Bubble

Bubble bubble bubble
Little drops of trouble
Two-day old stubble
Sex on the double
And baby boy dribble

Love love love
Me in your glove
Smells from the stove
Fire in a cove
On the wings of a dove

Meow meow meow
Ah's and a wow
Hard work with the plough
No time but now
And sweat on your brow

Blow blow blow
With breath as the snow
My skin wheat dough
White cheeks aglow
For you down below

End

I sit in front of a huge office building, all blue glass. The world is reflected in the glass, some people, some faraway houses, everything and everyone but me. Maybe I'm the unfortunate one, who unwittingly chose to sit in front of the few opaque tiles. Or maybe I'm just not there.

Little black birds sweep close to the ground, like a jubilant celebration of a funeral. I see a woman taking down clothes from a clothes-line, on the terrace of one faraway house. There's a red cloth flying against the cloudy sky, I can't say if it's a struggle for freedom or a child-like game against the wind.

I hope she doesn't take down the red cloth. I hope the birds don't stop circling around me. The red cloth reminds me of the beauty of freedom, and solitude. The birds remind me that the world doesn't end when people like me go. These are the little things that I'm anchoring my little life on.

The woman leaves the red cloth on the line. Thank you. I think I will be alright some day. Instead of getting beaten about by the wind, I will soar in it again. Alone and finally happy. Or atleast content.

I'm now walking back to enacting my life. People stare at me and then look away. Most people don't like being reminded of pain. Some stare hard and keep staring, maybe taking a morbid pleasure in someone else's suffering or maybe they recognise pain as an everyday trade. How unhappy am I? I look into the glass to find a measure. I see green leaves and people passing, but I'm not there. Maybe that's a cruel answer.

Dangerous

He saw her first in one of the indistinguishably unique, tiny, snake-like lanes of the indistinguishably unique small town of his birth. It was a sunny, dusty day and she looked far from charming with her sweat-drenched face and an expression of marked hostility. Yet he could not pull his eyes away from her. She looked dangerous in a very domestic way. And he had always been drawn to danger.

Their eyes had met and she had made a hole in his face with her scorching eyes. And then she disappeared, ducking into the black of a dingy room. He had known it was not the right time to follow her. Later that night, he had cursed himself for hours for not running after her.

He saw her a second time. As an angel this time, dancing with many children and many men. He saw her at a wedding. She was beautiful and he hated her smile, her shiny hair, her white perfection. He stared and stared at her, hoping against hope to see the wildcat that her soul was. And then like a sign from the heavens, she had twisted her ankle, fallen and cursed like the coarsest of working men. How he had wanted her then. Wanted her to fight his arms, scratch him, to spew venom. He had found out everything about her, everything except her name. He couldn't dare to kill the magic. His stupid self-created illusion.

The third time he saw her, he had ordered her to marry him. The tiredness of her prompt acceptance had scared him. Scared him badly but also exhilarated him. He'd always been a fool.

Twenty years have passed. He couldn't have guessed he would have ended up like this. So alone, and much less of a man, much less of a person. The sparkle in his eyes has gone, along with his insane ideas about life and love, along with his recklessness and spirit. He has nothing new to say, nothing new to feel. He has indeed become a boring man. Boring. B-O-R-I-N-G. It hurts. It's hilarious. His life is, each day.

Twenty years have passed. As she cooks in the kitchen for their second grandchild, humming in her absent way, he realizes she has never existed. She has consciously kept herself away from his world, from feeling, from laughing, from crying. She wasn't human. She was much more dangerous than he had ever imagined. She had extended her moonbeam fingers and turned him into a sorry figure, half-human half-ghost.

Twenty years have passed and he still hasn't found any words to say to her. And never will.

Gamble

All I could do
Was play with words
When effortlessly you could
Play with hearts

Too honest, my weakness
And stupid desire
Too silent, your strength
And a mocking smile

Refusals, relieving
I appreciatively taste
Artless devotion
You uncaringly waste

Your aloofness,
So endearing
Clueless you ramble.
My eyes,
So revealing
My all, I gamble.

Hello

I said "Hello" to the thousand colourful lights that burst into the darkness. I forget if it was the night sky or my mind behind closed eyes. But anyway, the lights, they were there. I had not expected them, even though I had idly prayed for them. Do you know the feeling when you haven't been sleeping well and you haven't been eating and you feel too sad to even call it sadness, to talk about it, to think about it, when you get really tired, from within? And you feel so close to the universe, to the rhythm that makes the world go round, to places you never noticed before, to people you never knew? And the lights are those places and those people, and the colours are the shift of emotions on unknown faces. There is such a comfort in being unknown. All your suffering becomes a story, something unreal and sweet. Nothing is ugly anymore. Light as a feather, you fly on the cold night breeze, over cities and countries, quietly observing your own story unfolding in so many homes and so many faces. And it becomes alright. You don't know what you'll do when tomorrow comes. But you know you'll do what the unknowns are doing and that is sure to work.

I don't know where I'm going, but it's the kind of time when you like to talk, you know. And I know you have nothing else to do. You'll listen to anything to keep yourself from thinking, from being alone. Well, there was a time when I believed in only one half of the world. Light without darkness, love without selfishness, happiness without pain. And I believed in my uniqueness. And I believed life was about adding. Adding to yourself; adding love, esteem, experiences, money, wisdom. But life is a lot about subtraction too. Losing sense, innocence, love, scruples. But I still think it's fair, it evens out, don't you? And we're not unique. I thought it would be an awful feeling, but it's a little comforting. Just look at you, you look just like me. Your face turns from boredom to a slow sardonic smile, just like mine does. And that's how the eyebrows go up, see. The same life-changing events are occurring in my ant-hill too. It's random. It doesn't mean anything. We're one of the bursts of light in a vast universe, momentarily meaningful, but unimportant between the millions of years gone by and the millions of years to come. Take comfort in the fact that whatever you do, it doesn't affect anything. Not even yourself. There is great freedom for the unknowns. If you mess it up, some other unknown will get it right and it will be mathematically stable, it's just a matter of odds, just a matter of probability.

What is it that you said? It doesn't matter, I have your words in my throat and your voice in my brain. And I am possessive of my time when I talk. So well, there's another thing I'd like to talk to you about. It's something I don't like about myself, something that scares me greatly. The thing is, my happiness, my well-being hugely depends on flesh and bones. There are a few well-known unknowns in my hill and I won't survive without them. And you know very well, how fragile these unknowns, these bags of flesh and bones are. Fall off a flight of stairs, break your neck, poof! gone. It's that simple. It makes sense to not care. Where one ant goes, thousands are born. But I can't convince myself to stop caring.  It makes me weak, eats into my freedom. It's one thing to be unknown and free, it's a wise compromise. But to be an unknown prisoner is not my cup of tea. And this caring ties me down when I fly off into the night sky, to look at my story in your home. Was it the night sky or my mind behind eyes shut, I can't recollect.

Dress Up

Dress up

Everyone's watching

Match up

To eyes mocking

Dress down

No one's around

It's ok to dream

With feet on the ground

Dress up

Act adult

Burn bright

Before you turn to dust

Dress down

Be a child

Run free

Till it's time to hide

Dress up

You're no good

Where cobwebs are silver

And gold wood

Dress down

It's ok to be ugly

When you are naked

Atleast you are, really

Dress up

I had you fooled

Dressing down

Never did you any good

Dumb

Dumb faces

In beautiful places

Dumb queries

In searching gazes

Dumb words

In perfect melody

Dumb clichés

Emotional parody

Dumb thoughts

Smoking pot

Dumb stares

Of a dumb pair

Dumb in happiness

Dumb in despair

Dumb in delight

Dumb in disrepair

Dumb in darkness

Dumb in light

Dumb confidence

Dumber in fright

You're so dumb

So important in your dumb bubble

Where everyone's dumb

Yet unique in the rubble

Dumb is your mom

Who thinks you're a gem

Dumb is your dad

Who thinks all you needed was a stem

Dumb creeper

Climbing on all that is good

Outwardly pretty

Eating into the wood

Dumb speaker

You don't dream

Before you open your mouth

Out inanities stream

You are so dumb

You're fired

Of you all

I'm so fucking tired

Happy Love

When I have what I want

Why am I left wanting

There is no meaning

In the smile I'm flaunting

Kisses and loneliness

The prospect of love so daunting

Sweet words and endearments

Cruel and taunting

Warm honey and sunlight

On skin parched and charming

The plight of a lover in love

And a losing freedom fighter fighting

The bitter embraces

And the sweet pang of parting

The few moments of rapture

And wistfulness everlasting

White smoke on grey skies

Blue rain absconding

For love and more time

I'm eternally stalling... and calling

Brand New

I want brand new

A brand new page to write on

A brand new pen to write with

A brand new you to write about

A brand new me to deal with

I want brand new

A brand new wind to shake me

A brand new thought to break me

A brand new happiness to pierce me

A brand new sadness to kill me

I want brand new

A brand new pain to excite me

A brand new master to drive me

A brand new slave to play with

A brand new rope to tie me

I want brand new

A brand new reason for suicide

A brand new road to sit on its side

A brand new whip to lash my pride

A brand new dream to hide

Mock me, hurt me

Cut me, burn me

Just find a brand new way

Do not bore me

High

So high on sleepless nights

Red eyes, white lies

Ashen face, wild hair

Bittersweet nightmare

Vision foggy

Mind groggy

Slow moving time

And pages soggy

Eyes close

Put up a fight

Shy away

From the slightest light

Drowsy smile

Thoughts, in single file

Every inch

A thousand miles

Pang of pleasure

Moments of leisure

A queenly high

Of sleepless nights

Crush

Crush me some pepper

Spice to my life

Crush me some hopes

There's lessons in strife

Crush me a cigarette butt

Subtle innuendo on power

Crush me some laughter

I feel like a fool or even lesser

Crush me some sugar

A look that makes me blush

Crush a stealthy note

A compliment, rich and plush

Crush me a dead leaf

I come alive in a touch

Crush me a candy wrapper

Pressed in a book, a reminder

Crush me some me

Crush... I have on you.

Price

A price for everything

Pay with sense to sing

A free life for a ring

Dreams for smiles to bring

Blankness to sanity cling

A price for everytime

Weary mornings for a night prime

Bruises and cuts for fun's grime

Gutter's slime for a much-needed dime

Loved faces for fortuitous clime

A price for everywhere

Comfort of here for a greener there

Beauty for a well-fed layer

Innocence to be a player

Scruples for unwilling cheers

A price for everyone

Hopes for every crime done

A rose for every gun

Countles nights behind the sun

Home for a man on the run

A price for you

Taunts for a love so true

Embraces for a heart beaten blue

A price for me

Freedom for acceptance plea

My whole world for this wild spree

Travel

Rain rain

On window pane

Moving train

I'm off again

Off alone

Road unknown

Pensive tone

Words on stone

Grey sky

Leaves fly

Have to try

The pen and sigh

A lot to learn

A lot to find

Free land

For a free mind

A lot to see

A lot to feel

Real and unreal

Refill the cup of zeal

Come hither

Now be a spectator

Act later

In life's theatre

As a child

Run wild

Don't look for love

But take what you find

Simple Shame

His fingers searched for my lips

The source of the song

Or a cover for blind lust

In inebriety, all good sense gone

Without regrets, I became a pawn

He urged me to keep singing

With his tongue in my mouth

I pulled him down with a hunger

As genuine as it was uncouth

The meaningless endearments of a tout

He bit like a snake

His hands like spiders

Pulled my hair to move me

In any way he wanted

My neck scratched by his whiskers

I kept calling out his name

To assure myself I was there

That it was more personal

Than raw passion laid bare

But words are as empty as his stare

A few broken praises

Genuine in their indifference

So many lows after the high

And on me some traces

Cut and bruised secret places

With morning came light

Simple shame and passive fright

Shy looks camouflage a slight

Cliches uttered, old and trite

Quiet, to myself a pitiable sight