• The Haiku Project • Day 3 •

• The Haiku Project • Day 3 •

I drowned myself in coloured liquid

And found solid realisation. 

One month from now

One month from now

Where will we be?

What will we do?

What will we see?

Relighting a forgotten fire

Brewing the same old tea

Serving it to a new loved one

Who will he be?

Sharing the bed with a different monster

Re-reading a fairy tale that used to be

Deep in introspection, retrospection

Lose ourselves to epiphany?

For all our past follies

Will we have to pay a fee?

Rid our closets of hidden skeletons

Decorating our souls like a Christmas tree?

Re-changing the date, rewriting our fate

From the past, will we break free?

A month from now, years even

Right here I could be.

• The Haiku Project • Day 2 •

Breaking up with laughter,

Holding on to words,

Falling into poetry,

Hiding in the depths,

Waiting to be rewritten.

• The Haiku Project • Day 1 •

Days are longer,

Smiles are shorter,

Patience is rarer,

So words are lesser,

Thoughts are shallower,

Haikus are dearer.

Anonymity

I often wonder what it would be like

To mean nothing to somebody

I often wonder if it would be the same

As meaning everything to somebody.

Will the shield of dark shadows

Let my honest soul roam bear?

Will the warmth of a spotlight

Allow my bones to dare?

No happy memories for adhesive

No bitter tragedies to damage

No obligations, no justifications

No excuse of burden or baggage.

Will it offer a perspective so straight

Will it untangle my twisted ways

Will the removal of judgmental tomorrows

Ever make way for honest todays?

Sometimes the greatest strength

Sometimes the greatest insecurity

It comforts, and it cripples

How strange is anonymity.

A land called 'Almost There'

I live in a land called ‘Almost there’

It’s pretty much next to the ‘Middle of Nowhere’.

Majority immigrants come from ‘I don’t care’

And many more pour in from ‘I didn’t dare’.

Heavily populated, we live here and there

Just us mediocre souls, geniuses are rare.

We make mistakes we can never repair

With ‘ordinary’ is our longest love affair.

All we ever scored was ‘F’ for ‘Fair’

Procrastination is a talent we innately share.

A land called ‘Genius’ we’re locating in despair

Instead, we’re loyal citizens to the land called ‘Almost there’.

Workhour Whines

First draft. Didn't give enough of a crap for a second look.

Hammer out all your frustration at your PC

Sneak away stealthily before anybody can see.

Extinguish a fiery mood with a pack or two

How to find a place where woes are few?

Escape to unexplored lands with just a blunt

Pump out the adrenaline with a dangerous stunt

Move someplace where all is harmless and new

How to find a place where woes are few?

Curse the living daylights out of the bitch called fate

Write a shabby poem that you definitely hate.

No matter what the means, you can’t beat what’s true

You’ll never find a place where woes are few. 

Mirror

Look into the mirror. What do you see?

Just a shadow of the person you used to be?

Look into the mirror. What do you feel?

Robbed of the secrets you didn’t reveal?

Look into the mirror. What do you regret?

To that lifelong dream, not saying 'Go get'?

Look into the mirror. What do you wish?

That you could change it all in just a swish?

Look into the mirror. What do you want?

To go back to a time when reality didn’t daunt?

Look into the mirror. What makes you smile?

That despite it all, you turned out just fine :) 

Dreaded Dungeon of Disease

You know your days are numbered

When something evil has you thrown

Into the dreaded dungeon of disease

Food, Air, Water, Vector-borne.

My body temperature has turned bipolar

My taste buds are on strike

My head is on a permanent roller coaster

A rush you wouldn't like.

A vast white ceiling for a permanent view

Despicable chemical drugs for vices

Food and soups that taste like feet

Devoid of all sugars and spices.

But there’s something about this misery

That’s oddly, oddly comforting

No agenda, nowhere to be

Now begins the vegetating!

The Kiss

One eventful monsoon evening down the pot-holed street,

Skilfully dodging puddles as slime and grime bathed my feet.

They called him the Buzz in town, the one who went astray

He took one look at my bare legs, and I knew I was his prey.

Advancing towards me, he moved with a choreographed stealth

I clapped even before his show began; he wasn't good for my health.

Sensing an opening, he swooped in before I could act

And he kissed me - The presence of mind to fight him, I lacked.

Now here I sit everyday, staring up at the whitest white

Injections, blood tests, tablets - it's too late to put up a fight.

The world had warned me, but little did I know

That it would be so horrifying to get kissed by a mosquito.

Just another tale

Long long ago, lost in history

I found a story of magical mystery.

A royal legend told in time

Which made the birds chirp and the winds chime.

Love as pure as molten gold

Forever.. Immortal.. Never old.

A bond as intricate as silken weave

A lasting impression on my soul, it did leave.

With hearts of glass they surrendered brittle

Passion melting them away, little by little.

Until he galloped away on his horse

Birthing yet another tale of love and loss.

Game of two

She walks towards you, a skip in her step

You're 20 minutes late. Shirt hanging out. No time to prep.

She plays with her hair, her curls so capricious

But your mind is busy inspecting if her gaze spells suspicious

She playfully chastises you about cancelling for a whole week

Deaf to it all, you worry if she caught that lipstick stain on your cheek

Sipping her coffee in a hurry, she calls her early departure a real 

disappointment

Without putting up a fight you welcome it, still dizzy from your 

earlier appointment.

She doesn't know.

You breathe a sigh of relief into the nape of her neck. She says 

"It's Ralph Lauren"

You feel thrown off your game, for to this unfamiliar musky fragrance your senses are foreign.

You cast away the doubt and follow her for the customary drink,

Instead she says- 'Not tonight, honey. It's late, don't you think?'

Dejected, confused and livid; because it's only a little past four

But as she kisses Goodnight, you can swear there's someone behind the door.

Do I know? 

The world is too big for small talk

Tell me the story behind that scar on your face

Tell me about that dream you never chased.

Tell me why you carry around that picture in your purse

Tell me why you stopped writing verse.

Tell me about that storm brewing in your mind

Tell me about the moments you wish you could rewind.

Tell me the secrets you've been hiding from us all

Tell me why you once said in love you'll never fall.

Tell me why you aren't the person you used to be

Tell me what's keeping you from breaking free.

The inescapable truth is that we have little time on the clock.

Bare it all, my dear. This world is too big for small talk.

A day will come

A day will come when snow will grace this weatherless city

So to cast away these mufflers would be a real pity.

A day will come when I’ll be thin and skinny again

Why throw away all my dresses smaller than a size ten?

A day will come when I’ll strut the streets of Europe among suits

How will I ever face the world if I part today with my boots??

A day will come when 70s fashion will make a dramatic return

That’s why I fight mum when she says ‘Your bell bottoms must burn!’

A day will come when my days will begin and end by the sea

I'm holding on to them all - fantasy, tankini, monokini and bikini.

A day will come when I'll have to live alone in a loft

What will ever comfort me at night, if not this old tshirt so soft?

A day will come when all the wardrobes in the world just won’t be enough

I’m in love with every little pin. How do I break up with all this stuff??

Random

I write not about the perils of man
Of home truths, never been a fan.
I write not about love and loss
No trauma and tragedy, I'm all about the goss!
I write not about hopes and dreams
But of rants and ramblings that run into reams!
I write not about sense and wisdom
It's more fun to be random at random
What I really write about is the stupid stuff
Coz c'mon man, life's already pretty rough.

Oh rain, you're such a tease!

Summer, winter, monsoon – I call it powerplay in degrees

Even the gods of perfect weather are indulging in this breeze

My heart yearns for a drive, my eyes fixed upon my keys

Calling out to me are garam garam chai and some cheap Chinese

Sitting at the window, I pretend I’m by the seas

In the manic shower of icy raindrops I want to freeze

Splashing dirty puddles, seeking shelter under trees

Something about the rain strangely puts me at ease

The nip in the air suggests something about birds and bees

Stay under the sheets, maybe steal a few extra Zs

It’s impossible to beat these blues, no cure for this disease

A bottle of vino to top it off, maybe marry it with some cheese

But the things you do to traffic has me begging on my knees

Why have you held me hostage? Oh rain you’re such a tease!!

Drill

I can love like a woman, and party like a man

I’ll sweep you off your feet, you’ll be my biggest fan.

I’ll walk clumsy, and cuss and swear

Your darkest secrets I’ll make you share

You can buy me a drink, but never my fancy

I’ve played this game before, so don’t try to get handsy

You can call me a vixen, or label me a tease

But you know you'll be dialing me again, as soon as you can find your knees.

There's always that thing.

There’s always that thing about a writer

Only words for weapons, but he’ll always be a fighter

Put his songs and woes to verse and feel lighter

Craft an ode to his muse and she'll hold him tighter.

There’s always that thing about a poet

A man of many layers, but he’s never gonna show it

With pen and page for company, and a faithful bottle of Moet

But when soul meets verse, be sure you’re gonna know it.

It's never really 'Just right'

No matter what I do,

I know it's a losing fight.

No matter how much I try,

It's never really 'Just Right'.

Be it the milk in my coffee,

Or the sugar in my tea.

The butter in my sandwich

Really, how hard can this be?

My shower is never long enough,

My naps are too short.

Always playing with my microwave

Gambling for the perfect hot.

The number of texts I send out,

Or how much I should reveal

The sounds I make at dinner

Why do I laugh until I squeal?

My perfume estimate is haywire

As is the length of my dress

My hair is between awful and awesome

Is this what they call a 'Hot Mess'?

I've made up my mind.

I barged into the store

Twirling my tresses

"How can I help you, ma'am?"

"I'm looking for some dresses."

A cool classic LBD

Or the colour of the season?

Where will I ever wear it?

But do dresses need a reason?

A pretty blue dress I chanced upon

So short, it was almost shocking

But a wise woman once told me 

"Let your legs do the talking".

Waltzing ahead, I stopped again 

At a long and modest maxi

I'd need one for those crippling rainy days

When I can't find a taxi.

Skimming through a zillion dresses,

I've made up my mind, I think.

Not buying that pair of gold stilettos

Would really really stink. 

Draculean humour for a Draculean day

Let's face it.
Its 3 pm at the workplace. And the office is ablaze.
Before we go up in flames, some adorable bloody humour.

Until I can twiddle my thumbs again.

Miserable Mondays

Recovering from a weekend

Takes some quality time

I'm sure you'll agree when I say

Monday mornings are a crime.

Formals replace the LBD

Briefings replace party sounds

Coffee replaces alcohol

Clients charge like a pack of hounds.

Guzzling gallons of non-alcoholic water

To cool my insides and make them fine

But if you ask me, what I really need

Is a few more glasses of some good wine.

Staring at the clock for a miracle

Its hands are moving excruciatingly slow

Escaping from this gruelling predicament

Home is where I want to go.

But the day is long and endless,

Bullshit is playing on loop.

I need a magic potion to sail through

Can I call for some alcoholic soup?

I know how to make this better

All the rules I'm going to bend

Wine Wednesday is calling 

Who's gonna wait for the weekend?

Can you tell the difference?

Sleep is a joy
But slumber is a luxury
Silence is gold
But solace is a treasury.

Just like a spark is electric
But a fire is blazing
A friend is a gift
But a companion is a blessing.

Just like a laugh is a thrill
But happiness is a mystery
A good word is a win
But a poem is a victory.

Whispering Whatsapp

Hey there, old friend

Would've asked 'How've you been?'

But I already know you're MIA

Since Friday evening, so says your ‘Last seen’.

Hey there, old bud

I would've asked ‘What’s new?’

But this new boy in your profile photo

Already tells me, bored of him you grew.

Hey there, old pal

Wanna say ‘Let’s meet for a drink?’

But ‘Exams DND’ says your status.

Bugging you right now will really stink.

Hey there, old dude

Wanna ask 'How's it going?'

But I already know you've changed numbers

Coz the photo of a weirdo, it’s now showing

Hey there, I'm old school

I'd like to keep in touch

Know and gush over a little something extra

Even when your Whatsapp reveals too much.

Hey there, hey you

You may think of me much small

But you know you're no different

This is the story of us all.

The Social Convention - Express to Impress

Ever since I became a writer (in other words, atleast started introducing myself as one), seven out of ten times, pat came the question 'So do you have a blog? I would love to check it out.' Busted. I didn't have a blog. Okay I'm lying. I did have a blog - one I started writing years ago when I was in school and had just fallen prey to the innocent misconception that I could write. To me, my writing was stellar. Come on now what can be better than  big fancy-sounding words strung together into tolerable sentences by intense and misunderstood prepubescent-adolescent emotion? Anyway, the truth was that I did have a blog - but not one that I would like to stylishly promote at parties and be judged by. So after all the 'How can you be a writer without a blog?' or the 'Do you not wanna tell me about it?' and even the 'Are you not telling me because you write about controversial stuff? Don't worry I won't judge you' stuff, I decided that this is a social convention that I have to succumb to. There are a few decent merits - I will live in the happy bubble of doing something substantial.I can finally see that dream of being a worldwide internet sensation becoming a reality. If nothing then I will atleast have some material to sustain an introductory conversation through five sentences. It is the perfect way to feign both coolness, and intelligence. In all likelihood, one in every twenty-five people will go back and remember to look up my blog (I am an occasional believer in optimism). I will also feel powerful and evil because I can now subject the harmless peasants to my nonsense. And once in a while (a very long mediocre while), I will post interesting things, work, thoughts, rants and stories on MY BLOG. This doesn't seem so bad anymore.

And now the pressure to keep updating this is like a sword hanging over my head.

This is my cross to bear.



I promise to disappoint, regularly and exceedingly.