Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Nostalgia

the steaming rice
drinks up the broth
and spices up its lonliness…
the smoking oil in the wok
tantalizes the young and raw onions
they turn pink
blushing
they hide behind the stiff okra
or sturdy potatoes
flavours, dormant and subdued
flare up
and fill my room
with aromas long cherished
i find home
in wafting flavours
nostalgia, bubbling in a wok!

The Otherness of My Words



"Your words, not mine"-
you pushed the conversation towards me
holding the empty silence at your end.
"My Words!"
Ah, I see,
the ownership, the title deed - mine.
These words-
               mine?
               truly mine?
               mine alone?
Each syllable,
all the intonations
every meaning -
               ascribed or presumed, all mine?
My words
because,
              I rolled them on my tongue
              tasted the hurt in them
              gulped down the expectations they carried
              kissed them good luck,
              as they left my lips...
beacuse,
              they stood forlorn
              suspended in the otherness
              engulfing the small universe, mine.
My words
because,
            they could not breathe
            in the air heavy and pungent
            with the acrid odor of breathing ghosts.
My words, mine,
only mine
because,
I spoke them to dead ears and deaf eyes.
         

Insanity

An antonym
Opposites
And unlike what is said
Opposites don't attract,
And even if they do
There's friction
My diction
Your language
My rage
Your patience 
Makes sense
To those grazing the surface
The furnace 
Burns deep
And when I weep
Tears are hot
They burn a trail 
I fail
To stitch logic
Or reason, or rhyme
Is it a crime 
To seek, to ask, to question?
Perception
Is an art of management 
I went
Mad, from being madly passionate
At any rate
It's the antonym
That has stuck on me 
You have flipped my world
The one that you hold in your hand
Beyond my reach
Beyond the stretch 
I could muster...
A tale so mundane...
You hold the right end,
And, I on the opposite, insane.