I miss talking to you
The friendly banter
Automobile rendezvous
And soapy suds
Printed blackmail
Of days gone by.
I miss being in touch
The lit up screens
Pictures exchanged in mirth
Promising never to tell.
Tomorrow will come
And tomorrow I’ll make myself go
Tomorrow you’ll be, oblivious.
Tomorrow…. I say – take thy time to dawn.
When life throws me a curveball
I’ve learnt how to dodge
I’ve picked myself up countless times
Before standing up for battle again
I’ve dismissed inner demons
Playing havoc inside my head
Replacing with determination
A will to go on
Seek better
Do better
To will inside me
The same passion with which I lived
The same depth with which I gave
A hundred rivers of life
Surging with a life force of current
Tender as a butterfly’s wing
Frivolous as a maiden in a spice shop
Beautiful. Gentle.Deep.
Me
Undisputed.Unchanged.
Unscathed.
Did we care? when Kumar lost his brother?
Running away from his home, that was being rained with pellets?
Or about Rani-amma’s lament?
When her 8 year old was snatched from her bosom.
We raced around town, in our air-conditioned Prados
Munching gleefully on doughnuts
When roti was soaked in water and consumed to survive.
We huddled under duvet covers – snug, with comfort
When Deepa lay down on the cold gravel
In her floral printed rayon dress
Hiding from demons who could take her dignity as she slumbered.
We watched the boys fight the enemy in the North-East
muttering ‘Only 8 dead? Not too bad ’ and continued to pour another glass of JD
A few days back we lit fireworks, to celebrate the end of a war
That none of us ever really fought.
Note : Bits and pieces I picked up. Most mirror opinions that I’ve read on mass media and heard discussed at many a forum. The LTTE were annihilated militarily, but as a nation recovering from a 3 decade long civil war, we have a long way to go.
Be quick my love
We haven’t got much time to spend
It’s a stolen moment love
Hush! Someone might hear.
A sickening notion it is,
This familiar dampness
A dank fungus that covers our very souls
A thriving parasite within.
The pleasure we exude, a touch, a caress
A lifeline.
Wracking each nerve ending.
Fingers digging into my soft flesh
Leaving red marks upon my skin
In silence. Complete silence.
We’ve become thieves my love
Stealing moments that were never ours to begin.
He scrambles over to the truck
A big truck with a funny picture on it.
He’d seen many of those come and go.
They’re generally good news
Stretching with all his might, he reaches for a pack of marie biscuits
His sister back at the tent has a bottle of water, to bathe her wounds
Those light blue crystal clear plastic bottles.
The type they used for carrying coconut oil back home from the shops
Perhaps they could use a bit to soak the biscuits?
He remembered his mother cooking for them at dusk
Hot roti over a flat iron pan – it was minimal but homemade
He missed home.
He also missed his mother.
