Magic

Under a pearl studded sky and a purple moon, they sat, wrapped around each other as if two recidivists clinging onto the only thing they had ever managed to steal. The reticent lake had never witnessed something so placid. The dew laden night flowers blushed with envy for they knew no neologies. Cession had a new meaning. The dark night watched as they poured more caresses.

My gleaming eye in her necklace reflected a stare of primal regret. My magic never worked on her. His did!

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Woke up this morning with a red eye. Rubbed it more, like I always do. My fav kurta is not ironed. Will be late again!!

Skipped breakfast too! How mom wakes up in the morning to prepare all that for me is a fact I take for granted. Reminds me of the days when I used to get up at 2.00 am to chew salted groundnuts for dinner with a bottle of fanta. Everyone at Domino's knew me, be it for the trademark 10 rupee tip to the delivery boy or my phone number & address that they knew verbatim. That used up scooter which took me places in search of a decent eating joint only to stop at the dhaba next to the Bus Terminal where roadways bus drivers and conductors used to eat. A few constables could always be found yelling in their familiar Punjabi accent. The only place in jalandhar where you could get a 'tawe di roti.'

It's dull in the office. Bright colours but a gloomy environment. Same worn out faces in front of their bright computer screens. I never used to be an indoor person, but somehow, time managed to change that. It’s fun reminiscing all the bygones. Not always though.

So, there's too much going on in her life right now! What is too much? How do you quantify it? How does that make any difference? Or does it change the way I look at her? But why would I..look at her? Or change my way? She's fond of me. No, she isn't.

Atonal Tapestry

Endless prints on my skin
just like patterns on the ivy
unbridled at dusk
adorning the threads of my silken dreams
cradled in the arms of pearly hope
breathing my velvet vapours
beneath an erroneous sun
that dressed me up to paint me down
a naked gem art me
with a crooked mile to walk through red september
watch over my turquoise sky and orange birds, please!

Wing

The bright flower-print frock

Was wrapped and kept behind two wooden doors

She would open them every now and then

Stand in front of her mirror

Trying to shrink herself to its size

Her reflection smiling back to her

She flew with the breeze back then

Just like a candid butterfly

With wings of gold and an eternity to explore

Through a pair of sparkling watchful eyes

The dusk would rest in her bed

And the dawn would wake with her.

In the same flower print and long wavy hair

With her fragile self spread across her soft bed

With legs crossed and some pulp to engrave

She longs for just one more chance

Her little hands and vast blue sky

Another flight, and one more wing.