Love letters and a carelessly strewn heart

Dear T,

This is my first letter to you and long overdue. But I have been blind- in vision, in heart, in mind. I was looking over your snaps and I realized........ you aren't what I had thought of you all along.

I should have given you a chance sooner than this. I should have met you with an open heart. I hope you don't hold it against one whose heart has been broken by others of your kind. That is my only excuse for my prejudice.

But I was unwilling for I saw your imperfections first. For I was too overwhelmed to move on as soon as we met. I'm sorry that it took me years to find a place for you in myself.

And I have been too proud to admit it so. Can you blame me? For one who can claim to such splendour, grandeur and richness. Yes I am proud and one who belongs to all that I do should be as well.

Oh I still do not find your background as magnificent. I know you shall not speak my language. I know I shall look for what you won't let me have. That I shall look for my past in you. I shall even hope fervently for you to let my past seep into you. For a bit of you, to be like a bit of me. Let me sink my palms into that glorious mosaic of yours. Let it remind all those who pass by what is yours that you're also a little bit of mine.

If only you'd try to look further than what you have already. But I am grateful that you look deeper than your big brother. I do not like his aggressiveness or how he would want everyone, even me, to be more like him than my own self.

I know your inability to stand for yourself against the peacekeepers bothers me- very much so if you must know. I do hope you'd stop being silly about it and see them for what they are. Oh and do read their pamphlets including fine print before you argue with me about their merits. Yes I do know better.

And yet your lack of aggression is what makes me feel more warm than your brother could ever have done. I want you to know this so that you shake yourself from his shadow and find your own self. Stop trying to spite him dear- isn't that why you say you like the peacekeepers isn't it? But you know what they tried to do behind your back don't you? I won't say I told you.

It hurt me too afterall.

There is much that is left to be said. And felt. But I do not have the means or time to indulge in either for long.

Will you remember me once I am gone?I hope you await my return for I shall miss you so. I want you to envelope me in your warmth once again on my return. I chanced upon the realization that you've grown warmer towards me in these past few years. I have but a few months. Will you give yourself to me in all your glory?

I don't want to take away photo albums of you , of us. I want to leave in agony on our separation. Draw me back to yourself, make me return.The South American dictator, whom I do care for as deeply, must know that I want my children to know you just as she said. As their own.

But for now, let me go. Let me live what I have wanted. What you couldn't give me. Grant me this freedom to leave you.

But I promise you this- I shall return. And then again, accept me.

much love Me

p.s.: do laugh heartily for I would like you to join me.

Meat shop incident

Her ankle length close fit denim skirt swished around her sharply cutting through the air as she ran.

No! Don't ! Don't! , she screamed. No! Please, no!

She stopped the butcher's hand in midair. Hoping to wrestle the instrument with the evil glint out of her hands , away from the delicate strings.

The butcher pulled away her hands before she could wrench the knife.

I've told you this must be done!, she said with a stern glare.

But you can't! , she said as sticky fat hands grabbed her throat, pressing savagely at her adam's apple. Please! You know how much I need this! , as her voice rose an octave with desperation.

Do you really? That's what an unborn might say too till he's pulled out and breathes in without the cord. But he's forced to do it isn't he? Only then does he breathe on his own.

But how will I live? , as tears slid down her cheeks in rapid succession and leaped into nothingness off her sharply shaped chin.

You'll find the answers in due time child.What are you afraid of? You don't need a cord for bonds! she said and with an air of finality she butchered the strings.

She was on her own now.

Pollen for my hair, flowers you may keep

Dances and ice cream trucks
Breeze through dandelions
Bloodied cafeteria meals
Mardi gras presents

Flowing tresses
Lifting up their wings.
Living out
Their independence.

Ironed, noodled.
Double edged scissors.
Living out
Prisoned categories

But aren't we too old now, my friend?
We're too old.

Tears in my eyes
As a thorn pricks you
Anger in my voice
As another maims you

Prickly hugs
Shrugged away
For heavier loads
Are arriving anyway

Here, not one
but two baalish I say
We'll anchor
While you sway

Because we're old now, my friend
We're too old

Alone, they say
Those calm shoulders
Night befalls
Curtained black stars

Here let's not give up
We'll stay hidden
We're not alone
Such is our Dark Room

Whisper out to me
before the Denners seek
Mouth hushed comfort
Let creased palms meet.

Because we're not as old, my friend
Not as old

Poem

25 unlucky stairs

Clothed in black, we were brilliant.

Skinny, lithe, unlucky teen- truly.

Black shoes shining satin. Bony arms, muscles in the sprout. Midnight casually buttoned, loosely tucked in.

Thick fringes over pools of mischief. 25% of the sugar backboned staircase hadn't been climbed, not yet.

Our brilliance sparkled in the air. A snow globe- we were alone as backdrop dancers fell behind the curtains. The sparklers flew only under the winds of our feet.

Now stretched out in your soap sudded limestone tub, would you prefer to recline atop stapled notes of 100? It'll make a better display picture eh?

You asked me to the Towers. We were to twirl atop the city's highest. But the soap suds fell flat a while back. Jumping in won't freshen the stale water. The bubbles wouldn't be any clearer would they?
So I pulled plug. Get out of tub now Hotshot, the waters swirling already.

I couldn't make it to the Towers. The ballet shoes had to be packed right then.
Because you'd climbed the dreaded staircase.

Sweet corn whiffs

Hypnotic waves circle their magic. A song from a movie.
A sketch for a movie poster. Inspired by Women's Era illustrations of their stories perhaps.
Stories with happy endings. Safe. Certainity for those who flipped to them.

Hope was crackling in fire, roasting slowly as the fires licked it with a devilish grin. Bhutta. Sweet corn juice erupting from soft flesh. Sprinkled with salt and lemon. Hope wasn't delicious without them. Let the corns crackle a little longer.

What use have you for happiness for balance and stability the proud mother had said to her, she remembered of the book that lay next to her. A beautiful poisonous flower.

We can't work without bleeding. For it wasn't art if our blood didn't warm it.
But who wants to be an artist?

I'm just waiting for the corn on the cob to be done.

Twilight Indian

Twilight Indian and I had an odd friendship.

We connected briefly. Until Twilight's sadness overtook our conversational space.

You see- I knew Twilight mingled and liked it on some level. But all I felt around him was a large pool of mosaic aqua hues, a giant spherical tear on an expanse of smooth white marble.

It didn't frighten me. It overwhelmed me. Stopped my chattering mouth at his sight.

I was 'fraid he'd know I knew about what he hid. So we shared silences, some awkward, some uncomfortable.

I thought he'd found out that I knew by then.

But he only said I was cold and unfeeling and left the get-together shaking his head.

Ours was a brief friendship.

Karma-e-leon

I wanted him to take my name off his list. But I only smiled a greeting.

I didn't want to be lost in what he called 'friends'.

So general. So casual.

Like freshers during frosh or Orientation - "we're friends". And you've only p'haps met them 3 times since.

So insignificant.

I wanted him to not call me a friend. It didn't sound like he meant it anymore.

But then what do you say to people who've made it a habit to speak what they don't mean and flatter what is false and take pride in their charade?

I suppose it might be their one talent and I don't want to take that away from them. I just want them to keep it with them and not share it with me.

So here. A fake smile that I won't pass off as real.

So you know, I know. You're a liar.

Now take my name off that offensive list.

Karma Karma Karma Karma Karma Chameleon

You come and go

You come and go*

*Lyrics from the old song Karma Chameleon

Rigor mortis

We stood by a carnival.

Vibrant, crowded, colourful and noisy children.
A clown juggling bottles, a fire-breathing intimidating Kenyan man and green cotton candy. Techno music blaring out with the 'dare-devil' rides, ice- cream truck music by the food stalls.

We stood by the carnival aloof from it's festivities.

I was here to see Them. Some waved joyously. Some gave awkward first time smiles well meaning nonetheless. A few gave the cool glance.

The few who remained longer. Unfailingly silent. Nonchalant as their hopes hadn't been met. As they had grown tired of the pattern of the habit. Of people.

I looked away and walked towards the Balloon Man.
I purchased all his balloons and turned to face their direction. I looked at them and set free all the balloons.

P'haps someday they shall understand.