Thursday, May 03, 2018

The Mother

I caught a glimpse of him
at that traffic signal
in front of that hospital
as I drove past in a taxi.
He was standing there 
with his mother
and waving his arms violently
as if drowning in air.
He was screaming.
No, shrieking.
High pitched for a man,
and louder than the car horns
blaring at the about to turn red light.
All eyes were turned in his direction.
And it wasn't discreet either.
It was an open stare.
The kind that makes you
shrink in your own body.
But I saw that his mother
was looking straight ahead.
Her face nonchalant.
As if dealing with 
an insignificant tantrum
any child would throw
while going to the doctor. 
And so, as my taxi came to a halt
at the just turned red light,
unlike all the other twisted heads,
I looked straight ahead too,
just like his mother.

The drink

I watch two lovers
drinking from a bottle
as the sun sets. 
She takes a sip.
No, a gulp.
Of the cool, sweet wine.
She keeps the bottle down,
in the centre, between them.
He picks it up, takes a swig 
and keeps it by his side.
Just out of her reach.
When she needs a drink,
she asks for it.
And as this goes on, I wonder,
if they live, and love,
the way they share this bottle. 
I hope not. I hope not. 

Monday, February 26, 2018

The Grave

The bird died a sudden death
and I had to bury it where I could.
It fell from its perch
on a singing tree.
Dead among dead leaves.
And the crushed frangrance
of trampled flowers
could not hide the heavy smell
of the suddenness of its death.
I tried to dig the earth
but it was frozen.
Unyielding under my beaking nails,
the raw skin of my fingers.
The bird stared at me with its dead eye.
A glass globe of black blood.
Hurry.
Bury.
Me.
It said.
Before my soul freezes.
And so I found it a grave.
Solemn and quiet.
In my memory.

Monday, October 16, 2017

The red light

I see them swim hand in hand
in a sea-green balcony
beyond the sea-sick building
beyond the hustling billboard
beyond the blinking traffic light.
I see him lay his head on her shoulder.
The weight of his day, his life, his being
laying gently on the curve of that wing
resting, dormant, breathing, silent.
And at the moment, me the voyeur
wanted to be him, wanted to be her.

Wednesday, October 04, 2017

Once

There was a time
when I believed
I could be anything.
Be great.
Be loved.
It was a beautiful time.
It was a foolish time.