VALENTINE DATE

It was supposed to be
the dreamiest Valentines Day ever.
And then I opened the door and saw.
A sight to haunt me forever
Upon the doormat, lay
An unidentified creature
Palpitating fiercely
Under some kind of seizure
Its eyes, popping out
Like a ping-pong ball machine
And its heart was where
its stomach should have been.

(Indeed it’s plain to see
He was blown away by me!)

In Pursuit of Purpose

My generation is alarming ‘purposeful’ in everything that they do. I watch from the sidelines, quite amusedly, at their perseverance. On occasions, when I have contemplated upon the purpose of my own existence in the world, I have had to resignedly submit to the fact that I have no real worthy ‘claim’ to existence. While, I am personally quite self-content in this state of being, ironically there are a substantial number of people who seem to have made it their life’s purpose to figure out my purpose in life. Claiming casually that I have no concrete direction or focus in life, it is interesting to observe the varying expressions of perplexity on their faces. This statement usually warrants two responses – by some, I am dismissed regretfully, as a waste of space on the planet. But quite contrary to this response, I am sometimes looked upon as some kind of superhuman, of extremely refined aesthetic sensibilities, likened to several greats who were obviously misunderstood in their time. And it is really quite delightful to be absolutely pretentious, while pretending to intently search your soul for life’s calling.

Some people work towards a purposeful career, one that usually translates into a fine pay package. This is the common man’s purpose. Then, there are those people who persevere towards the ideal holiday – this purpose must be fulfilled in order to scale the social ladder. And because these holidays are the ‘purposeful’ kind, they go about exploring and shopping, eating out of exotic places and doing all the “to-do’s”, like maniacs on a mission, such that when they return home finally, they look like they need a holiday to get over the one that they have just returned from. But of all the activities that purposeful people patiently perform, the one that is beyond comprehension is exercise. Having supposedly indulged over the ‘holiday’, they will convince themselves that they have put on five pounds too much and will purposefully undertake the ritual called exercise. It is almost unheard of to take a walk down the street, what with all those unsightly sights of dogs, cows, and suchlike lesser beings. Therefore, it becomes their sole purpose in life to join a gym in an upmarket location simply to lose weight. As they puff and pant and persevere on the treadmills, it is a painful process. They are running towards perfection, but really perhaps they are secretly running away from the perfect life. Soon, this will lead to a nervous breakdown, and then, they will wonder……What was the purpose of it all?

Disillusion

The air hangs heavy in the room
Boredom is thick
The silence is uncomfortable
The spirit of retort has died within
Limp bodies, carving niches in their seats
Spectators at an unknown funeral
Priests and high lords come and go
Pretending to themselves and the world
As they persevere towards a purpose
Listen...
Bodies shift uneasily in their seats
Old seats, worn and tirrd with
the years of monotony, silent cacophony
Now hear, they creak of sterility

Outside, natures breast swells
Rises in anticipation to receive
Enthusiastic feet...
The wind whistles a jaunty tune
Nature makes a mockery
Of our nameless faces

In the spaces between conciousness
And the dying subconcious...
The death toll rings.

Another stranger in the crowd
Too pompous, self-absorbed, too proud
The world’s not enough and life’s unfair
No time to stand and stop and stare

Losing sight of what we’re after
No time for joy or tears or laughter
Behind the mask, lies fear and fury
Against the norms of the earths jury

Our private worlds are shrinking slowly
Spineless creatures, down and lowly
The power hungry mob disputes
On the endless quest of petty pursuits

The seed of rebellion builds within
Patience is slowly wearing thin
They promised the world to us it seemed
Yet freedom is a faraway dream

All that’s left now is the gift of choice
Yet dare we let our dreams be voiced
In pain, in pathos, in guilt we dwell
Each one, silently awaiting death’s knell.

Mind Your Language!

My family’s multi-lingual
And it makes them very proud
My father unabashedly
Recites French verse aloud
Mother is competitive
Will not accept defeat
She shows off her shayaris
Quite an awesome feat!
Aunty Chen and Lily
Come from exotic lands
As fluently as they speak
The rest, ‘pretend’ to understand
My brother speaks Swahili
Or so, he highly claims
And everyone’s impressed
As he reels off abusive names
Watching from the sidelines
I stand up, all of three
Muttering much gibberish
I’m the pride of the family!

The Animal Olympics

The King of the Jungle,
The mighty lion roared
The traffic stopped, it was a sight
They’d never seen before
Poor chicken was so stricken
But was not to be outdone
It was a funny sight to see
A flock of chicken run
Peacock proudly walked across
The drivers winked and smiled
Showing off his feathers
And parading past in style
The sheep were very well behaved
And constantly policed
The black sheep overtook the rest
Who felt completely fleeced.
The zebras at the crossing
Pondered upon the code
It seemed a most confusing task
That they must cross the road.
You thought the tortoise won the race?
He ought to be defaced
The loser is still persevering
Aiming for last place
The real winner was dinosaur
Most ancient and most clever
He trampled all, he claimed his prize
Then disappeared forever.

'Gluttony is a Sin'

Greedily, our eyes devour the frozen cocoa custard (ice-cream) sitting in neat little squares in tiny steel bowls. Our hands though, play a trick on our eyes and delicately, most intricately divide the portion of ice cream into neat squares that we gently place upon watery tongues. Mother is satisfied, we have not let her down in front of our grandmother. Yet hunger is a most wicked thin - especailly when it resides in the stomachs of small children. Our mother watches in stark horror as my brother picks up his jelly bottom and ventures towads the table for MORE, looking straight ahead with mock confidence - never daring to look sideways, where predictably my mother sits 'making big eyes' at her her eldest son who deliberately makes no sign of paying attention. Until....and my grandmother is unrelenting...her mouth twists into that all too familiat expression of disgust; and in the dryest voice ever, laced with abundant sarcasm , she says "YOU LIKE..?" It is the easiness of the drawl with which it is said that that instantly causes the flushed face and paralysis of every muscle in the body. Resignedly, and certainly with an element of hurt at this public embarassment, my forever hignry sibling squeaks... 'No, it's okay'. The icecream, inide, churns itself into a thick sludge, oozing along the walls of the digestive system, perhaps that is responsible for the uneasiness associatd with guilty pleasures.

Then...almost miraculously (and we are yet to fathom how and where the sudden grandmotherly bouts of kindness come from) her heart softens and quite amused, she erupts into her generous laugh and says 'Go baba, have some more'. This unexpected treat, of course makes the second bowl of icecream doubly appetising. Obviously, this is a rare treat and must therefore be enjoyed to the fullest when offered. Of course, my grandmother believes it wouldnt do much harm to reinforce the lesson by actually throwing into the conversation a remark.."You know....'Glutony is a sin'. Our eldest cousin, in an attempt to give her, her just dessert, cockishly replies, "We know".

Smart Solutions

When it’s time to go to play,
My mum declares ‘a clean-up day’

She says that my bed
Is a sight to dread

So I pick up my stuff
And throw it on the floor instead.

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Friends Lovers

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LIES

The perfect painted picture

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Is but a disguise

The Second Coming

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

- William Butler Yeats

Loneliness is a shadow, a reflection of the inner pathos.

Loneliness shies away from the light, because light recognizes loneliness.

Loneliness is an untold secret that belongs to no one.

Loneliness is the darkest night that never ends.

Inner Calling

My truth is their perception,
I victimize myself.
Retreating into the abyss ,
Into the primitive self
There is mere catharsis.
The white walls engulf
The bitter remnants,
Of a forgotten soul;
A soul that wanders
In the shadows of the alley cats.

Life is death, death is life,
Fear not the final passing,
For there, is found, God's love.

Playing at Poetry

Basketball and badminton
And football fill me up with dread
Now I've a game thats all my own
And its played in my head
An athletic adjective
Lightly leaps across the page
As prepositions prance around
A proper noun takes centre stage
A simile compares itself
To high and mighty metphors
Alliteration speeds along
Competing fiercely with its peers
You think my game is stupid
And perhaps that I am wierd
But oh, how I love poetry
The joy of playing with words

The Sense That Smells Trouble

There was an awful girl we knew,
She was a mighty pain,
Forever turning up her nose
At us in such disdain.
She'd a nose that could smell touble,
For it smelled all kinds of dirt,
Until one day she found a foul smell
Right beneath her shirt.
She held her breath with mighty strength,
Till she grew pale and grey.
But no amount of deoderant,
Would send the smell away.
She washed and bathed, scrubbed her skin
Till it turned wrinkly pink,
But nothing that she tried to do
Would rid her of the stink!
And so be smelly, dont be proud
That you can smell so well
Share the smells of all the smellies
Or things won't turn out well!

HELP! My blog has disappeared!

Uncool School

My school is weird and different,
The teachers are one of a kind,
In science class we feast on fungus ,
That will 'mold' our tender minds.
At Mathematics I’m quite good,
In fact I think that I am Queen
My math teacher though, thinks I’m average
And that is just plain 'mean'!!
My English teacher speaks in puns,
That leave me utterly confused
Don’t limp into my class, she shouts
With your 'lame' excuse.
I think that education,
Really makes you quite a git
Or perhaps its just my school
I hate the principal of it!

HOT DOG

He said, "I’ll have a little snack,
A menu, s’il vous plait"

She said, "Would you like to try
The US hot-dog today?"

Is that the very popular, American creation?
Oh yes, I certainly would like
A hot and sour Dalmatian.

If you feel you aren't good enough for yourself,

You will never feel good enough for anybody else.

Artist

Laughter of a child
The expression of my soul,
Captured on canvas.