A Wandering Thought

I must, must, must know
Who is the author
Of my life

To tell him to
Reverse, if he could,
The fickle hands of time

Erase a few
Lines here and there
And twist a bend
And take a turn
To set the tale right

I must, must, must know
Who is the author
Of my life

Freedom

Bottom of Form

This is a short story in verse about a woman who suffered domestic violence for her daughter's sake year after year. But she stood strong in the face of adversities in the hope of freedom which she was endowed with after her daughter was married away. In the autumn of her life, she asked for a divorce from her husband.

______________________________________________________________

As the bonhomie of celebration
Subdued to a dull echo
It was time to take a deep breath
Sit and ruminate
On the past
Mending the broken heart
Over joyous whoops
Of regained strength
The tortuous days of
Bleeding by the prick of deadly thorns
Were over at last….

Days of soft caring fingers pasting a band-aid
With everlasting tenderness
She recalled with a wan smile on her lips

Two drops of tears
Welled up the brim of
The delicate rims
Frilled with dew shy lashes

She remembered the gashes
Too, the venomous slashes
Which love lashed on her
The parched throat
The choked heart
The thirsty eyes longing for
A lone dream
A single word
Glass thin
“Are you fine?”

No! Amidst the pall of gloom
Her sobs echoed with weird vibrations
Till there was nothing left
But an empty cocoon
A thin membrane
Stretched brutally across brittle bones
Tearing tissues, blocked arteries, seething veins

But she carried on…
Tied by an oath
For light years

Till the bells chimed
It was time to say good bye
To her dear heart
To those tender fingers
Which had wiped her tears
For three decades
Strangled by wedlock

Now as she felt the chains melt away
She rejoiced freedom
Today when moon shines in her hair
And sun has left its tan on her skin
She looks up to the sky and sings
“I am free”
Today she has signed on the dotted lines
And sealed the estrangement
Permanently with ink
And earned her breath back
Today she is free…

 

 

A Rainy Day - Haiku

Clouds hang low

Rain swept roads

My little note book open

What If....?

He said, "Enough of this hullo-hi
on the passive page.
Let's meet now.
The Metro or McD?"

She silenced her thoughts
As the past came
haunting back
Another evening
Another rendezvous
Greedy eyes
Lustful smile
Yawning gaps
Between yellow teeth
And that slimy touch
Behind her back
Which made her jump
Sending a shiver down
Her shaking legs....
The bald patch
The sparse, gray mop
Had spoken enough
As she cringed with disgust
"Lets meet again"
He had said
She had inhaled a deep breath
Before dashing blindly
Towards the passing bus...

Today she shut off the
Plasma view
With equal haste
In apprehension and dread
What if history repeated itself?
What if....

A Lost Purse

I rewrote this poem, don't know why....

The original is here:

http://mindspeak-vanderloost.blogspot.in/2010/09/i-think-i-have-lost-my-purse.html

While the rewritten one is below:

I crept slowly behind him
He sat at his study desk
By the big window
Deep in musing
A few pages askew on the table
A few lying supine on the ground
The sun streamed in
Like a golden flood
Washing the room
In splendour abound

I tiptoed into the middle of the room
Picked up the pages
Scented with his thoughts
Missives of love
I was amused
If he found me in the room
How would he react?
The recipient of the lovelorn lore
Standing just right behind!

But what was this?
As my eyes fell on the name
My dreams shattered
Against jagged rocks
As I turned the fish bowl crashed
On the ground
He turned back with a start
Aghast!
He looked at me for a few moments
And time stopped
The way it had done two years back

A sea kissed shore
A sprinkle of waves
We had waltzed wetting the helms
Of our clothes
My stilettos had given in
Doing a few quickened steps
The broken pair still lies somewhere
Wrapped in a foil of silver nest

I did not brush away the tears
Wetting my cheeks
I left a pile of quests unsought
My purse reclining on the sofa
I consider as property lost
Neither did I share my womb’s
Secret accredited to his Midas touch!
I just left……. without looking back
Because there was nothing more to say
The name on those letters, you see
Belonged to my best friend, Jesse!

Hope!

On this wet night
With the moon hanging low
And the stars hidden behind
Billowing dark clouds
Hope seems like a stranger
Knocking on the doors
Of a wretched warrior
Uninvited....

Eager I am to unmask the veil
And see for myself his scarred face
In the light of a flickering candle
Protected from the ghoulish winds
Just by the crook of a shaking palm

Let him come in weak and debilitated
Staggering on injured legs
Dripping blood
Oozing pain
At least he is not lost completely
In the labyrinth of life

He has sought his path
Into my heart
By a stroke of luck
His fluid entry
Is my light

Let him draw close
And embrace me tight
I have waited light years
For this torrid hug

At last...

A Joyful Little Bird



Autumn burns within me
As I feel the spring in his walk
A few gray strands mock me
The fine lines around my eyes
Smile benevolently  in return
The wrinkles on my hands
Indicate the years on this planet  Earth
I groan softly as I move
From one posture to the other
The pain in the joints poke me
In search of a comical interlude

Then there are many more

Hints covert as well as overt

Pointing a finger at the approaching winter

But I laugh in sheer pleasure of living

Life is just not sizzling in summer

Impaled in winter

Joyous spring and arduous autumn









 

 

 

Life is living beyond the seasons

Tells me a little bird

Every morn as I wake up to another day
She rocks the tender twigs of my plants
And shrieks in abundant glee
Isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it?