Time and Again

Unflinchingly, with the greatest dedication
She holds on- to the tablecloth of time
Woven intricately by crisscrossing muslin threads
Sometimes she keeps looking at the gold sheen-
And the patterns swiftly embroidered by divine craftsmen.
She feels happy- her life contains patterns- little butterflies
With red and blue wings flying over bright flowers
Her grip tightens- Those patterns are not to share or to let go.
And as she notices, a pull- she bares her claws. She hisses.
And the delicate muslin threads yield- one by one.
She falls, face forward, rolls back immediately-
Perchance the patterns and the tapestry are gone.
She throws one look skyward- of pure loathing-
And then drowns herself in her own tears, for the patterns
Were the only thing she owned- befitting her.
They lay a new tablecloth of soft wool with more colours-
A purplish hue- she notices through her blurry vision
Soft to touch- this time with motifs of little children playing-
They mouth unheard words to her through their smiles-
She puts her cheek to the fibre, feels it caress her face
And slowly dry up the tears. She has grown up now.
A lot of sheets have changed. Yet, each time, she hangs on
To the last- desperately, resisting change- Each time-
Tear tracks on her face, darker than the last.

Distorted

Must our blacks be always black?
Not a little dark grey
Looked from afar
With the right amount of shadow
From the wrong silhouette
Of a high tree
Or maybe the little distorted
Angle of the white lighted sun.

You will never know what I feel, underneath.

Say My Name

Say my name- ever so softly
Utter each syllable from your mouth-
And watch it crystallise into music,
Each with a speck of life of its own.
They escape your mouth- and frolic
Come together in the right order
And form an elusive symphony.

Yet, say my name again- harsh this time
And I become ready to bludgeon you
While the music turns into blind cacophony
And I frantically search for the hidden notes
Recall those words, and the tacit noise
For the hearts of a thousand tremble.

It's not my name- that causes the effect.
'tis but the way you speak, my fellow.

Bludgeon me in the head, repeatedly.
Till your arms are tired- and watch
Me fall, the bones within crack-
And the blood flooding the floor.
Then hit me again, one final blow
To the stomach, right above the abdomen.
I won't feel it, no. Life, but a wisp
Flew out the day you said-
Or did not- to me.
I would apologise, if I knew.
Actually I do know.
Sorry, for hearing the words you never said.

Happiness

I am scared of being happy.
I do not let his song spread
Through my insides- I do not
Let his infectious touch moisten my skin.
When somehow, Happiness seeps in
Through all the reluctance and refusal-
He warms my frozen heart, thaws it
And then the ugly scars- from years of
Failure and rejection come daunting back.
They bare their fangs and guffaw.
And Nostalgia, riding her black stallion-
Slowly makes her way through to my head
And she shows me gory images of darkness.
She rescues Hope from the cobwebbed dungeons
And sets him free- And Hope runs wild-
A madman, setting the entire body afire
Readying it for activity- and failure, again.

Forgive me- I know you will not-
But my wintry world is all I need.
I agree the storms never subside-
But again, nobody hopes they will, either.

The Red Wall Clock

Somewhere between the two ticks
Of the second hand of the red wall clock
Half-cracked, towering over the bed room
I can still hear your breaths, intertwined
In mine. Shallow. Urgent. Passionate.

And I wait, patiently and watch the smoke
Rising in characteristic spirals over your food
Bow down, and disappear- it has gone cold.
Much like my patience- yet each night as I
Hear you walk stealthily upon the porch
I know where you're coming from.

I sense you cower in my presence, I feel
Your insides lash out in agony- Or are they mine?
For the one air we breathed in, now separate-
Desolate, almost. I smile, and light up the stove again
As you repeat how work is so stressful these days.

And each time, I sit in front of the mirror
I question again- And the tears always win the fight
With my heart. But when you walk in- I bury
Myself in your chest, and feel the pieces string
Perhaps together again. I have seen her.

And the red wall clock looks at me.
The cracks look like eerie little smiles.