography,
There's no way you can script a '0' with straight lines.

That's the most beautiful number for its curves.

The ‘0’
Oh, that’s one bold and beautiful number!

The 100, 1000, 10,000…
Without those alluring curves as companions,
They’re just one lame straight line.

The Killer On The Run (Poem)

My target is not you.

My gun’s pointed at you,

And yours at me.

I do not know who’s going to shoot first,

I can see the fear in your eyes.

I know you do not know me, stranger.

Neither do I know you.

And my target is not You.

You killed that mom and her little daughter,

You killed the man in their lives.

They don’t mean anything to me.

I’m just a person send to nab you.

I’m just doing my duty.

I know you do not hate me,

I know there’s no revenge between us.

But shoot me first or I’ll shoot you,

You’re not my target.

It’s just my duty.

But why do I see tear in your eyes?

Why the fear?

Shoot and it’s all over.

Even I’m tired of shooting down strangers.

It’s just my duty but I hate it.

Shoot me! 

Shoot me first or I’ll shoot you.

Who is to die first? 

The killer or the killer of killers?

Happy B'day Alice (Short Story)

She stood in front of the mirror in the morning.

The face on the mirror showed signs of aging - wrinkles, grey hairs, the suppleness of the lips curling up into itself, the neck getting longer...

It's her 60th birthday.

She has all that she ever wanted in her life - married the man she loved, have two sons who are young men, married, and well employed, have two gorgeous daughter-in-laws who treat her like their own mother, and most of all, lives in a house built by her husband for her, for the past 20 years; has a garden of her own with her favourite flowers, and a chocolate-brown she-Labrador who recently gifted her with 7 little naughty pups. She spends endless days of her retired life with those pups in her garden, and in the warm hug of her husband at nights, even after 35 years of married life.

She has all the reasons to be a happy woman in life but she didn't feel so that morning, staring at her age-beaten face in the mirror. Is it the growing age or is it something else?

***************************

The alarm clock rang at 5.30 in the morning. Though unlikely of her, she wanted to go for an early morning walk and Ben had agreed to accompany her. She got up, got into her track suit and tried to wake up Ben but the old man protested at being woken up at such an early hour.

She smiled at the sleepy old man, placed a kiss on his cheek for which he smiled in his sleepiness, and she set out for the walk. For some reason she felt happy that she was alone, walking through the familiar streets: she had her silence and could observe the life around her without any distractions - the early birds leaving their nests, the early-morning joggers with their ears plugged-in with loud music unheard to the rest of the world, the young couples who made arrangement to meet at such an early hour, the old men and women like her walking as fast as their age would let them... She felt young even after six decades of life on this Earth.

She walked rather brisk for her age. She inhaled the fresh soil after yesterday night's rain and it heightened her spirits. She walked, walked, walked...until she neared a cemetery.

There was a funeral procession going on, all dressed in black. It's natural that her spirit could be dampened with such a sight, but she would have normally passed by and returned home but for that young man standing alone at the entrance of the cemetery.

She just had to set her eyes on him and she froze in her feet. She muttered: "Mat... Mathew..."

She couldn't believe her eyes. She stood at her feet for a moment or so.

She walked up to the young man. He smiled a weak smile at her.

"Mathew..." she uttered.

The young man said: "Please join. The funeral is at 6.30. Thank you for joining us."

She walked in a daze to the funeral place. She saw many men, stone faced, and many women, all weeping.

There was this coffin that all were gathered around. She felt weak, she almost collapsed but a few men around her caught her and made her sit on a chair.

She felt her head reeling. She felt like she was in another world. She was all surrounded by strange men lamenting at the death of Mathew she knew almost 3 decades ago, and women staring at her for her unorthodox dress for a funeral.

She never realised until then that Mat lived in her, without she herself realising it.

********************************

Mathew...

Mathew, who at some point of time became 'Mat' to her; one who wrote poems after poems on her beauty - her smile, her neck, her long and slender figure... Mat, she first made love with; Mat, who proposed to her first; Mat, who she left for another man because she saw no promise in him to be a successful man but just a looser of a romantic. Mat...

She loved him all along. She realised it now. Mat...

********************************

She stood in front of the mirror, looking at her now longer neck that Mat once adored, kissed; at her short grey hair which was long and black that Mat used to play with; the wrinkled lips that was once supple and that touched Mat's with much passion...

********************************

"Alice... ALICE..."

She was thrown off her reverie by Ben's voice.

She splashed her face with the ice-cold water that came off the tap. She looked at the mirror again; took the warm towel to her face and made herself look fresher.

"I'M COMING," she shouted back rather awkwardly.

********************************

Anyways, it's Alice's 60th B'day; so let us all wish her a very Happy B'day!

If not for my Eyes! (Poem)

I see the colours, the patterns, the beauty around me;
I see the struggles, the battles and the darkness around me.

I see all that is black and white;
And all that is colouful around me.

I see hunger around me;
But the plates are empty.

I see the blind man standing across the street,
Waiting for someone to help him cross the road.

I'm but a pointless poet,
My eyes are tired,
I can see no more.
It is closed in helplessness.

I wish I could see more -
The plight of a man with sight.

**********************

Thanks to Mr. Sudhir Rao, who made me better my lines.

Life Through Decades (Poem)

Life is miniscule time
between birth and death.

For ten years we struggle, a child
Then ten again as an adolescent.

Yet another ten passes without our knowledge;
We fall in love, make mistakes,
Fall down, get up and walk again,
And find ourselves where we began.

For ten years we struggle to grow up,
The next ten is spend for our children.

Then we realise almost half a century has passed,
And there’s hardly any time left for us.

Sad as it may look,
That’s the tragedy of human eyes.

But memories never get as old as us.

They remain as young as they ever were.
And the best of them are made between,
We are young and old.

Remember times but don’t relive them,
For, memories are to be cherished,
Not to be lived.

***********************************

This is inspired by a dialogue by Mohanlal in 'Vadakkumadhan' (2006). I think this is in line with what Poonthanam Nambudiri said in his 'Jnanappana'.

And a special thanks to my Blogbuddy Brian Miller, who made the edits on the first draft of this poem. Thanks friend!

Sounds of Silence of a Dark Night (Poem)

Sitting alone in my room,
I listen to the silence of my life.

A light fever threatened me,
Said it’d confine me to my lonely bed.
I smirked at it in return,
And shot it dead with a Dolo.

But as the night gets darker,
I realise I chased away a friend I had.
A friend who was ready to see me through,
To the next daybreak.

I listen to the pitter-patter outside my window,
The neon city is drenched in heavenly tears.
The night is crying unlike me,
Is it feeling lonely too?

I listen closer, my ears sharpened.
The night is not as silent as I thought it was:
I could hear sounds -
Distant clamours of a past,
Cacophony of the present,
And a soft melody of an ethereal future.

And the darkness, I realise,
It’s just a blanket,
A blanket that life holds in front of your eyes,
When you open them to see.

Hm… (Short Story)

I waited for long at the coffee shop. She had said she’d reach by five and it was 10 past six.

We had been in a relationship for the past seven years and finally convinced our parents about our marriage. Our engagement is just one month down the line and my friends had been bugging me for a bachelors’ party ever since it was fixed. And yesterday was a most memorable day in my life. All my friends came over to my flat in Bangalore and we partied all through the night. I not only forgot to attend her calls but even my mobile. The Airtel bird chirrped about 23 times all through the night when I and my friends were having a gala time at the balcony and I was too drunk and tired to return her call once I got into my room by about five in the morning. And I slept like a log till 12 in the afternoon the next day. By the time I woke up, I found another 16 missed calls from her. I rang her back.

“When somebody loves you/It’s easy to get through…” I listened to her caller tune. It’s a song by a Western country musician called Allen Jackson.

The ring went on till the first two stanza of the song before she answered my call.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hm…” she answered.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t attend your call yesterday. I was giving a bachelors’ party to my friends. I had mentioned to you about it yesterday evening, remember?”

“Hm…”

Then there was total silence for a few fleeting seconds. I knew she was completely pissed at me because she had warned me against getting drunk and had said that she’d call up in between to check.

“Come on Vidya. Please understand. It was a bachelors’ party and I’d never get a chance to enjoy like this with my friends anytime here after.”

“Hm…”

“Vidya… Please…”

There was no answer.

“Ok. Let me make up for this. Meet me at our favourite hangout by five. I’ll give you a nice surprise.”

“Hm…”

“What ‘Hm… hm…’ say something na?”

“I’m quite busy Kiran. I’ll meet you at CCD by five. Bye” and she cut the call.

I felt terrible at her response. But yes, in my mind I too felt a little guilty that I avoided her just like that last night. I cursed all my friends for dragging me into that party.

I got up, took a shower, ate my lunch and waited painfully for the clock on the wall to tick past four. I missed her continues messages telling me about what she’s doing and where she is but I never dared call her up and check. I knew she was angry at me and I desperately wanted to make up for my misgiving.

I slept again for about an hour in between and got dressed and ready to go by four. It’s a half hour drive to the Café Coffee Day near her apartment. I got down at a gift shop on the way and brought her an elegant looking wrist watch. She had a fancy for designer watches and I knew a good looking watch would be the best gift to cool her nerves.

I found an empty seat in the coffee shop and I settled myself, waiting for her to arrive. I had already drained down two mugs of coffee and yet she had not reached. The usual evening crowd of happy boys and girls were milling up and I grew impatient waiting for her for so long. It’s not very usual of her to be so late. I tried calling her up in her mobile but she never answered. I know she was angry at me but still…

I ordered my third Cappuccino when I saw her walking towards me. She had about three to four shopping bags clutched tightly in both her hands and she was in white sleeveless top and blue denim. She had done something to her hair and it looked smooth and it cascaded down one of her fair shoulders. I was awe-struck looking at her. I’m amused how I never got tired of her beauty in the past seven years. She had a great sense of dressing and the Khadi sandals and the blue pendant in a silver chain around her neck and matching silver ear danglers with blue stones just added to my eyes’ ecstasy. Only that familiar smile was missing.

She sat opposite to me and never gave me even a passing glance.

“What would you like to have?” I asked and she didn’t answer.

“Your all-time favourite Mocha?”

“Hm…”

I called for the attendee-boy and ordered for a Mocha.”

The silence between us grew and I began to get very restless. I was almost losing my temper but I knew it was not a good idea to get angry at her at this moment. After all, I’m the reason why she’s annoyed.

So after a few seconds of emptiness, I said: “I’m sorry Vidya. I really didn’t mean it to be like this. It just happened so. Won’t you forgive me?”

“Hm…”

I suddenly got down on my knees and produced the gift I had for her.

Now, she was taken aback at my gesture and she immediately became conscious of her surroundings. She looked around to see if anyone was watching us and caught a gang of girls and boys staring at us with a smile. She turned her glance at me and I couldn’t say whether she was still angry or happy. She didn’t move for a while and I had to thrust the watch box into her hands. She smiled a half-smile at me and I settled back in my chair.

The Mocha arrived and she started sipping at it in silence. She placed my gift by a side and never looked at it. It was disappointing.

“Did you like it?” I asked.

“Hm…”

“Now, you still don’t seem very happy. Do you know what trouble I took to find this watch for you and I bet you’d love it.”

“Hm…”

What “’Hm…’?” my voice said the annoyance I felt.

She kept her coffee mug on the table, took the watch out of the box and examined it for a few seconds and looked at me and smiled.

Oh my God! All my anger got washed away, just like that. Just one smile and that’s it…

“You liked it right?”

“Hm…”

I was too flattered by her smile that I never noticed she didn’t utter a word other than “Hm…” after that. I kept talking about how yesterday’s party went and how John started singing in his gory voice after he got drunk and we all made fun of him, and how Sidharth started blabbering about his girlfriend that he just broke up with and how we had a tough time pacifying him and all that.

We rode back, a happy couple, and I kissed her goodbye at the gates of her apartment. She smiled again.

Oh! Oh! That was the cherry topping of the whole day. After all, all that moments of painful waiting didn’t go waste!

I returned home the happiest person in the world and as soon as I reached my flat, I logged into Facebook and waited for her to come online. She came and…

I typed: “Oh Vidya! I love you.”

She replied: “Hm…”

And for whatever I said after that, all I got in response was “Hm…”

I never realized it then. I was too happy to be chatting up with her but once the whole excitement was over and when I lay stretched on my day reminiscing the moments I had with her that day, it struck me.

“Hm…”

I mean, how many meanings can that one sound possess?

Untapped (Poem)

Long stood I, a lonely metal tap,
All alone in an abandoned plot.
There’s no memory of where I was born.
Since the beginning, I stood here,
All alone, at a far end of the plot.

I’ve lost my sheen,
My skin has begun to peel,
There’re moss gathered at my foot,
A family of rats has found their home,
Somewhere below, deep below me.

I’ve seen time sweep by,
Playful, unmindful and at times naughty;
Like breeze in wilderness.
I’ve seen it pass by like a pilgrim-
Unnoticed, unperceived, unbound.

I’ve seen l’il plants taking roots, sprouting leaves,
Growing greener, sometimes yellow and green again,
And bearing fruits for the claim of kids,
Who lived beyond the boundaries.

Purpose.

I saw, I heard, I learned but,
I stood alone at a far end-
Unnoticed, untouched, unclaimed;
Long ravished by sun, rain and storm,
Long ravished by the senseless time.

Purpose, and what was mine?

Then came the one.
My head was turned,
My empty soul was stirred,
Felt myself filling up,
I suffocated, I coughed.

I realised I had forgotten to breath.
I opened my nose, felt the air.
Was it going in or out, I do not know.
Someone played a flute in me,
It felt funny; and I threw up…

Purpose, at last!