Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Blood and wine

I woke up the way I do
-everyday,
The sun was red in the eastern front
And I remembered Red is the colour of blood and wine...
And Red reminds me of the roses
Dying every day
In your garden, in mine;
In the florist's shop round the corner...
Opening eyes, I found
Redness of wrath strewn all over,
In shapes weird and woobly,
In forms liquid and sticky
Like rivulets of wine ...

'Apocalypse is here'
Someone cried;
'doomsday befell us'
Shouted another;
I only saw roses on the graves!

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Cobalt Moon

O Cobalt moon,
Colour me in your hue,
Colour me the way you are,
So happy and true;

O Cobalt moon,
Teaser of the night,
Colour me the way you are,
So shiny and bright;

Colour me blue,
Colour me white,
Colour me to live,
Colour me like bride;

Colour me silver,
Colour me pale,
Colour me to live through
All storms and the gale;

O Cobalt moon,
Why can't I borrow?
Your paintbrush and palette,
And colours of sorrow?

Friday, October 2, 2009

monideepa unlimited

Standing under her pink dotted umbrella,
She stood like a paper cut- out,
Singular existence...

She was thinking hard
For her eyes were half closed;
Lost in deep thought, perhaps,
As idiot me stood
Like an orphan
Under her pink umbrella same;

Did she mumble?
Did her eyelids bat?
I tried hard to fathom her,
Using my teethless groping mind...
And there she stood
As if struck by some serpent of unholiest kind;

Rain drops fell
Following a zigzag pattern
Down the cloth fringes,
Like molten lead-
Pure and Shiny drops...

A little distance away
Down the busy street,
Cars honk and run
Weaving curious simmering patterns of light
On wet, slippery road

And I thought,
God must be the pyrotech...

'You're crazy!'
She said finally,
Her eyebrows twisted upwards
Corrugated...
And hustled across the wet road
To meet a creature -
Better than me perhaps,
From every count;

I watched
Her going back
Stilettos black, brown purse, pink umbrella,
Swinging hip crossing the road
Abandoning an idiot by the heap;

I waited
Like the ancient sage in his cave,
High up in the hills,
Covered by ashes and soot
And snow-capped silence.

The State Funeral

At least they have given her The State Funeral With tongue cut,  She could not have spoken for  The rare award,  The police have done the th...