i hate you, blank sheet.
youre going to mock me again, arent you? you and those insane black figures on you. youre going to sit there, and mock me.
and i can see my fingers pressing buttons on teh plasctic tablet, like it were the most ordinary thing in the world. and i can see them scratch lead out of wood, as if that too was no big deal. and i can see my eyes...funny thing, to see ones eyes, but i see my eyes looking at a blinking vertical line on a white screen, following its path leaving a bunch of black igures in its wake. and i see my mind comprehend these characters. and so on. we love doing this. like a ugly threesome we play each other this way. se, dancing on her plastic platform, him, feeling the world press down on his eyes and i, lapping up words like a hingry kitten.

she wears a silver ring. she's beautfiful. we shut her in a box the other day, all five feet nine inches of her. coiled up in a little fetal position, her scruffy jeans riding low on her ass, flashing her canary yellow undees, her crumpled whit t shirt bulging around the stomach and the flabby upper arms, her hair breaking free of the neat, compact little bun behing her head. we packed her in, her toes stubby and dry and dirty, in the same old unpretty, unlovely black sandals. we told her we loved her very very much and that she was an amazing person and shut the lid down.

she must have sat there for hours, huging her legs, her arms sanwiched under the crook of her knee, rocking gently back and forth on her behind. she wont cry. she cant. she says she cant, and i belive her. she's different from the other girls because she doesnt run to her mummy and tell. she pretends that she enjoys it. she says it gives her strenght.

i knew her as my little sisters best friend. she used to come over to play all the time, with the clay pots and pans and little wooden rolling pins and rolling plates. and she loved the bunnies in our garden. and the big coconut trees. she didnt have trees, because they lived in an apartment, and we had the bigger house. and my mother used to give her a chocolate, every time she came. and she loved the cuckoo clock in our dining room. and when maliha and her werent playing they watched cartoons in the living room. and when malihas maulvi sahab came for teaching her the quran, i would get to play with her.

she called me bhai.

i told her her panty was crooked.

she asked me, how do you know.

and i said i dont, let me see.

and she did.

chocolate crumble
you're like cookie dough
small stubby toes and wide eyes.
everything so astonishingly
large from where you look
everything so bewilderingly
new from where you are.
i wish i were
you
when i see your tummy rise and
fall.
wouldnt it be wonderful to be back
home, rocked gently in your
deep quiet ocean
half-familiar voices a
faint mumble
away?

mood ring

silver ring
my silver moods
my silver silence like frost
on glass.
silver powder of a lover moth
darkened footprints on
silver grass.
streetlight fascinating
silver skin
moonlight watching your
silver sins
breathing deeply
shiver, grin
twirling muse my
metallic past.

A Poem on the Underground Wall- Paul Simon

The last train is nearly due,
The underground is closing soon,
And in the dark deserted station,
Restless in anticipation,
A man waits in the shadows...

His restless eyes leap and scratch,
At all that they can touch or catch,
And hidden deep within his pocket,
Safe within it’s silent socket,
He holds a colored crayon.

Now from the tunnel’s stony womb,
The carriage rides to meet the groom,
And opens wide and welcome doors,
But he hesitates, then withdraws
Deeper in the shadows.

And the train is gone suddenly
On wheels clicking silently
Like a gently tapping litany,
And he holds his crayon rosary
tighter in his hand...

Now from his pocket quick he flashes the crayon on the wall he slashes deep upon the advertising a single worded poem comprised of
four letters.

And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding
The poem across the tracks rebounding
Shadowed by the exit light
His legs take their ascending flight

To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night...

*sigh*... sheer poetry :)

i think we were all brought up thinking that one day somebody's going to come along and complete our empty, lost halves. and all the halves in the world will link up perfectly, because at some point in your life, even if it were for just a second, you've met the other half of your soul.
when i think about the half that wouldve completed me, i think about all the people ive crossed on the street, made brief eye contact with in elevators, buses, bazaars. maybe we reached for the same book at the same time. maybe we bumped into each other in school, apologised vaguely and went on, not knowing. because despite knowing all i know today, about myself; my restless, anxious, fidgety soul... prone to running away and drowning her sorrows in a swimming pool or paul simon's voice, prone to cigarette breaks behind the cafeteria, prone to staring out the window and wishing i could pick the loneliest spot in the world and let my heart inhale the huge, vast emptiness of everything.... despite knowing all this, a part of me still wonders if the half can ever be wholed.
its a myth, honestly. all people arent built that way. some of us will find our halves, some will find lesser substitutes, some of us will wonder why the hell we're still so lonely, despite everything. our hearts and our lives are filled by our families, our partners, our children, friends, work... it doesnt just have to be one person.
and for some people, being a wanderlust is such a big part of your personality, that if you were ever to be with somebody, that would mean you would have to change. and nobody, nobody should try to tame a wanderlust's spirit. its one of the most powerful, exciting, beautiful, lonely things in the world. if you love somebody...set them free.

Maria's Song, Sound of Music.

How do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?
How do you find a word that means Maria?
A flibbertijibbet! A will-o'-the wisp! A clown!

Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her
Many a thing she ought to understand
But how do you make her stay
And listen to all you say
How do you keep a wave upon the sand

Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?

When I'm with her I'm confused
Out of focus and bemused
And I never know exactly where I am
Unpredictable as weather
She's as flighty as a feather
She's a darling, She's a demon, She's a lamb!

She'd outpester any pest
Drive a hornet from its nest
She could throw a whirling dervish out of whirl
She is gentle, She is wild,
She's a riddle, She's a child,
She's a headache, She's an angel,

She's a girl

Girl. Respect. ;)



someone in the fishbowl is rolling his eyes and asking me to get the hell back in the car. abhi aaiee. zindagi ajeeb cheez hai, baccha....

i'm sorry i blogged Red Rubber Ball. it's not true. it's terrible being the cause of someones pain and suffering, and im sorry im doing it. i wish i could do something that would make it easier for you, but i can't.

I hope its gonna be alright for you. i hope that the worst is over, now. come out, yaar... it really is a beautiful day. the morning sun is shining....