A Common Friend

The lone cloud whispers
is loneliness your friend, asks he.
Yes, I mutter, a friend she is
in dark nights, in solemn days
when my heart cries,
when the soul screams,
she holds me tight.

Smiles and sighs the cloud,
she is my friend too, says he.
For when world thinks
the vast sky is mine,
how could I want more,
an illusion that is.
My empty heart still longs
for a friend to say mine
and there she is,
holding me tight.

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The Butterfly

Today I saw a butterfly
Flower to flower it hopped
surely singing a tune with
not a care in the world.

Simple are its needs
the sunny skies
and flowers
are all it desires.

Closer it came to me, and
the tune I heard more clearly
a melody that said
Just be like me.

The Big City

The skyscrapers creep in
as I walk the alleys,
Are the friends or foes?
Is the big city about to
swallow, devour me?
Like it got to my dreams?

With a bag full of hopes
I had arrived, wow, said I
This is where I will win.
Now, everything seems lost
as the scrapers creep in.

The Crimson Skies

The skies are crimson today
the shade of my heart.
The rivers cry, the mountains wail,
mourning what I cannot.

Afternoons of my Childhood

On many a sunny afternoon at Grandma’s home, with cousins, partners in crime, I remember tiptoeing to the warm mango pickle jars full of oil shimmering in the lazy sun. As grandma slept, we would steal some and scamper away to our hiding place – a run down shed – to savour the heady concoction of tangy mango infused with spices-an explosion of flavour made magical by Grandma’s hands.

And then some adult would discover us and hurdle us all to bed for a nap. Reluctantly, we would succumb to sleep, grandpa’s hand on our brow. When the siesta would be over, in the sunny verandah we all will sit, sucking juicy mangoes, talking about nothing,talking about everything.

Amidst the of chatter of cousins, uncles and aunties, peace would reign, in the heart,not in the head. For the head would be full of plans for the rest of the afternoon. Afternoons of my childhood were long, and full and never dull.

Now, the afternoons are empty. But the taste of Grandma’s pickle still lingers, the hand on my head still keeps me warm and the long gone chatter still shatters the silence in my soul.

The Temptress

Sometimes, during the day, the storm inside of her threatens to break loose the demons crouching in the abyss of her heart. She swallows the fire raging within, locks it in with lips as red as the blood surging inside.

And then she wears a smile.

A serene smile that fools the world.

As demure as a goddess. As powerful as one.

But the devil lurks within. Ready to tear through the facade.

She holds him back as she goes through the motions of the day.

At last it is night. As darkness lulls the world to sleep, she lets him rise. Wiping off the red lips and the smile.

A knife in hand, she sets off, to roam the dark alleys, to look for something, someone to satiate its thirst.

Aphrodite

Of musk and wood and hope
you smelled, the whiff of you
took my breath away.
You stood there without a care,
And didn’t give me a second glance.
Adonis unaware of his Aphrodite.

The unkind years have failed
to drown the longing,
Sometimes, when serenity
takes over, I look
at the orange blob setting,
and hear the trees rustling,
I get a whiff of you,
of musk and wood
and hope.
As Aphrodite still waits
for her Adonis
to come back to life.