Lift please?

You were an accident…
May I say that?
And reduce your existence…
To a mere trifling?
But as though every rain drop
And every variegated leaf…
And as every misted window
And every patch of sun…
Forms the daily of our lives,
You, my beloved…
Formed the daily of my life.

You were an accident…
May I say that?
And reduce my existence…
To a mere traveller?
But as though every distance covered
And at every drive-in stopped…
And as every motel crossed
And every turn missed…
Forms the highway of our lives,
I, my beloved…
Formed the hitchhiker of your life.

Hop-scotch

Her smile now lies
In the shoebox of her dreams…
Cluttered with memories
Tattered with age.
And in the dark musty corner
In the cupboard of her life…
Sleeps the dent of her cheek
Away from the salmon sky.

Her life now lies
Within that iota of a second
When the spring of her joy exhausted…
And no one could wind it again.
But shove into the refrigerator
The clock of her ordinary youth.

So let no life touch her
Let no confetti of laughter
Colour her air of indifference
For another heart turned hop-scotch
A game? Hop… Jump… Trample
And another Havisham born.

Red

These are a few rather beautiful poetic lines written for me…
My most perfectly detached turned lovable room mate, friend, sister, support in Delhi to who I owe a lot of me that is and a lot of me that I was and am glad am not anymore…
Thank you Deb, for drawing this little painting out of me through words and through the colour I love most…


With my burning desire, let me be red,
The symbol of fecundity…
In its each drop is life…
Ardent… potent… passionate…
Blazing hearts afire…
On the alta smeared feet…
In the niche of all’s existence…
As crimson… vermillion… brick…
Let me be the impetus for change.