Poetry: An Elegy on the Death of My Fake Leather Sandals

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Starry-eyed, I peeked at you through the shop window

The salesman’s toothy smile was nothing to your new-polished glow.

Your fake leather belts and stiff rubber soles

Made me dream of journeys sans mud, debris, and potholes.

The salesman whispered the ‘discounted rate’ delicately into my ears,

I glanced down at my slender wallet and blinked back my tears.

My feet slid into your gentle folds, a warrior coming home,

I was fifty short but in your embrace, the world I wished to roam.

Your beauty was unsurpassed, though the insoles did itch,

And your buckles gleamed like fairy dust, when the toe-cap pulled a stitch.

You helped me traverse wet sand heaps on under-construction roads

You stood with me on the roller-coaster of rush-hour public transport.

You were with me through the muddy puddles, of early monsoon

Caked with dirt, you stayed alert, through alleys litter-strewn.

You held me in your hard embrace on broken footpaths

Helped me slink through curfew gates not even the cat could surpass.

And I should have known, you were too good for this town

My fake leather sandals with the rubber soles of brown.

As I hung off the bottom step of the spasmodic minibus

Beneath me the buckles ripped, the outsoles gave up.

And I know that over the months, we’ve had our fights

And I’ve said more than once that you were overpriced.

Though it’s true that I think you could have done with a discount

Never let them tell you, our bond wasn’t profound.

All my neighbors know of your tales of valor

What you lacked in durability, you made up for in glamor.

So what if the heels were rickety and the insoles tickled?

The road to affordable beauty with potholes is riddled!

Poetry: The Misguided Romanticization of Everyday Misfortunes

Collided with you on my way to work,

No, it wasn’t a sign, wasn’t destiny’s quirk.

A swollen temple and a bruised nose

Do not herald a date, a wedding, or even a rose.

Dropped my books on my way to class,

Our fingers brushed when you knelt on the grass

Music blasting from the dorm on the second floor

I nodded my thanks and walked through the door.

I know they say it’s divine intervention,

But it’s more just my lack of hand-eye coordination.

I know you believe we were meant to be

But I need spectacles more than a relationship.

Now my scarf’s stuck to your wrist watch,

My hem’s ripped, your buckle’s botched.

I knew I shouldn’t have bought the lace

Oh shit! Did you think this was decreed by fate?

Spilled my coffee on your shirt front

Damn! Was it Ralph Lauren? Peter England?

Here’s a coupon for a dry-cleaning discount

Just tell me you don’t think this counts.

Look, I’m not saying you’re reading too much into this,

Though that might be an accurate analysis.

All I’m saying is our future looks accident prone

So maybe invest in an insurance plan before a wedding loan.