Have I forgotten to rhyme?

Have I forgotten to rhyme..

A shameless crime

Do I only write

For the twitter followers

Do I only vent

On the internet

Am I always conscious of the number of likes

Of the hits on my blog?

Have I forgotten

That audience called the little lines on my notepad

The cheer-leading adrenaline in my mind

The pen, the prose

The emotional overdose..

The secret lines

clandestine

the scribbles, the doodles..

the chipped corners of my crayons

the unopened box of acrylic paint

the unwritten rustic paper pad

bought from the hinterland of a small town ..

am I a slave to the laptop..

or a corporate shark..

with a lost cause

chasing the effigy of an effie

and hunting the lions..

the business class seat

am I a beast

no, I haven’t forgotten to rhyme..

I still have time..

Still own a fresh notebook..

A pencil that needs sharpening

A head that needs clearing

In a city that needs space

In a country that needs a cause

Fleeing men that need a chase

Trying hard not to think of

The mom with a multitude of faith

And the father who will never give up;

And toss in bed till he finds another way to support

A drowning ship

That on the surface

Looks gigantic and charming..

Not shivering in the cold

In the Bermuda triangle of hope..

Trying to find a way back home

Home, where is home.. ?

Home?

tell me something

Mom: Archu, tell me something...

Long pause....

Me: Yeah?

Mom: That's all. tell me something.

For Your Rowing Pleasure

The river runs wild. The river runs for miles. I stand at the edge. Contemplating. The life jackets are piled up. The helmets dumped. They pick their safety gear up as I stare at the river.

A patch of calm blue interspersed with foamy white, surrounded by green everywhere. I pick up my paddle and row. Row, says the guide. Row forward.

Feet locked. Fear felt. Heart on the sleeve. Craving for adventure. Invitation to the waves to come hit me. Hit me hard and break my bones. I will worry about drowning tomorrow. I will calculate the depth of the water some other day. For now, Come waves come.

And then they come. From everywhere. A splash here. Shrieks everywhere. Water gushing in. Adrenaline gushing out.

The river is mine. I am rowing. With the currents. Against the currents. Amidst. Within. Inside. Around.

Time Travel

I was not born with you, lying by my side
I have not seen you, untainted by sins
I have not been bewitched, by your innocence
Nor have I played hopscotch with you in the sun.
If only, I was born with you
Lying by my side…

Yet we met, entwined together
By two families, steeped in tradition
Yet we met, immersed in ignorance

I knew not who I was,
When I was made to know you
We grew together
I was I, you were you
And we slowly grew, I followed you
You carried me, and we walked together
I knew not who I was,
But I found me through you

It began with respect
Lest our memories forget
How you held my hand
At the crowded bus stand
Knowing that I had you, made me strong
I never felt alone, because you walked along

Your head arched on my shoulder
I trembled, you held on
Your silence was our song
After 11 years of marriage
On June 14th I knew
That I am in love, with my husband

We embraced each other’s folly
We rowed against the river
Until responsibility became a necessity
And I knew that there is no life
Without your voice seeking me
Every morning, even if for a cup of tea

Children bred, shared our bed
Saw them growing up
Grew up with them
Fought battles, saw truth
Tainted by wisdom
Wrinkle lines grew
Your receding hairline
My grey hair;
The fountain of youth
And castles in sand
Blurred with time

That last vision of you
Resting in your arm chair
Passing in peace
The curtains swaying in the wind
Are etched in my eternity
Stubborn against fading memory

The grandchildren have only heard stories
Of how Dadaji was so legendary
Sometimes, when I look in the mirror
I can feel your presence behind me;
And when the children ask me why
I powder my nose before I go to bed
And smear my wrinkled lips red;
I tell them, that if Dadaji comes in my dream
I want to look beautiful for him.



(based on the true story of my friend Sahar's grandmother)
Image credit: Salvodar Dali's Persistence of Memory 

Why we 'were'

The lego blocks are stacked
Haphazardly so
The little boy is proud
Of his little edifice
But he isn’t smiling…
The little girl is quiet
She puts her first block…
The children don’t know
How to build the blocks together.
The boy all of a sudden
Snatches the girl’s blocks
And the girl starts crying.
The boy is surprised
He thought they were finally playing together.
He looks at her tears
And starts playing alone again…
The teacher wonders:
When will my children
Learn to play with lego toys…

We are but two children
Playing with lego toys
Building our blocks
But not one on another
Your words the first block
Mine the second
But not one on another
But distanced apart
Like two kids in a classroom
Who haven’t learnt to play together
And whose teacher is yet to teach them
How to share their toys…

Lego blocks will become concrete buildings
Strong, unperturbed, silent in the storm
But with no window to each ether
Like twin towers that do not know
They have a twin.

Guesstions ?

“I beg you, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”
-Rainer Maria Rilke, 1903; in Letters to a Young Poet

haiku #3

Scrambled thoughts that tremble,
fade in the jungle,
of broad day light

haiku #2

words that kill
showered over a coward
who wanted to smile in work hours.