I'M DEAD...MY POETRY LIVES

i'm dead

my poetry lives

you may do as you please 

with my poems

be kind to them

don't trample on them

don't throw them away

as obsolete

let not the papers fly in the wind

and find home 

in a faraway pond

to sink ink

to the bottom

don't take me for granted

think back to what i would have wanted

done with my poems

share them with others

pass them from hand to hand

so they can read too

and wonder at my thoughts

my profile pic is not my choice any more

nor is my resume

i remain the same year after year

but let my poems

bring forth a New Spring

again and again.

SEE YOU NEXT BIRTH?

you were my childhood

that escaped into mosquito nets

with fireflies in matchboxes

you were little teapots and pans

little make believe world of dolls and doll weddings -

my sons getting married to your daughters

your palanquins making way to my house

mothers were fascinations, were they not?

they wore saris, those very long pieces of clothes

that we draped just like them

over our frocks

beetroot lipsticks and rouge

mamma's high heels and her handbag to match

her high pitched voice borrowed as we mimicked

'shall we go to the market?'

yes! the onions are so costly!

dance steps practiced diligently

frocks flying, hair flying...

our lives flew too

we were teenagers then 

we discussed boys

your mother taught you to cook

mine, to part ways

from you

to lead my life

while you led yours

women now

we lived knowing

childhood was a different birth

the now, the woman, is the one who lives

the one who births

the one who puts herself last on the list

the one who lives unquestioning...

i wonder now

did i even question that i may never see you again?

did i want to see you again?

did you want to see me again?

or did we bid goodbye

thinking

see you next birth?

TO MY CHILDHOOD FRIEND

Dear One Without Destiny

why did you come into this world?

why did you leave?

also-ran

in a large family

cursed and unwanted

you lived

trying to make sense of 

dreams your parents said were yours

only to find 

that when the nightmare began

they were gone!

your screams turned to meaningless tears

the unseemly god

who knew not and cared not

for the one without destiny

turned to dust

leaving me to sing a soliloquy

for the one who knew not

why she was born.

SELF-SABOTAGE

plodding on 

was making excuses

see? i'm doing stuff

to get there

to where it's all too big

the sheer magnitude

of the stage!!

that's where i want to be - 

limelight

from 'popular' to 'well known'

from petty human foibles

to thinking Humanity

from regional

'in your country'

to global

'resolving of issues'

paparazzi?

no.

.....no.

....NO!!

digging up my past

questioning an angle that never occurred to me - 

placing me in a glass house

leaving me

frantically looking for the door!

and that's why permanent threshold is good

pretending to 'get there' is good

uneasy existence is good.

to die not knowing

is good.

MISSING RIMONA/MISSING MOM BY GLORY AND RIMONA

 MISSING RIMONA BY GLORY


Why is everything in place?
This picture-perfect
Museum-house!!


Where is her dirty towel
Draped carelessly over the chair?


Where are those tiny wet lips
Rubbed arrogantly
On my nightie
After a meal? 



Empty sofas mock me
The days I had picked up 
her helmet and bag and
Paraphernalia
so diligently



In the stillness that rings 
So eerie around the house
I hear Eminem's now silenced voice leer



Clean floors bear marks
Of her missing wet footprints
padding across the hall
towel-wrapped and doe-eyed.



Empty lids over empty vessels
Wait for the voice that screamed,
"MUMMY!! WHERE'S MY BREAKFAST?"



Her room echos her presence 

Every nook and corner



Hrithik flaunts his biceps in vain

There's no girlish hero worship to check them out
Rimona!  Don't talk back at me like that!
Rimona, it's time to go!
Rimona, you wretched child, how dare you!


Rimona!  Don't cry.....


"Rimona" I had called 
Into the world
And christened
An held in my arms
And looked with wonder
This epitome of my love


Rimona, I must not call out your name
Lest you come back


Just.....
My heart rings hollow
All my love gone and spent
A lone tear remains
This mother's right 
To grieve.



RIMONA'S REPLY

MISSING MOM

The dirty towel dries 
Carefully hung on the rod inside my cup-board
My bed sheet folded neatly
And my things arranged in a corner.



Playing loud music seems like a waste of time
When there's no you around to irritate 
There's no mischief secretly done anymore
Or any sly remarks that'll be met with indignation.



Oh what a sight it was to see
The silent Golum gobbling up all the fish
And also anything that's available
When ironically she would have claimed that very morning
"I'm going on a diet from today, oh yes I am!"


All the intentional rude conversations
And the philosophical revelations made
In the darkness, thanks to the power cut
Lies a distant whisper along the blurred memory lane


I hear your voice, "MONA!!"
In that tone that irritates me the most
Calling out to me through
The emptiness that surrounds me here.


Mom, I had happily taken advantage of you
Troubled you as only I can
Lived on top of you...

 Just.....
My heart rings hollow now
All my inspiration to be rude gone and spent
A lone tear remains
This daughter's right 
To grieve.

WHAT IS IT I SEEK?

Therapist I do not need

'cause I introspect

and I introspect this constant need

to get high - 

to walk into a mall and splurge on clothes

when there's a wardrobe full;

to eat processed or stale food at a restaurant

when I could cook fresh food at home

for half the price;

the need to party;

the need to run out of the house

or search the refrigerator for what's not there.

What is it I'm seeking?

What's the high?

I look around and know I chose

to be by myself, a deliberate choice

but I look around and see the choice I made

and it takes more and more to get my dopamine levels going

and having successfully shunned family and friends and love,

I now seek a high that does not exist.

CORPORATE

I let you confine me to a cubicle

name-plate me

ring a tag around my neck - 

my ID crisis

Define who I am

According to your will

Assess me on your weighing scales

One to ten

Place me somewhere at five

Permanently

So I don't get way above you

Where you cannot reach

Or way below

To be of any use

To hold me there

You open your toolbox

Each turn a new tool:

For a laugh 

It could be a cold shoulder

For queries it could be 

A mute

Explanations?

A deaf ear

Yes....I let you

Passively 

Hold me captive

Patiently still

While you clip my wings

Wondering all the time

"But what can you do

About the quietly growing wisdom

In my mind.....??"

LITTLE NUANCES

how
with little nuances you own me!
with a wave of your hand -
'let's go!'
with your eyes -
'there's place besides me'
i laugh, you revel
i win -
you swell with pride
i cough, you turn
i give up -
you advance


little nuances
that confuse me
how can this be
that no one else can see
the storm you rake up 
with a glance

CYCLONE

Sitting by the window, 
dark day, quiet birds, howling wind
blowing away roof tops and felling trees like a true champ, resisting the temptation to give in to my wilder side and go to the terrace and get blown away, 
turning instead to the darkness, wondering whether i should let it flow within, 
or let the light within flow without, 
choosing to light the Philosophical Candle instead to watch it flicker and wonder if going aflame was really worth it, 
while my stomach rumbles reminding me there's nothing to eat, and nothing to cook with the fridge so bare, 
i slap at the inadvertent mosquito, 
wondering what to do when my phone dies out too....
bracing myself for a looooong night - and through it all it rains!

WHY?

There was no destiny

No mercy

No rationale

No omen

No prediction

No protection

And no God.

Just a shoot out.