Maternal

I want to see you
Smile again as I spoke hearts and nothings.
Caress me with your cherubic hands.

Every malady will pass
After I've laid on your lap.

I want to see you
Giggle and sway without pain.
Bless me with your authentic being.

Every mis-event was celebrated
When you have listened.

I want to see you
Drop me words of ceaseless love and adorations.
A hug broke my heart with happiness.

Everything I have seems given to me by you
For I'm the mould that you made.

I want to see you
Tell me all the different things people say.
Playfully lean and kiss you while you spoke.

All the words you have said
Churn eternally in me, if only I could hear them again.

I want to see you, amma.
Again.

The Lax of Stasis

Days of undulating amorous advances,

Years of an impish peppy fervour,

Lengths of night of vigil resistance,

Lear in the tones of unsaid lust.

Cracks in the shine of a familiar reflection,

Grubs of satiating a hungry ego,

Spurts of loathing a selfless stature,

Bounce of a petty shapeless failure.

Cries of an angry bitter doodle,

Rise of a phantom's dark hackle,

Drowns of a hefty hulk in peril,

Craning necks of eager elves.

Tied up in the swirl of a familiar whirl,

Fine with all the belches of evil,

Thine has the part, part of the whole,

Twirls the hair in nonchalant wonder.

Ends the age of partial slumber,

Mend the wall as the fort of mettle,

Shows the tenor of pap and pliancy,

Go on, must the show.

Monday is My Day!

With the tune-in radio playing "Off the Wall" by MJ, I brew a fresh cuppa. Whether it was the weather calling it quits with the sun at the arrival of clouds in all its fluffiness and deception or the smell of beany goodness - the wind across the balcony seemed pleasingly enchanting to a summer display of cloudy playfulness. Pale and white, the clouds hardly made a promise of downpour.

With hardly a docket in mind, I wistfully hold a kindle edition of "The Edible Woman". Sunday is a bitch when it passes by. My pensive thoughts screeched to a halt with the turning around of my thoughts. If life was a perpetual vacation, with a lack of superintendence - would I have this love-hate relationship with a Sunday (a premature monday blue in its ways)? My work week is dearer to me than is a momentary fling with leisure. I crossly disagree with all the nature boys - nothing pushes you closer to nature than having yourself drowned in urbanly devoir.

What is a vacation without first working up a voracity for it? Monday is my day, in all my ebullience.

Rendezvous with an Empty Couch

As I sat there waiting in a cafe, for my drink - and for my predictably time-tardy friend, I was preoccupied tracing the patterns on the lamps at one moment. The other moment, I slide into a rather uncalled for spell of introspection triggered by the ambient quiet. At the table in front of mine, sat a journo-looking lady chatting up, in muffled voices with a rather scruffy looking old man in his khakis. One look and I decided, with those slip-ons and cotton capris he must have travelled fairly well, and maybe published a book or two. As I sat there measuring the couple up, I wondered if really these visual perceptions of people we all tend to have, were ever really true.

We size up a coffee by the cup, choose our linen by touch. Would a linear approach as this hold for measuring up a far more dynamic aspect of human nature? Can you really fall in love at first sight, can you applaud a character by it's flamboyance, can you sum up a person's life with an online profile? The multitudes of a single person's character, do they not transcend the few moments of scrutiny that most people have the time for?

Judgement is an element of human intellect. As long as we use it, we are going to let it over-compensate for the other elements of our intellect - say our ability to see things afresh, turn a new leaf, start off on a clean slate.

Just as I decided not to let my good judgement supercede my vision of things untainted, much to my relief, my spell of epiphany was broken, with my friend finally joining me at the table. As the evening progressed, I noticed how we all are led by our notion of how things should be. Were we ever to let go off these pre-conceived notions, our days would have a fresher start.

If one was lucky enough, maybe one would wake up a new person everyday- missing out lesser of all the colors of irony and paradoxes that life has to offer us!

Flounder

Why art thou in epiphany

if nothing the matter.

Why art thou in duality

if indeed your moulds were monolithe.

Why the limelight lust

if you loathe the transient.

Why the fixation on virtue

despite witnessing the grey.

Why the crown of glory

if in fact your ways were dispassionate.

Why the snub of thoughts

when art your niche an extempore.

Why the fondled dreams

whilst your deep slumber.

Why the anchored stance

when art your thoughts a meanderer.

Why the preemptive panic

when ought the knowing to be.

Why the safe havens

whilst your spirits take flight.

Why the hope for oneself

when selfless thou art to be.

Why the bondage of time

when timeless your visons be.

Why the glaze of silence

where peals of laughter ought to be.

Why the fear of unknown

where the faith in your leaps be.

Why the peek into the mirror

when clear the rivers flee.

Why the slurry of actions

where intent ought to be.