Category Archives: Well Versed

Witness

Not too long ago my friend and I

We sat like Humpty Dumpties on the stile

We watched the smoke-crossed cars go by

Sucking on a lollipop all the while.

 

When he had sucked  and so had I

We watched the man across wave and say hi

We saw his face stretch into a smile

Sucking on the lollipop all the while.

 

Soon the friend left, the lolly half-done

I peeked to see if the man wanted to share the fun

I watched the man across wave and say hi

And jump from the thirteenth to end his life

 

Who am I kidding, it was far too long ago

To remember if he smiled as he let himself go.

 

 

Daily Prompt: Lollipop

 

 

 

 

the photo

IMG_20170615_122509

Here I am, laughing boisterously-

Nobody misses the flying hair,

the static twinkle in the eye,

the fingers wrapped around my waist,

a sliver of skin where the dress slips off my shoulder.

A moment captured for posterity.

Those who see, think-

“At the still point, there the dance is.”

Only,

The hair is unwashed, the dress is burlap,

the fingers are leaving a mark,

the twinkle is the reflection of artifice.

I am laughing at myself.

 

Closure.

How does one get closure from a love that never was?

Nothing to remember but forget-

one cannot.

How does one move on from a love that was lived

in the head and the eyes and the twitch of the lips?

 

How does one get closure from what was never told

but in sighs only the quietest heart

could hear as lovelorn moans

How does one move on from a past too scared to be

but in dreams of a spirit caged in reality?

 

Shivering nights in the naked breeze

Stars together that smirk and tease

But I

I see the dreamcatcher.

Glossophobia

​May I write to you?

My core processors from terabyte speed

swivel and ruggedly power down

(Like the brazen biker without a silencer

jerking to a stop at the junction)

when I try speaking to you-

Wile E. Coyote out of cliff to run.

May I write to you?

I might forget the avalanche of words

that break off into unfinished textese

(Like the mike at the leader’s speech

betrayed by the blackout)

when I try speaking to you-

Homer Simpson run out of d’oh.

May I write to you?

I’d just like the time you see

To google bits of poetry

Appease your grammar nazi

And stalk your facebook ID.

Then perhaps I shall edge in a word or two

And invite you to a mute date

At the cinema.

Rediscovery

The evening passes in tense awkwardness

of politesse and thank-yous inching around

soul aches and knee touches seemingly oblivious

Until the charade comes to an end

and a simple “Drive?” hangs in the air.

We loop around roads I told apart

Once

by the aging temple, the Gulmohar

in full bloom, the coy stationery

huddled in between, but no more.

They go by, hurt,defiant at being

forgotten. I memorize instead

You.

Your checkered shirt stretched taut across

shoulders that promise respite

The ache to trace a finger across that back

translating to a pathetic, wandering

finger on the strap slung across

and when you shake your head trying to understand

if what boils in you wells up in me

I count the small number of grey hair,

Register the exact tint of your Ray-Ban,

trace the shape of your teeth through the boyish smile-

Only stopping when

I look at the soul shining out of the reflection

of your gaze in the rear-view

And gasp

Terrified to see the same fire in mine

And with an effort that might have

Ousted Atlas’s, wrench eyes away.

I see

the temple, the Gulmohar, the stationery-

they’re all ablaze.

Where did the words go?

lurking away in some corner

of lips parched with the immobility of silence

and trapped

in the slur of the tongue drunk on sleep,

teetering on the edge of memories

that threaten to force you off the brink

of existence.

Happy memories, not sad

for sadness has a beauty about it when alive

but happiness

once lost, takes away the words-

meanders in the dark

And anchors them in the land of the lost.

Kafka stole my poetry

Kafka stole my poetry

The summer last that is.

When light soul liquified

Weighed down- seeped cold.

All my visitors – driven away

From home now nest of vermin

When Kafka stole all my words

The summer last that is.

Gauzed vision has replaced

Clear blue skies with smite

Carefree- that forgotten word

Gives home to vengeful spite

That dreaded moment- realization-

Nothing but a speck of dirt-

In other specks much dirtier

And masks of mirthless mirth

The summer last was when I knew

That Kafka stole my poetry.

But was it ever mine?