Monday, June 24, 2013
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Yes, I wasn't prepared,
I'll admit I still ain't,
but the surprise was the best,
like teenage love,
hitting me hard, falling
down without knowing,
your presence fills me now,
as if this is what it
was always meant to be,
waking up to your moving,
your heaving and your
unruly demands that tire me
out, yet silently I
sparkle, secretly I nod,
I will do whatever you want,
I will be your master and slave,
I will love you selflessly,
endlessly, even if I'm flogged,
even if you win each time,
and I'm victorious in my defeat,
just to see you smile,
just to hold you, just once
shamelessly for you to look at me,
ignoring my home, my domesticated life,
my husband who doesn't know he's not
the one on my mind these days,
it's you now, it's all you,
I'm not the same,
you made me weak, you made me strong,
Let me endure what you bring,
my hands will always cup your face,
I will die, and you will remain,
that's how it's always meant to be.
Friday, September 23, 2011
The old man had no memory,
he had lived a life so full,
he had many loves so deep,
but somewhere in his sagas
of suffering and triumph,
the worlds merged together,
and the happiness
and sorrow became one
"Once I was a story teller,
they came from my own life,
there's a story about
the boy who ran too much,
about the girl who danced like a swan,
the lovers who lived in a dream,
and once they woke up,
they didn't recognize the other,
about the couple who died
for their country,
the artist who went mad,
the child who smiled all the time,
the old man who forgot who he was..."
These stories were his,
but he didn't remember any more
than his words, maybe
his words became his stories,
coming to life as soon as
they were released, torrential rain
into a parched existence
Maybe his stories became his words,
tightly wound up like time.
I don't know what's real anymore,
maybe it all is,
what we live and what we dream,
what we know and what we don't
the old man is me,
or I'm him,
our worlds merged
in stories and words,
which is the story,
and which the word,
I just don't know anymore....
Friday, June 24, 2011
How does it feel to sit
and watch it happen?
Slowly, steadily, calmly,
your life rolling out,
like the scrolls of the ancient,
the long mystery revealed.
Yes, it isn't as dramatic as you thought,
but it's more beautiful than you could think,
this wisdom is yours to keep,
sit in your chair, read it,
live it, sing it.
Once you were running away,
moving so fast
you couldn't see your feet,
your shadow grew longer,following
you like a sceptre,
and you kicked
and you shrieked
It caught up and became you,
but right now it's below your seat
The evening lamp brings solitude,
the night starry mist dreams,
the years ahead will show you
what you left behind for others,
what you could have possibly been.
It doesn't matter though,
you're here, silent,
sitting in your chair, sitting in between,
watching yourself and your shadow,
Day, Night, Night, Day,
then, now, now, then
Time collapsed into nothing,
Eternity collected in a second.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
A half moon
in the half lit sky
half of it dark,
the other bright
Half of you,
and half of me
Half of my heart
in the city by the sea,
half here with you
sipping the half glass
of red wine
Half of us wants
to stall and sleep
half making lists
of weekend needs
and bills left
for the other half
we can not save
even if we wanted to
Half of the spaghetti
is tangy, the other
so bland, so motionless
so colourless, like
half of the building
Half of my hand in yours
picking dirt from the floor
Half of the house
is old, the other
something I can't relate to
Half of this existence is real,
the other half living a dream
Half of my life is over,
the other half I'm hoping
I don't look too much older
Half of your lips I kiss,
the other I'm too lazy to
approach, maybe later
Half of my gaze is for you,
the other half
for the half moon
I pretend I didn't see
Friday, March 11, 2011
The pain of the world is seldom seen
the joy and the smiles all around
When you have everything,
suffering seems far away
the worms and the filth
are shunned deep into the ground
The woman crawling on the street,
on dusty fours; oblivious to many
till the eye catches and fear strikes
what if our good luck runs out,
the cup emptied someday?
Must make amends to keep pain at bay
So you hand her a quarter and
heave a sigh of relief,
there, you helped the helpless
would this avert tragedy, the fall?
And when your luck does change,
you curse the world for ignoring your pain
you were good to others, you say,
you never did bad to anyone at all
Did she maybe? Or is it all random,
a turn of the dice, a card game of fate
Maybe your turn will come?
Maybe it won't after all.
Whatever will be will be,
but you still don't see pain at all.
Maybe feel it for a split second,
then gone as if banished in thought,
the cactus fence keeping your garden safe,
what's outside can't come in,
at least for the time being
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Your place is a quiet meadow,
a silent green near a calm river,
where you sit and ponder,
dream and wonder,
sulk and hide,
embrace blessed graces
soft music plays
while you strum
and lay down watching clouds,
a lost boy in a strong man
My place is an industrial zone,
a kitchen with schedules and machines
where five different me's
perform and complete tasks
I sit in the chaos and feel proud
of all that I manage to do in a day
this is where I live,
in the middle of noise and celebration,
where I watch and pray
in a sense of daily achievement
When I get tired, I walk over to your meadow
where you soothe and calm me,
and often, I ask you to help me
in my kitchen where the work never ends
We live in our zones,
day and night melting for an hour
glowing in the twilight of our lives
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Nori pulled away the curtain to peep outside. What started off as a dry and humid day was transformed into God’s grand evening laser show. The streaks of electricity tore the sky apart, like razor cuts on skin. It wasn’t raining yet, but the claps of thunder were getting frequent.
The wind coolly blew the curtain towards her face. What could it take to battle this abnormal fear of lightning? Ever since she could remember, Nori was scared of it. As a child, she hid under the bed on nights such as these, praying for it to subside. As an adult, she preferred to stay indoors, never taking out her car when there was friction in the sky. Today, luckily for her, she had finished work and was back at home.
Some fears are unknown. Lightning never did anything to hurt anyone she knew. But yet she feared it was after her life, for some sort of karmic revenge, that it would catch up with her and burn her to the ground.
Nori wasn’t really a fearful person. She was brave and independent. She had battled enough personal tragedies, right from the death of her parents, to a divorce to an aborted kidney. She wasn’t afraid of darkness, or ghosts, or death, or reptiles, or heights, or people or God. But she was scared of lightning.
She put a saucepan of water to boil and opened a packet of tomato soup. As if lightning and tomato soup were soul mates, promising never to hurt one another, always walking hand in hand for solace. There was no explanation. Tomato soup comforted her.
Going outside was out of the question. So Nori decided to watch a movie. Once again it was ‘Singing in the Rain’. As soon as the movie started, there was a knock on the door.
She peeped through the keyhole. It was a young man with dried leaves in his hair. That was all she could see. She opened the door and a strong, gusty wind pushed the door hitting her in the shin. ‘Aow’ she yelped.
He was tall and young, maybe 20, with a box of pizza in his hands. She hadn’t ordered pizza. Maybe he lost his way.
“Yes, may I help you?” she asked.
He ruffled his hair and she noticed he had a scar on his hand, as if someone had decided to dismember his hand but then changed their mind.
“Ma’am, may I use your phone please? My bike broke down and I can’t make my delivery.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“Don’t you have a cell phone as an employee?”
“I do, but I left it back at the centre.”
She let him in. “I guess you can use my cell phone.”
As he walked in, the smell of pepperoni pizza filled up the room.
“Wow, that pizza smells great!”
He handed the box to her. “You can have it, now that I can’t deliver it.”
She smiled at him. It was a thoughtful gesture.
“Thanks. I think I will.” She handed him the phone. After that she went to the stove and turned it off. No tomato soup today. In a way, she was glad he was around. She felt less scared.
He stepped outside to make the call. He spoke in hushed tones. She couldn’t make out what he said but she did catch the words, ‘waiting here for you’.
She dug into a slice of the pizza. It was heavenly. He was still outside. There was something odd about his blue uniform. She knew the employees of this pizza company wore blue, but somehow this blue seemed different.
He came back. “My boss is sending someone to pick me up. Thanks so much for your help.”
“That’s okay. How much for the pizza?”
“Nothing. After all you helped me. Luckily, I found your house. Say you really are cut off from the rest of the neighborhood, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. I know. I love the peace and quiet.”
“Aren’t you afraid of the desolation?”
“Nah. I’m not afraid usually. Just nights like these.”
“It’s going to rain I believe, Miss…?”
“Nori? Is that a Japanese name?”
“Yeah. My dad was stationed in Japan. He liked the name. It’s a type of seaweed. Edible.”
The wind roared, this time bringing with it rain. She shut the door.
As soon as she turned back, she realized he had grabbed her by the waist.
“You’re very beautiful Nori,” he whispered.
She felt her knees caving in. She tried to break free, but he was very strong. She screamed as loudly as she could. He still had her cell phone. There was nothing she could do.
“Let me go! What the hell do you want?”
He covered her mouth with his hand. She could smell the cardboard mixed with cheese.
She bit his hand and he cried in pain. As soon as her mouth was free, she screamed again this time, as loud as she could for help.
From the window she saw the lights of a police van approaching. He saw it too. He panicked and pushed her down to the floor. Before she could realize what was happening, he had opened the door and fled.
She ran to the door to signal to the police van. A loud noise and a light blinded her. A few meters from her house, something was burning. The smell of human flesh filled the air. He fell to the ground, as if someone had smashed him with a hot iron. His hair stood up like toothbrush bristles, his face dark and charred.
In his burnt hand was her cell phone, someone still on the line. The police van stopped at the gate.
She looked up at the sky, this time without fear.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
I want to cover my knees in chocolate mud,
playing football in the rain
A quiet walk on a wayside cliff, listening
to seagulls as they make mischief,
travel to places forgotten and unknown,
make magic under the stars,
cover my head with snow
But today is not that day
I want to pray for not being selfish,
wish health and joy to others,
hold hands with crying strangers
and walk an old lady with grocery home
But today is not that day
I want to make a difference
in this torrid, tormented world
Be an artiste and say, ‘I shall live
on fire and dreams alone,
I shall not care for being rich or known’
But today is not that day
This time I want to stall,
live in a parallel universe,
where another me never grows old,
walk deserts alone and
know that no matter what,
I’m doing what I can
Today is that day for trying
what we can do best,
to live a moment in heart’s content,
to write down thoughts
and know what you need
to do before the winged warrior
calls you home to fly away too soon
Today is that day
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
I saw the balloons, pink, white and red,
tied up to the clean floor, shivering, restless,
and looked in awe at their airy mind
My hands itched to set them loose,
waiting to watch them fade away
in a far beyond that no one knows
These days I'm learning to fly,
sometimes I use my hands, sometimes my feet,
sometimes old brooms, and sometimes
easy things like magical balloons
Using your feet is difficult,
they are taught to be grounded,
to never lose a beat,
the hands require force,
but the flight is fast,
and you end up higher as you go,
a broom is most efficient,
but requires great skill,
like a motorbike you kick,
and like a swimmer,
you push it all behind
But magical balloons are
like bubbles that shine
they take you to places
you'd never attempt to go,
places unseen, of vast mysteries
and like a child you soar,
far away from the sky,
far away from the trees,
into the stars,
into a beautiful dream
I believe we can do anything
we imagine, and flying
doesn't require a degree
All it takes is a good night's sleep
and sometimes watching
pink, white and red balloons
will very well do the trick.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
"I think I need to go away. I don't love you anymore."
"But you couldn't do without me for even a day!"
"I could. I chose not to. It's only because I'm used to you. I start my mornings with you, I begin my sleep with you. It's comforting."
"Really? Then why did you let me come back? Surely, you're lying."
"I'm not. I admit it was love at first sight with you, but yesterday, when I saw your heart of fire burning softly for me and then dying away, I felt free. I said to myself, I can do without you. It's not that difficult anymore. Even coming back to you in the night doesn't feel the same somehow. I have changed."
"Don't you remember those lonely days when you had no one but me?"
"I do. And I will always remember you for that. You were there when there was no one. I will never forget you. But, now I have someone I love. More than you."
"You're breaking my heart! Tell me it isn't so. Tell me you still love me."
"I'm sorry. I don't feel what I did."
"So how much time do I really have?"
"A year at the most. I will have my own family by then. I won't have time for you."
"I understand. But when you need a secret lover on cold, moonlit nights, promise me you'll come back."
"I can't promise anything. But I have to tell you today that you're truly irresistible. I have never met anyone like you."
"Feel at home for a while. But read the signs. You will see me get more and more detached. I'm hanging on, that's all. Without the passion or intensity."
"Why are you hanging on? Go away today, if you like."
"Life's short. Who knows when I'll ever see you again?"
"That's sweet. Do you still find me attractive?"
"Yes. Very. But like a mistress. I can't commit to you."
"I can be your mistress. I'm not asking for commitment. I don't mind."
"My wife will. I mean my future wife."
"It can be our little secret. Tell me what you really like about me."
"I like the part where I'm so close to you that you and I seem like one. It's an amazing feeling."
"Don't go. Please."
"You'll kill me like this."
"I can't promise I won't. I think you still love me."
"I don't know."
"Just for a while. Only a while."
"As long as you want baby. As long as you want."
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The Federation wanted to honor him. Besides, it was high time anyways for the biggest award. For 25 years, he had been building microchips, once started from his garage, now one of the largest companies in the world. From nerd to business entrepreneur, it had been a long journey, professionally and personally.
“I hope they don’t serve oysters tonight. I don’t understand how anyone can enjoy that shit.”
The Federation had gone glam recently with the amount of socialite parties thrown in the name of technology. Young models flocked to hook the 50 something head honchos with big bank accounts. That’s how he had met Seine. The sex was great, but apart from that, he didn’t feel a thing.
“Lifetime achievement award. Does it mean I’m gonna die soon? That my life’s work is over?”
Hi company was worth billions of dollars, he was the fourteenth richest man in the country, but his dream was to open a ski resort with camping and fishing, a place where he could retire peacefully. Yet a place for the uber rich, something no one had ever seen before.
“Yes darling, I know nothing about technology. It’s all wires and lights anyways, right?”
He recognized the voice, that flower petal tone. It was Irene, and she was lying. She did know a lot about technology. After all, she had to.
After all these years and the messy public divorce with the alimony proceedings, he still felt a surge of sickly love rise up inside him.
She looked stunning in her ivory gown with crystals. Maybe it was Botox. Maybe not. She was still a star. Her last Best Actress award was two years back for playing a refugee caught in a post war world.
She turned around and smiled. He went up to her with a glass of champagne.
“Ah my love, my foe,” he said coldly.
She fluttered her hand in the air to disregard him.
“Still being sarcastic D? Aren’t you getting an award tonight?”
“You always bring out the best in me Irene.”
“I heard you’re going around with that skinny sunscreen model?”
“She’s better than the underwear model who you slept with Irene, while we were married. The one you packed in from Berlin.”
“Darling, unlike you, Ralphe at least had a reason to wear underwear!”
“Tch tch, Irene, one must never wash their dirty laundry in public.”
“Come on D, I’m happily married now. For 5 years. Can we stop pulling each other down?”
It had always been like this between them. Two people too alike. They were stubborn, vain, ambitious, intelligent and popular. They thought they had a lot in common. They were right. But that was precisely the problem, apart from the fact that they wanted different things in spite of being similar people. He wanted to rule the world, and she wanted to be his world.
“Who would match up to my wit Irene, if not you? I miss that sometimes.”
“I’m not your punching bag any more honey.”
“Punching bag? The only punches you took were at others, especially younger, aspiring actresses who wanted to learn something from you.”
“There’s no business like show business. But D, I’m not going to do this now. I can’t believe I loved you once upon a time.”
“Love? Sweetheart, you only loved me because I reminded you of yourself.”
“Are you trying to say that we are the same, you and I?”
“No. On the outside we may be. Actually sometimes we may be, sometimes we could be different things. At least that’s what people believed, that we were alike, but people don’t know shit! People think tomato sauce and tomato ketchup are the same thing.”
“Honey, you never knew anything about food except tell the waiter at a restaurant that it tasted awful…”
“So what is the difference?”
“Well, tomato sauce is what you put on your pasta, basically a puree, but ketchup is the bottled version with vinegar and preservatives, basically what you eat with your fries. But in some countries they are the same thing. Can I have some tomato sauce, or can I have some tomato ketchup? But fundamentally they are different.”
“So, am I the sauce or the ketchup?”
“You’re the sauce honey. All natural. I’m the fucked up artificially flavored version!”
“You’re being sarcastic again, aren’t you D?”
“I duno Irene, I duno. I don’t know which is which or if we are the same, or if people think we are the same and we’re not. I duno. I just know that we’re both made of tomatoes.”
Irene played with her ring. It was a big solitaire. Then she looked at him like a puppy dog with big brown melting eyes.
“Do you think that people cross paths for a reason?”
“Of course Irene. I have heard of strangers meeting and becoming friends, becoming lovers, saving lives, changing lives, taking lives; of people living together for years and discovering strangers. Sometimes a stranger can be the best thing to happen to you. Just that we are not strangers, or are we?
She kept quiet, chewing on an asparagus stick.
He said softly, “I did love you. Tell me what I did wrong. I need to know.”
“D, sometimes there are no answers, no right or wrong. Sometimes we hurt only so that our scars make us better people. We were both wrong, and we were both right.”
“Do you love him Irene?”
“Yes D. He’s not a tomato. He’s my spaghetti. We go together.”
“I’m glad to know you’re happy Irene.”
“Aren’t you happy? You always wanted to be rich and famous, and now you are.”
“No. That’s not what I always wanted. I just didn’t know what I really wanted.”
“I won’t judge you D. I won’t anymore.”
“Thanks Irene. I’m glad we can be friends after all.”
“I’m glad too. It’s funny how it’s easier to talk to a stranger. I’m not saying you are one. Just that, that’s how it feels.”
“I know why we met today.”
“I can finally forgive myself today. It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t. I can.”
“Good to know.”
“I have to go now. The journalists are waiting.”
“See you around D.”
“See ya Irene. My lil’ tomato.”
He walked away, took the side entrance into the kitchen lobby, and called his lawyer.
“Yeah, I’m ready to sell. It’s time.”
(My book of short stories is now available on Lulu.com. Please buy and spread the word as well :)
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
I think, you should know
I'm not the seductress in red,
or the intellectual with poses,
no, not the girl next door in
flower printed dresses,
or the alpha woman,
flaunting her muscles
to the guy in the corner,
with the bike under his thighs
I think you should know
I'm not the mother of your children,
or the cooking master of brews
Or the someday famous writer
the one you'll say you knew
I'm not going to please your mother,
by telling her I can't dare
I'm not going to get flowers for your sister,
you see, I really don't care.
I've seen more than you ever can,
I know much more than you'll ever know
I'm the old lady who laughs at misery,
I'm the hag who cackles and crows
I'll sit here weather beaten, I'll watch
the sun and the rain and the snow
As the years pass, I'll grow older and glow
You'll never be able to catch me,
you'll never know how to make me happy,
No, you'll never know
But now, I think you should know,
Someday I'm going to die,
But you'll never know,
That I lied.
Saturday, March 06, 2010
The curtain is raised, and the elephant walks in,
with the hat lady who slaps his leg, and tickles his trunk,
while he performs tricks for the audience, who's drunk
She smiles and bows, tonight she's proud,
she'll drink and forget about retiring and dancing
with wild horses in a barn in town, in a field
full of daisies, when the sun goes down,
she won't sleep again as usual, tonight she'll frown
The clown wants you to laugh, he looks at the kids
throwing orange peels on his nose, he loves them still,
his job he adores, he's a lover of beauty, but believes in perfection,
day after day, he toils and does his jigs in succession
As he wipes off the paint, his face falls down,
and he doesn't know who he is anymore,
maybe he's still just a clown
The tarot lady sits at the stall, and asks you to believe
in yourself, 'see, that way you'll never fall'
Her lover has a mistress, she knows, but she won't recall,
'Your card is the king of wands,' she says,
but what it means she can't explain, she wants to run away,
she wants to dissolve; the carnival is leaving town,
but she must follow them, her own future she can't predict,
so for the fate of others she must call
The salad seller has made a sale, but no one's willing to try
his mousse cake, maybe it's better to give up than fail
He eyes the fruit lady, but her apples are too stale,
so he sticks to cutting cabbages that will make for
rat food, and when the people have all left, he sits
with his leftovers and admires the beautiful designs
on his plate, maybe it's still not too late, to leave this
job and travel to Spain, where the buffalo meat is fresh,
the afternoons are long, and there is experience to gain
The banjo man plays hard, he loves himself deeply,
he's the king of his guard, he wants to leave this mess,
walk straight into the sea, but the banjo is old
and so are his deeds; so he plays for the disgruntled crowd,
who long for something mod, he loathes their mediocrity,
he hates being needed, he believes in no one's God.
The acrobat is pretty, but her dress was torn tonight,
so she tried to wear some pants, but she was booed out of sight,
she yearns respect and demands it, but no one loves her you see,
her stunts are old and jaded, her sequins are too tacky
She wishes she were smarter and braver, she wishes she was sexy,
but she's still a small town girl in pants, she'll never be a tease
The monkeys dance, the horses clap and the magician waves his wand,
The show's a disaster and the people don't give a damn
All the actors are fake, and the watchers are all dead
No one cares for the circus anymore, they all want video games instead
Friday, March 05, 2010
I've worked since I was 19, that's much earlier than most people. I was working in the highest selling daily in the country while studying journalism, and then stuck to them the minute I completed my course. That's 10 years in a stretch, not counting the 6 months I took off to prepare for my GRE and to pursue greener pastures doing Literature. That life, of course, never happened. I've been hard working and dedicated most of my life, so why can't I take time off?
I didn't join salsa or driving classes, as I planned; neither did I lose weight. What I did instead was live and love completely. You never realise how much effort it takes to fall in love again if you are the non committal, non trusting types. Yes, I've been loving, and living now, something I forgot to do in those 10 years. I've also been cooking like crazy, baking dishes, creating recipes, something I always wanted to do.
When I look back on this time later in my life, I won't regret it. I'll cherish every moment of it. Yes, I'm lost and don't know what I want to do with my life work wise, but better that than to pretend you do know. My dad says I didn't really know when I was 20. I guess I won't know even when I'm 40.
But I do know who I am. I guess that's what really matters, doesn't it?
I should have been oozing creative juices and writing on my sabbatical, but I have been so peaceful and happy that words aren't really my game right now.
I do want to be productive, I do want the world to recognise my talent, but till they do, I'll be busy enjoying my days. It does feel as if I'm 17 again and have the whole world to conquer.
A little bit of rest never hurt anyone, especially a bum like me :)
Friday, February 12, 2010
...loves himself more than he loves you,
yes, he needs you for the gasp,
the admiration of his armour,
dazzling colours aplenty,
and the grace of the moment,
when your eyes cling to his beauty.
Carefully, he taps his dainty feet,
swirling around, letting you believe,
you are part of this show,
the father of this spectacular vision,
then it all its glory of being,
it becomes larger than itself,
larger than you; shinning and shaking
its grand cover, watching you slyly,
as you watch it, and you believe that
you witnessed something so magnificent...
...so does the pea hen,
believes that he calls out to her,
dancing for her approval, her lust,
and her heart of sand flies to him,
sitting on his bead blue grass green eyes
Others believe that he is ecstatic
for the dark clouds, the smell of
torrid wet earth, joyous in nature,
caller of waters, bearer of seasons.
They don't know he dances
because he's solitary,
because he loves his sinewy body,
the body that gives him company,
when he's too bored to flash his fan,
the only one he loves, it is not
a dance of sorrow or nostalgia,
it is a dance of belonging,
breaking all desire of social seeking,
delving into acceptance of the self.
He doesn't need you, or anyone,
except the folds of every inch of
his thought and time, that remind him
that being solitary is as natural as
the pole star, as natural as being alive.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
So, I turned 31. Year after year, I've written on my blog on my birthday. This year I felt lazy to, but as I went back and read my old posts, I realise I've changed a lot each time. Maybe it's only fair that I track my progress or vice versa here.
There are some things 31 has taught me that 28 didn't:
1. Life is really short and the years go by quickly, so it's wiser to count them.
2. I wasted a lot of my time by being practical and responsible, thinking from the head. No use. Now, I've decided I'm going to be reckless again.
3. Quitting your job can be difficult, but nothing beats the thrill of it if you don't really like what you're doing anymore. Forget being best friends with your co-workers or the attachment/nostalgia you feel for a place.
4. Do nothing for 2 months. Absolutely nothing. Don't join a dance class, don't party, don't find another job. You'll feel your youth returning as you idle your hours away, just like you did during your school vacations.
5. Don't marry because it's time. Don't have sex if you don't feel like it. Don't be afraid to see things changing. Every recognition is a boon, even if it means losing out on a lot.
6. Make peace with your ex bfs and estranged friends. There's nothing more liberating than not having anyone you don't want to see or talk to.
7. Remember your last birthday. Recall the year that passed. Take stock of the good and the bad.
8. Bring in 12 midnight alone with a glass of wine and music. Dance in the morning.
9. Thank your parents for copulating. Thank the world for copulating. Don't deny that you still need raunchy sex.
10. Live 31 as if you were 21. Be silly, be reckless, get drunk without fearing loss of face.
Happy birthday to me. May this year teach me how to remember and chase my dreams. And how to stop playing grown up, grown up :) Cheers.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
'Are you happy?' you ask me,
I question your meaning of happiness.
I'd rather be calm,
like the soft sea breeze
on a May afternoon.
Gently touching your skin,
with the passion of far away lands.
Occasionally, I could be languid,
the dry air in a parched village
where nothing living grows.
where no one speaks,
where no one knows.
And on my blue days, I could
carry drops of wet rain across
green paddy fields, be the
relief on the farmer's face
as he lifts it to the dark sky.
I can be the storm, the sudden chaos
in a whirling wind, that seeks to avenge
Paper, dust, rattling in a dance.
Hitting your eyes, slashing your face.
Or the scented draught that carries
the smells of cooking onto the street.
Warm noses looking out for
where I begin or end.
Eager tongues tingling
in torrid desire for someone else's feast.
I can be happy if you want me to,
if that's what you would like me to say.
My nature is to change.
My nature is not mine at all.
I exist for you
even though you can't see me.
But mostly, I don't exist at all.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Take me back,
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
and look out and say, the rain hasn’t really stopped,
the scenery is pretty poor from here, look at
all the grey cement and the lack of sunlight,
I feel bad for you, don’t you want to live somewhere
better, or are you too used to this gloomy life of yours?
I sit quietly, as the skin from my cheeks falls on the floor,
And the smile that was once hidden by my lips,
Tumbles to the grey floor of my grey life.
You look at the dark clouds hovering over
the dull market, the pigeons jostled in
the cramped by lanes of the dead city.
“How do I look, do you think I’ve changed?”
I ask, hoping to hear the story of where
I lost my smile, and the clues that lead me
back to when you used to touch
the roses in my cheeks, when the green
of my eyes shone all over the grey walls,
the birth of the Emerald City,
where you found your home.
But now, your eyes are fixed on the crowd
That is pulling off the stones of this fallen city
Straight from the walls that made it magical,
You smile at the revolution outside,
And stop breathing the air of the room.
I pick up my smile, and walk out of the room,
out of the city of my ruins, out of the broken green gates,
Into the forest of none, where not a creature lives,
pastes my skin and my smile back on my desolate face.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Thursday, July 09, 2009
that their alter egos can bring.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
First, the damned thing didn't close,
so I sat on it, as I always do,
jumping up and down,
and just when I thought
the lock had clicked
and dragged it upright,
the overstuffed luggage
It covered the floor,
and created a flood.
Mango leave smells
the glass cutting
through small feet,
on the playground green,
warm tongue plays
in love's cold windows,
yellow moon, solitary stars
on the mountain top,
God under the pillow
at night with
ghosts of tumbling hair,
a father's bath lemon
scent; tv in the darkened room,
the swing, the black,
the snow, the melting,
then the snow again,
and the flooded room
I didnot close the suitcase,
I sat and watched the
swirling and whirling
in the water,
as it reached my knees,
It didn't matter today
if I missed the train.
It didn't matter at all,
It was time to rest,
and recollect how far
I had already travelled.
It didn't matter
what I needed to have,
than what I already did.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Song to a Seagull
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Friday, February 06, 2009
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
Friday, January 09, 2009
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Let the phone ring, let's go back to sleep
Let the world spin outside our door, you're the only one that I wanna see
Tell your boss you're sick, hurry, get back in I'm getting cold
Get over here and warm my hands up, boy, it's you they love to hold
And stop thinking about what your sister said
Stop worrying about it, the cat's already been fed
Come on darlin', let's go back to bed
CHROUS: Put the phone machine on hold
Leave the dishes in the sink
Do not answer the door
It's you that I adore -I'm gonna give you some more
We'll sit on the front porch, the sun can warm my feet
You can drink your coffee with sugar and cream
I'll drink my decaf herbal tea
Pretend we're perfect strangers and that we never met...
My how you remind me of a man I used to sleep with
that's a face I'd never forget
You can be Henry Miller and I'll be Anais Nin
Except this time it'll be even better,We'll stay together in the end
Come on darlin', let's go back to bed