Dribbles, Ripples & the Nostalgic Scribbles...

Glued to this screen, white and black
my eyes stuck on lofty ideas to crack
Chewing the pencil, and whirling my curls
nowhere to look, nothing to see
me, this dusty room & my clumsy work.
It was a warm day until the wind moved in,
the lights went out, the bells clinked
but no sign of him, still hesitant to pour in.
I swayed forward near the window
the only distance I could move
without much pain, without my crutches.
I could spend hours waiting for him,
with a cup of chai & bis-coots in hand
because he promised to come
with happiness and not sorrow this time.Because he had tested me enough
and I stand, well... sit, strong and tough.
My pen's been my pillow
weirdly soaking up my pain
it's no different this time.But I want the rain to come down slow,
see me smile and ask me how?Ah.. and then starts the dribbles and ripples
and with it my nostalgic scribbles...

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Rains And Ruins.

W ords should not be kept for later because they thrive on mood and my mood is nothing less than a pendulum, so I thought I should pen it down. It's not Monday today but I still got the blues. When I say blues, I literally mean the bluish tone in my otherwise curtain-coloured reddish room, along with the pretty melancholic climate. I hate the dark clouds that get clogged in the sky refusing to pour in, but I love when it finally rains. It's like the clouds have vented out their long-held pain. It feels liberating and very refreshing. I don't quite feel like working in this climate, rather I would be sitting on my terrace, watching the rain, sipping tea (which I am doing even now to avoid falling asleep on my laptop). But the sad truth is I can't go up on my terrace, not at least for the next 2 months, the renovation works are going on and I badly miss the only beautiful, picturesque location in my house. The staircase bricks are cracked to build newer ones and there...

Love demands chaos.

You know there is always this little scar inside all of us. You are sensible enough to realize it wouldn’t stop with that single scar, but still you crave to keep it. The tiny scar that ships your love. It isn’t weird that you would sound crazy about this. Like you only picture it when you think he should be the one who makes that one long divine kiss of yours true. How it feels to know you are in a crowd until he looks at you. How he moves you and never let you forget your curves, the way he touches you and kisses your fingertips. Alas to let every women in the universe know you are with him. And he is yours. I say it with such conviction because I have felt it, lived with the scar. And never in a billion of the past memories have I felt something like it. And I am way over thinking it. Do I deserve the pain? No. Would it break my heart? Yes. But I just got to do it. You ask me for a reason. There are not many. It is only because my heart chose you. And eventually it has to be you...

Denied Pleasure.

Once upon a time in la la land... I had some peace of mind (if you can call it that). If peace of mind meant sleeping peacefully most of the time, ignoring all the coldness, denying all good vibe quotes and recreating my version of the same …then yes, I had peace of mind. Music and ladoos were more than enough to make up for every lack I had in my life. I was happy. I can't say that I am 'sad' now, but I am definitely not at 'peace'. Sleep seems to have broken up with me completely, but somehow I wanted my nights and days to be longer despite that. Why? Because this was probably the only time when I would be able to talk to him, help him untangle his crazy mind. I close my eyes every time to conjure up images of him. The way he smiles, the way he frowns, the way he lays his hands casually on his steering wheel, the way he secretly looks at me through the rear view mirror, And his scar OMG... I can’t express how badly I am in love with his scar. I could admir...

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