Enough

Maybe it’s no longer about

watching coloured buntings flutter on

buildings, no more rushing out

and coming back to youthful haunts

speckled with scents of night jasmine,

fallen in the dark hours before dawn;

no more about where the trips begin

and where they end, which lines are drawn

and which left broken and blurred;

It’s enough that you are upon

this pebble-strewn path, anchored

by wind and earth and these watersongs.

Enough that it’s your hand just above

me, stretched out in silence and in love.



Back to being my usual mouse- and couch-  potato self and happy to be back :-) 

Write...Edit...Publish...August 2015 : Spectacular Settings

Happy to report that one of my favourite bloghops Write…Edit…Publish... is back again, hosted by Denise Covey and Yolanda Renee. Thank you, ladies, can't stop smiling! I am rather partial  – the prompts are thought-provoking, meaty, delightful, and stretch one's writing muscles in undreamt of ways. Oh, there are a million more reasons to love it :) This month’s comeback prompt is on Spectacular Settings, click the link to read the rules and join in. 

Shells

The laughter’s gone from this heart.

the lamplight’s gone from this home;

the threshold, the corners are dark,

the ones who’d lit it up depart

for cities from where no letters come;

for cities that no one returns from.

The water’s as tall as the crops -

the river’s too full of herself,

ear by ear the grain starts to rot,

the young scatter in search of jobs,

the old watch unable to help;

the lamp stands unlit on its shelf.

The fathers can keep their eyes dry

and keep their words clipped and brief;

but they pause far too much, they sigh,

and their lips suddenly pull awry;

the mothers are too bowed to weep

gone to places even beyond grief.

The water stands as high as the rice

the harvest has stopped in its tracks;

the lamp flickers once before it dies -

the light lays its head on the thighs

of the dark and the young men pack

for cities, and they don’t come back.

We’re become the shell of a house.

We’re become the shell of a loving.

See how our garments fall loose.

See how our proud heads are bowed.

Once here the bulbul used to sing,

she’s now fallen quiet, there’s nothing.

You knew, didn't you?

You know, it’s not the distance or time,

tides of water and wind that made you drift

apart, the river’s the same, the skyline

a little changed, the nightfall is as swift,

the newspaper man calls round like before

everything as it was, untouched.  You stepped

away, one step and two, a thousand more

and a hazy mist of gold and green swept

you up on eagle wings into its heights.

Startled you, didn’t it? when you gripped

it? did thin and hazy have the right

to feel that solid? didn’t fit the script.

Even back then you knew, it wasn’t the tide

or the distance; the change’s always inside.

I wanted to tell you (again!) about this multi-author anthology available now at Amazon and Flipcart and Sapna and Indistore.  In case you don't have the foggiest, it happened sometime ago - this is the result of the Get Published contest by Indiblogger and Harper Collins India.  Two story ideas were submitted by me through this very blog, and one of them - At the End of the Parade - made the final cut, and is now part of this book. Nine stories from nine vibrant young Indian writers and one from yours truly! :)

Never mind the steps

You step through my life

more light of foot, yet sure,

when the fields are wide,

no latches to the doors.

Tracking prints is not

my thing, I never tried

to sift the sands, look for

exact trails and roads;

I know if I look hard,

the flattened undergrowth

will give me a sign, a mark

to show where you trod,

but I don’t need that now

because I know. I know.

On a borrowed net connection because I wanted to tell you about this multi-author anthology which is available now at Amazon and Flipcart and Sapna and Indistore.  In case you don't have the foggiest, it happened sometime ago - this is the result of the Get Published contest by Indiblogger and Harper Collins India.  Two story ideas were submitted by me on this very blog, and one of them - At the End of the Parade - made the final cut, and is now part of this book. Nine stories from nine vibrant young Indian writers and one from yours truly! :)