This is a futile attempt to remind you that I am still around, just in case you forgot unless you have stopped visiting altogether :) And as always, this is my dark imagination at work!!


Stumbling in deep agony
Was a fracture in my being
The harbinger of pain…
Of confinement and hopelessness

It gets deeper by the day
On its journey to break my spirit
Till off my mental axis will it
Fade memories of who I used to be

It shifts the structure of existence
Not a step more, it tears the sutures
Not a step back, for with a reverse
Progress was never the end

This moment is then all that is left
To suspend..
To hang onto…
To be…

For when the bones appear, and flesh decays
With a scalpel’s care
And bitter snow befalls the lovely summer
Shallowing breaths will follow

Until the dawn of freedom in entirety
When our little spirits will
Waft through the Himalayan Mountains
Into the laps of heaven…
The pressure in my head was mounting and if it were a cooker, it would start whistling anytime soon, attributable to both personal and professional issues added by other insignificant birds pecking on my brain. So, I had the strangest moment one day last week. I ran home and demanded to have a discussion with my dad. For a split second, his expression was somewhat quizzical which if translated into words could be something like “O.M.G. What in the heavens name!”.
You see there are two classes of proud people – ones whose pride is gained through achievements and the others, like me, are born obnoxiously proud with no reason whatsoever. In my entire life so far, I have never demanded a discussion with my dad. I never felt the need to. I made my own decisions, learnt my own lessons and sought my own directions, and informed my dad about them.

When words stop, music speaks. And that is how it is for me when I head home after every working day. Every now and then, I take a breather and replay the clip of my daily life and this is what I see.

The mornings are a series of rush hours – getting up about half an hour later than the set alarm, breakfast for my daughter and her pet.. the hot steaming cup of morning tea scalding my throat as I gulp it down and then snaking through the traffic on the expressway to the dusty town until we reach her school almost five to ten minutes late always as I creep through the sparse crowd to drop her bag while my girl meekly joins the last of her assembly line with slumped shoulders. The pairs of eyes of the teachers, I am pretty sure, meets the embarrassed, invisible, blinking eyes around my head.

**The Fence is symbolic in my life for many reasons and in many ways and found its way to be a muse this lunch break. I love writing poems (although the frequency at which I pen them undermines that feeling) for the reason that poems are subject to individual interpretation and none need ever know the source from where they sprang forth and therefore, one may never feel subjected to exposure and depletion. The other two poems were written years ago but I am re-posting here for your reading pleasure, that is, considering you are the one of those rare breeds who can endure attempts at raw poetry until its last word.

The Fence
Perhaps built to separate
The fence..
Unheeded its purpose
For the fence that stands still
Bore silent witness
To trials and tribulations
And the delights..
Of innocence and wonder
And growth
Of two young souls