Archive | Expression RSS feed for this section

Plumage

7 Aug

Yearning crashes against my shores
Anarchy and sobriety duel for supremacy
Checkerboard replaced by storm clouds
Don’t stick your hand out, they said
You will get burnt
And so I soaked up all the sun I could
The warmth flows through me
Fire and sun meld
Warning me like no other
Temptation sleeps in my eyes
Awake in my dreams
The winds are picking up
The guards are a changing
Blurred is the looking-glass

Through a maze, lungs burning
I try out running myself

Built around the light
I yearn to rewind
Choices, decisions
And explore differently
Without the stars
Wash it away,
Wash it away

In my quest for stillness
I take a step, then two
Embraced as I am by the water
She moves around me softly
Eddying in my wake
She holds me safe
In the eye of the storm
Reducing the tempest
To a gentle, cheeky drizzle

I know not where she drew it away
I see no carnage in her path

Radiating outward from my plexus
She washes away my fears
Trailing down my nape
Making my secrets, hers
As I trace her journey
Over thousands of miles
Inking me, invisible and tangible
Flourishing supplanting thriving
Break free,
Break free

The Falcon traces the curve
Coming into my own

***

© My Rickety Typewriter, 2017; Vintage Ink.
No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.

Advertisements

Parenthesis

19 Aug

How do thoughts travel? From a lifetime of memories that make me feel like I am being forced into a matchbox to trivialities to making me soar across the endless vista of clear skies towards a thousand wishes and dreams…

2011. The world dissolved around me and I thought I could get it whole again by sheer force of will. I went through the motions. What is the appropriate behaviour when you are offered condolences? I still don’t know. I looked at the sea of people and wondered what is that they see on my face. People I haven’t seen or known of. I envied our cat crawling under the bed. I recall not being able to cry. I wanted to do something to replace the strange vacuum I was cocooned in. Bits and pieces come to me about the week that passed. I walk around in a daze. I find shirts and other knickknacks. They still smell of him. Of comfort, filter coffee and incense.

***

2012. Not seeing him around is confusing. I keep thinking he is bathing or lying down. I am able to look at things he loved and while my throat clogs up, I think I am getting better at not being a wreck. There is a strange sense of deja-vu as I see people I saw last year. Some laughter tinged with tears, lots of memories and plenty of photo albums. I find myself talking to him and writing letters. I am clearing things up and I find an unopened bottle of his shaving cream. I look at his stamps, his books. Those accounts he kept of what and how much was spent where. There are random scribbles of his. As I look at the familiar scrawl the knot loosens a little.

***

2013. I am in a new place. New faces. A few idiots. I remember being angry with him for leaving. I am writing a letter to a friend. We go for a drive in the evening and there is a tense cold silence, shifting and moving. Suddenly we are near a small school and I talk while the dashboard is being subject to a stony glare and swear words. Suddenly my eyes are being shielded from the fierce glare of headlights with a palm. The heat coming off is gentle, like the fire warming your house. I smell his soap, the chocolate we shared and air freshener. Throughout the walk back home and after reaching I feel my heart galloping and I wonder if they can see in my eyes.. How my world faded away …

***

2014. This year has been awful so far. I think about how events would have played out if he were still alive. I wonder if the vacant expression on her face will vanish if he comes back, just for a moment… Or has she forgotten him too? I think about that moment when a fairy tale came to life and I wonder if I dreamed it up. I wait for the cold to dissipate and for the blood to start flowing again. I remember feeling guilty that I was feeling this .. this giddy… happy on the same date I lost someone. I am seeing with fresh eyes and yet I am longing for familiarity. I wish I didn’t have to write letters or talk alone as I try to bridge a distance that is insurmountable. I remember hearing that he was glad that the date wasn’t one of only loss anymore…

***

2015. I am wondering about DNA. Life. The entire day goes by and I remember rather late what the date is. Existential crises continue to swirl in my head when I look at the mirror and see that people who have gone, aren’t as gone as we think. That maybe their legacy will live on vicariously in you, even if they aren’t around anymore. That sharing their memories is how keep them alive. And I realize that even though it has been four years since I spoke to him I remember the finer details. Like him leaving paste over my brush after he brushed. The bottles of cold water. Groundnut candy. An anthology. I ask him why he left, swiping at stray, traitorous tears absent-mindedly. Amidst all this there are snatches of normalcy. Me being a fool in love.

***

2016. Now, it’s been five years. I thought I would never be able to get over the grief. And yet, here I am. I miss you terribly and I know it’s something that I will always carry around. As I am typing this, my eyes go to the clock as it ticks closer to the end of three years… I am opening random apps on my phone and grimacing at my impatience. Loss is a funny thing, isn’t it? You think you will never be able to get over something or someone who was so deeply entwined into your life. And yet, it morphs and it gets easier to breathe with time. Like a battle scar. Love is confusing. With each passing day, you are less sure of how to define it. Comes along when you least expect it, shakes everything up and leaves behind a flavour you will never be completely free of. Then again, do you want to be?

***

© My Rickety Typewriter, 2016; Vintage Ink.
No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.

Musings

22 Jun

I got a new pen. I broke it in patiently until the words that came out flowed like silk. As time went on, I wrote your name once, twice in pages far between. Slowly, without knowing how, your name was what I doodled during long phone calls and sleep inducing lectures… Each time I wrote it, my world hinged on the pause between the syllables of your name. I said it softly, with a goofy smile on my face before my cheeks became stained with red.

I don’t know what went wrong later. Sinuous, like the smoothest of chocolate, the words were pieces of my heart seared with you; crude, misshapen and jagged.

Now when I write, the ink glistens red.

***

It feels I have taken him into my blood. And I let him out each time I say his name, cheating time as I become one with him, if only momentarily.

Like drifting waves coming back to the shore, each time with more longing than last…

The world rushes by in a blur and it is exhilarating. Finally, I am flying instead of just looking up toward the sky. Suddenly, the landscape changes and it is all a blur. I know the pain is coming. Time slows down, almost suspended. The impact feels too long in coming, yet nothing prepares me for the eventuality.

I am left wondering if any of it was real. Or did I want it so badly I convinced myself it was?

***

© My Rickety Typewriter, 2016; Vintage Ink.
No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.

Lumos

23 May

I trudge up the steps as the curtains fall on yet another day. I walk to the terrace and see the inky blanket they call the night sky dotted with innumerable windows to the past. As I trace their outlines and join them to form constellations, a plane goes through the small circle my thumb and forefinger makes, ripping apart the fabric of my cosmos. And in that one instant, I hear my heart stop. Is it you on the plane I wonder. Each time I see a plane, I want to ask you, are you coming home? And in the few seconds it takes for me to go down this road, the plane has flown past.

Was my heart always glass? Or did you turn sand through fire?

***

One side of a paper. White. Unblemished. Not so much as an ink drop. Pristine. I wonder if it will be enough to hold all I feel. The longing pours itself drenching the words with a hint of brine. I scoffed at the idea of barely half a page to tell you what I saw when I went to places I have never been. Now I am out of words as I realize that there was never a moment when something didn’t remind me of you. The mountains, the meadows, the sculptures, the paintings. I can see your look of indulgence and exasperation as you come with me to places you didn’t know existed if only to hold my hand and kiss me as you listen to me ramble about how breath-taking something was and why. And so I try to cross the oceans between us, if only for a moment, as you complete the circuit by thinking of me.

***

© My Rickety Typewriter, 2016; Vintage Ink.
No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.

A Fairy Tale

8 Feb

For Poojya.
For telling me its okay to let go. For making me understand that sometimes to get over the spells of sadness, we need to fall back on happy memories. For making me realize writing is cathartic.

***

The earth an unfinished painting
Biding its time,
For the return of the artist’s hand

Heat and pressure building
Causing it to change and grow
Infinitely more precious now,
Uniquely crafted as it is
Swarovski crystals hiding in shame
At its sparkle

Giving new meaning
To pristine perfection

Tugging at your heartstrings
Making you sigh
At the simple beauty it presents

Falling softly,
Captivated by the light
Dappling through your eyelashes

It rushes to learn
The contours of your face
Living for the moments
It caresses you
Hoping to last forever,
Like the memory of
your first kiss,

***

It was my first glimpse of snow. 

***

© My Rickety Typewriter, 2016; Vintage Ink.
No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.

%d bloggers like this: