Micro mini verses

I hear a commotion beneath my skin
It lays my frantic attempts to hide, threadbare.
A wail, a scream of rotting memories
Coupled with regret of an unlived future
I see it all form a zygote in my protruding belly
I tighten my skirt, wear duppatas
Yet, my guilt rises over my skirt
And as I was struggling over honour and choice
I found myself to be in a dream.
...

I face a mirror : plain and morbid
I powder my swollen cheeks
Paint my sore eyes
And yet, the mirror fails to show me my bruises
It mocks me in disdain, I hear it's muffled breath crawling
"there ain't a wound to your pain"
...

I feel the tightening weight of ghungroo in my ankle
"Nach, jhum k nach ", I hear the scream
My legs refuse to move, my heart adamant tries
In a darkened streets of despair, I lose myself to fate.
...

I sip my morning tea
A foul gush of bile makes me twitch my face
Was it the cheap wine from last night
Or the stink of dark memories. I wonder!
...

Fatima , our helper brought home biryani,
It found its place in a dustbin in my brahmin household.
She eagerly waited by the doorstep for my maa to pack her some modaks
Her child didn't knew yet hypocrisy's recipe!

Comments

Life on wheels

The one thing that I always had dreamt of as a kid was to have a caravan that could take me to places.I always wanted a gypsy styled life. The idea itself mesmerized me to the extent that I kept dreaming of it the whole time not even realising how it was time which kept on rolling but I stood exactly at the same place, my dreams could never concretize. What was laughed at as a childish game was so important to me that I keep doodling it in my memory till now. I see a meadow, lush green with those small daffodils growing by, perhaps Wordsworth's daffodils! Then I see a girl, her wild unkept hair sailing in the gentle breeze. She has a smile which speaks of solitude, and her heart , well that's swelling with happiness as he looks at her caravan, after all she finally has a life on wheels. What more could she wish for, what more can anyone wish for? It's not always that we get to live a life we conceived as a kid, life keeps on deciding our track. From what we liked doing

Grandpa and me

I am the eldest grandchild in my family. And being the eldest, I was pampered a great deal by my grandparents. My aama (grandma) and baa (grandpa) always shielded me from every possible dangers including thrashings from maa. I have pleasant memories of evening story sessions as grandpa took me to bed. Aama would oil my hair and tie pony tails which resembled coconut trees that I used to draw. Sundays meant elaborate sessions with my grandparents. Baa would trim my nails, aama would fondle me to sleep. Their bed room was literally my playing room, my story book reading room, my painting room and what not. With time, as I grew, I got a room of my own but their room was still my favourite one. When I left for hostel, I missed them more than I missed my parents. It was in the year 2014, I had come home after my exams when aama received a pressure stroke . She couldn't make it. I had spent a month as he lay sick on her bed. All of a sudden, there was a role reversal. I could

"My love is enough for both of us"

"My love is enough for both of us", she often felt those words ring in her heart. She finally had understood that life wouldn't always follow her designs. That people are meant to leave but their memories won't. She often had wondered how someone could love her to such an extent when that person had always known that she wouldn't reciprocate those feelings. How could a person stand by her when she always acted as a fleeting shadow. She never had given hope for she knew the pain of dejection but he kept hoping like a hopeless vagabond. How she wished that he would some day hate her enough to let go. She devised ways to free him from this web, she acted cold, turned indifferent, did everything he detested and she finally saw some changes. It was a relief, he finally seemed to take hold of his life. She could see him grow responsible. He finally it seemed was learning to love himself. Phone calls died, meetings subsided, they become known strangers. All this while

Swings of a rhapsodic mind

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