eating away at the guts----Totally Optional Prompts

lodging in the crevices
deeply embedded
multiplied by leaps and bounds
virus engulfs the body-
thriving by depleting
it of its strength.
when weakness hits hard,
it is already too late
to get rid of the parasites
which take their own sweet time
to eat away at the guts
before attacking another victim.

"that's their job, I suppose"

Update(May 2, 2008): I have not been attacked by any virus. I am HALE and Hearty!

Happy to be back---3WW

After 12 days of being without net from my new home, I finally got my broadband working! I had started to feel empty. It sure feels good. And I am gonna be busy visiting you all in the next few days. Thanks to you all for sticking by me! I did not feel ignored, opening my blog(s), as I looked at the comments to my posts which I had scheduled whenever I got time and net access! Wish me luck for getting my posts right into the highway!

ctrl/alt/del-----Read Write Poem/Monday Poetry Train

And come ride the Poetry Train

I key in and expunge
words that gush unreservedly
from my earnest reflections

too revealing in their
raw passion
and honest fervor

sliding down my mind
decoded into letters
but exterminated by backspace.

full bloom----One Single Impression

was it not yesterday
you were but a wee girl
with curls tumbling down your ears
your jumping up and down
gave us a glimpse of your short plump legs
encircled by frilly frocks

now with your svelte figure
wavy hair falling down your back
your body curved to perfection
are you not defining the term flowering?

survival of the planet-----Sunday Scribblings

with mountains conquered,
rivers tamed,
forests cut down
earth mined to the core
future of the planet seems bleak
is it really?
are we wholly responsible?
everything that exists has to have an end
maybe we are hastening it
nevertheless, end of the planet is inevitable
irrespective of our misdemeanors
tenacity of the human mind
will not let go of our survival instinct

"no matter what"

intermission-------Writers Island

sweet smell of hibiscus tickles the nose
dark green leaves softly sway in the air
moist earth cools the feet
I watch the gentle night slowly unfolding
taking the light away from the surroundings
I absorb it, my irises growing wide
wondering at the sheer beauty of it all
when sudden rains pelt on my head, jolting me
I find their intrusion downright outrageous

sweetly soured-----Read Write Poem/Monday Poetry Train

And come ride the Poetry Train...

melting chocolate sinfully tastes like heaven
does it matter, I can't taste proper food
attainment of nirvana was never far behind
my teeth are broken and brittle
is it not bliss like spoonful of natural honey?
my stomach is upset, mostly bloated
mouth waters by those mere thoughts
tongue always craves for something sweet
butterscotch coated with caramelised sugar
stuck in the crevices, creating cavities
still crunchy taste makes me swoon

kaleidoscope----One Single Impression

dark foreboding clouds
give rise to goosebumps
flashing lights behind the eyes
chills the heart
blackness surrounds the mind
shaking up the very grounds
under our feet

"is it not strange we see a kaleidoscope
when we know fear has no colour?"

misting marshland-----Sunday Scribblings

your voice, unheard,
yet touches me
cooling my soul
like mist in marshland
songs of your spirit
stain the lakes of my heart

sun will turn to black hole
the mysteries of the universe
might get lost, I and you
will disintegrate into particles
moving randomly
hurtling through space

"when everything has to end
why can't I keep my mind composed?"

sleeping beauty----Writers Island

cursed she was by the evil witch
and was made to sleep
for no one knew how many years.
her parents, the king and the queen-
although happy she was not dead,
mourned their daughter's fate.
year by year, they slowly retreated
to other parts of their lives, being
with other children. she was forgotten
sleeping in that bed of hers, weeds growing
around her palace, thick trees covering it-
silence of nights prolonged her agony.

when a lonesome prince lost his way,
finding the palace was his oasis.
slowly climbing the stairs, he saw
the sleeping princess lost to world
when his lips touched hers,
he tasted the great bliss of death.
triumph of the princess was blood
of those who kissed her luscious lips.
under her bed were skeletons
of doomed men lost over the years.

common man----Sonnet

looking out of my bedroom window, I see
that man toiling; sweating in dust and heat-
pausing for a moment, stands on his feet
then sits down on the floor, wishing to flee
deep in thoughts, he stares at the church door;
longing to escape the sun and retreat
into its calmness, and out of the street-
wishing to be one with God and soar.

his employer yells at him, he comes back
out of his reverie and works yet again.
practical world has intruded for now
ah, well he has to get back on track-
setting aside his thoughts, becomes sane-
with renewed vigour, he toils and how.

green-eyed monster

invisible to naked eyes
virus of jealousy crawls,
snaking into touching distance.
stage has been set up
for the next kill as destruction
has taken away the thrill.
chasing gives a kick
when there is nothing else to pick.

raging green-eyed monster
within the mind of the adversary-
is the best reward one can get

The Great Move

Since I made tuesdays as days of personal musings, they seem to come soon enough. And all I seem to talk about is my impending move to our new house, which should happen in a few days. It should have happened yesterday but had to be postponed for some reason. Once one is set to go, the delay only prolongs the agony of leaving familiar grounds behind. It's not that we are leaving Delhi.

We are making a move from East Delhi to West Delhi, which are situated diagonally opposite to each other. West Delhi is better connected to other important parts of Delhi. in the way of metro rail. However, East Delhi has better infrastructure. We don't have power outages or water woes in East Delhi but in West Delhi, both are rampant. The good thing is, the apartment we are moving into, has power backup along with adequate water storage tanks.

Most important of all, I will have to apply for a transfer to a school near my new residence. As I work for the Govt, those state owned schools are situated all over Delhi, that should not a problem. However, one never knows. Transfer is my one main worry. I have been posted in this school for almost 11 years.

A few of the times, I feel so lethargic in my mind and body, kind of hating to break the link I have formed with all, neighbours, friends, fellow teachers, vegetable venders, grocers and shopkeepers. And many others. Is it not funny? We human beings put roots everywhere.

Next Tuesday, hopefully I will have something to write about my new house, if I have net access.

ignomorous ignominy-----Read Write Poem/Monday poetry train

And come ride the Poetry Train...

pleasure was all yours, pain is now mine;
you walked away, leaving me to die.
is it my fault, I came into being?
I didn’t have a choice, but you had one.
why was I than abandoned by you?

if this ignominy is existence for me-
death I would have welcomed
wholeheartedly, within your womb

"no one has ever given me a voice"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I wrote this in Sept 2006 after reading about a newly born girl who was left in the bin to die. She survived but not everyone is so lucky. In India, this happens with children who are born out of wedlock. I edited it a bit and reposted it here. Nothing has changed in this part of the world in the 18 months when I first wrote this.

pit of your spit-----One Single Impression

dipped in spit of your self-loathing
you idolise it, almost worshipping it
that's what gives you a high, which
drugs never did. you draw attention
to yourself comparable to a child's,
who cannot know better, but what's
your excuse. your tore your own soul-
abused your inner wisdom. wearing
cynicism up your sleeve, you pretend
ignorance. one of these days, it will
fall apart, you will go back to old ways,
that sane voice lost forever. till then
we too dip in your glory of self-pity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is a rant in the form of a verse. Although, when I offered glory as a prompt, I did not intend for it to be written like this. Not by me, not by anyone else. Nonetheless, this goes out for all those who are self-obssessed. Loathing or pitying oneself is a form of self-obssession. That cynicism they assume, is all a hog-wash and crumbles under its own weight.

children's day out---Writers Island

bottles filled with ice-cold water
hampers packed with fresh food
towels, sheets all neatly folded
waiting to be picked up, raring
to go, for that much needed picnic
in the ruined forts in theoutskirts
of the city, to escape for only a day
from the hustle-bustle of daily life

kids were boisterous, filled with joy
each one was up well before dawn
happy to carry all the stuff to the car
squabbling for that all favorite seat
she locked up the doors, soon on the way
despite the noise, listening to songs.
rare moments indeed to have a whole day

with herself, spending time with kids
work has this habit of percolating
everywhere, unwanted, unavoidable
but for today, she left it behind, vowing
to give all to the children and herslf
with no worries of daily drugery
in the morning, no was was up and about
driving was hassle-free, in the empty roads

humming to herself, she kept to her lane
not anticipating the crash of metals,
screams before calm. out of nowhere
a truck without headlights had hit head-on
leaving broken limbs, scattered hampers
souls already on a flight to the unknown.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Most accidents in India happen in the early mornings and trucks are involved. This somewhat depicts one such incident.

shapely ghosts---Sunday Scribblings

tumbling one after the other,
the ghosts are spiralling out of control.
although they take various shapes,
I see mostly octahedrons-
maybe the mathematician in me
cannot escape geometry.
cooling blood heats up in no time
as concrete shapes takes the place of everchanging ones.
what is there to fear?
the self, I think, but only for a moment.
my toes curl, and uncurl
as I let go of the geometrical ghosts-
out of sight, sending them hurtling to far away land.

"turning my back, I go back to cooking, slicing onions"

slithering snakes

strange hissing sounds
sure, had brought me here this night
sultry atmospheric feelings in my heart

as if tearing through barbed wire
my skin twitched
In every pore and every nerve.

withholding to the carved door
I strived for sanity even though
I was spinning- hard and fast-

snakes slithered at my feet
coming in hoards
from their opened underground caves

fearing the darkness, I fell on the doorstep
rolling into fetal position,
willing the reptiles away

"when daylight broke, I was entwined
by ropes of my own thoughts"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lines have been taken from Paisley, Mariacristina, Lirone, Writerwoman, and Lissa for Patchwork Poetry!

slow demise

seems like yesterday, I was in that theatre
with creaky chairs, broken springs and all
fan whirring out the dialogues on the screen
buxom heroine dancing around trees
the pudgy hero looking nonchalently

for all predictable story lines, it was still
a pleasure to visit the olden days films
much planned ahead, funny that it feels
now when we have multiplexes, reducing
the screen, taking away half the fun of outing

"I still remember how a friend got stuck on
chewing gum left on the seat by a prankster"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hindi movies are full of songs and dances..

signs of truth

Don't we all have such moments when we stare at nothing, our thoughts jumbled? We search for signs in our minds eye to give us a clue. To proceed in which direction. When I do not know what to do, I open up any book and try to decipher what to do. Maybe it is weird. Maybe not. Most of the times, I do get answers. Certain images form which apparantly do not have any meaning, overlapping fast moving pictures, resplendent. In those, we can find hidden truth about our destiny. We do have choices which we exercise at our discretion. However, sometimes those choices lead us to some other way, which we had not anticipated or planned.

Why am I saying all this here? I am not getting philosophical or anything. I suppose, I am getting withdrawal symptoms for moving house. Everything is finalised and I now am kind of feeling sad and nostalgic. I have lived in this house for the last 14 years. It is my parent's house. Difficult to move, considering that. One good thing is, my mom is moving along with me. I can't think of living apart from her as of now. We are moving to be nearer my youngest brother. Being with family is important. We would staying very near and yet have our own space. I feel elated as well as sad. Normal, don't you think?

wicked witch-----Read Write Poem/Monday Poetry Train

"aunts are ever so old who love you and pet you"

hearing my nephew say that I saw red
old? Was I old?
indulgent?
a favourite aunt of five kids

wish I was a wicked aunt
who could turn you back into those
small wee kids
lovable and loving

but, I wouldn't change a thing
not you, not me
I can still feel the thrill
of being an aunt for the first time

love is too mild a word
to explain away my feelings
for all of you, my sweet nieces
my lanky nephews

blessed I was five times
go ahead and say it over again and again-
"aunts are ever so old who love you and pet you-
I bet, you don't feel that way about me"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Come ride the Poetry Train...

collected clutters-----One Single Impression

amidst the clutter collected over the years
I sit thinking what to discard
what to take

old obsolete LPs without a player
those cassettes which I never got around
replacing, by ubiquitous CDs

books collected over the years
a few yellowing, almost distintegrating
regardless, I hold on to those

nothing else matters that much
in utter chaos of my so-called memories
my home for so many years, is left stranded

"life has to move on and all that blah-blah. is that consolation enough?"

crossed connections----Writers Island

crossed connections convoluted
tumbled in turbine
rolled round and round
water wears it down
by its sheer will, bending it
to do its bidding
perfectly producing electricity

nature does balance out the modern world
both amalgamating smoothly
'rivals' becomes a mere word
for their relationship

picture perfect-----Sunday Scribblings

no photograph can do justice to what I see in my mind
those crinkle around your eyes
lines in the corner of your mouth
love for life mirrored by your demeanour
your hands always doing something or the other
your ramrod straight posture
those tiny diamonds in your earlobes reflecting light

when I am dejected
I hear your firm voice inside my head
prodding me, encouraging me to go ahead
I recall you always supporting me
my decisions, after weighing the pros and cons
your love envelops me forever,
which I am assured of receiving for eternity

"how can any photograph do justice to what I see in my mind?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For my mom, I love you always...

sheen of dust

in those summer months,
the land is dried and split-
leaves dry up leaving only branches,
scarcity of water leads to nightmare.
fine sheen of dust is found everywhere-
layers of it at every nook and corner.
power outages become the norms,
the hot winds beat on the skin
burning sensation lasting forever

"still, how do I leave this place,
which has given me so much?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That is Delhi for you.....

parallel plot

yellowed paper fell from my journal
my eyes scanned through the mysterious markings
did astronomy play a part?
was it about a parallel world
faded out of vision by the familiar one?
writings on the wall had not warned me
I kept speculating about its origin
how did it come about in my pocket book
almost brittle piece of paper with frayed edges
stars and squiggles with lines and curves

"give me that paper, it is mine"
my five-years old niece came to me with a bounce
almost snatching it from my hand!