Monday, September 26, 2011


Thinking about you is like running my finger along your chin, foretasting the gentle rise and fall of your dimple, savoring the prickle of your stubble.

Thinking about thinking about you is like watching white clouds waft through a sky,

forever changing, forever escaping my gaze, white clouds forever getting lost in the blue

leaving me

a whole new sky.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Because i cannot see into darkness

Everyday these days a metaphor meets my eye and straining to capture it i start sentences like this one, only to strike it out and begin anew. Like an old apartment building, stripped off of its life, awaiting demolishment- and in mid-sentence the thought inevitably fizzle out.

Stepping away from the clamor of life i pull back my window curtains to see it, an old apartment building waiting to be demolished. No word i know can carry the weight of its emptiness- empty, vacant, abandoned- none says it. Its windows and doors and air conditioners have been torn off leaving behing yawning holes to the centre of its emptiness. Peering through these gaps i see how each apartment was once a home, that sort of place you call your own when you are out in the world, that sort of place entering which, especially alone at night, your hand juts out for human contact just to overcome the moment. All the bits and pieces left behind - broken furnitures, torn blankets, one faded teddy bear- further fills the place with nothingness. If this abandoned building was left there as a joke the punchline has to be the swear word someone painted on one of its pillars, a bold f and u, a wavering c, a timid k and a hazy u ; a punchline losing its fizz as its told.

Because my eyes cannot go all the way into it i send my words to grapple it. I seize it! but in a moment it thrashes about violently, gashes my hands with its gills and escapes my grasp.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Some of the best moments in life are spent waiting

It starts as a fluttering in a corner, your body picks it up, and then you know you are waiting for a memory to happen. If someone passing by happens to see your face now, she or he will remember your face after a long period of time and will be unable to shrug off a sense of familiarity.
You know you are waiting for it to happen, not as a tap on your shoulder but more as something gushing towards you. You know the moment the warm flesh of the memory touches you, you will recognize it, not as a missing piece of your remembered life, but as carrying new voices and new scents, and you will welcome it as your own.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Absent tense

Millions revolted for basic rights in Egypt, a girl got pushed off a train and raped in Kerala, and an avalanche slid down somewhere. Millions more will revolt, the girl will die , and i will continue to polish my furniture to a brilliant shine.