The Poetry Post #6

Rainbow Poetry #1

Poetry: Bleeding Through the Year in Verse

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It’s been a difficult year,

You wrote me a song and told me it’s over.

It’s been a treacherous year,

Every conversation’s been feeling like a hostile takeover.

Having dinner on the frontlines,

Sharing a drink across enemy lines;

Across the dinner table I fire a shot

The bullet ricochets, your sigh an afterthought. 

An unforgiving year, ‘cause you won’t tell me what’s wrong;

What to forgive and where to start.

Won’t sing me a melody, won’t write me a song,

That doesn’t end with your pen through my heart.

The days bleed together, ‘cause you won’t answer my calls,

Won’t return fire, but this ceasefire, cuts worse than our fiercest wars.

They tell me to sing, but I can’t hold a tune without your name on it;

Can’t envision a future, and the past is still bleeding where we split.

It’s been a terrifying year, ‘cause I’m still jumping at the shadows,

Of your disappointment, the discontent that you compose.

An inconceivable year, ‘cause God, this isn’t how we were meant to end;

In bitterness and outrage, to the warfront of silence condemned.

But maybe you’ll say something, if I sing loud enough;

Maybe you’ll hold up a shield if I fire another shot.

So I’ll smile and I’ll croon and I’ll twirl, till I’ve come undone

Brought you down or choked on the melody you forgot. 

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.

The Poetry Post #3

Pretend

Pretend you’re not here, pretend it’s not me,
Pretend the knife in your back doesn’t bear my fingerprints;
Pretend the red in my hands doesn’t flow from your broken heart,
Pretend we can go back to those forgotten days, that innocent past.

Pretend we’re back to the night you smiled at me,
With every yearning breath I relive that memory;
Your last smile, our last kiss,
Just this once, pretend you can forgive.

I may not apologise,
On that fateful night, I forfeit the right;
It’s a crime I am destined to repeat,
No rest for the wicked, no salvation for my misdeeds.

Pretend I had changed my mind,
Pretend I had returned your smile;
Pretend the kiss was real, didn’t end with a knife through your heart,
Pretend you can sleep tonight, safe in my arms.



Dollhouse

Dazzling lights in rainbow hues,
Music soft, steps right on cue.
Bodies swaying – gentle brushes, halting touches;
A lingering glance, movements in a trance...

Melodies sweet, soft lights enhance,
Painted lips and powdered charm.

Sparkling fabrics adorn anorexic frames,
Vibrant smiles and anonyms;
Alluring words and curtsies disguise,

Shifting glances, lifeless eyes.

Crimson fountains flowing full;
Into blissful oblivion, all senses pull.

Painted dolls in rooms of glass,
Keyed to smile, simper, laugh;
Kaleidoscope beams the shadows chase–
Bodies move in euphoric haze.

But when with dawn, darkness descends,
Nocturnal angels, into the shadows fade.

The Quake: A Short Story

Preeti sighed as the ground lurched violently under her feet once again. The man was a veritable nuisance.

“Oh no not those,” she repeated with slight irritation in her voice. “The white ones. They’re crunchier. I told you didn’t I?”

“Are you suicidal?” the man growled, frustrated. “This building will collapse any second now and you’ll die, taking me with you!” he spat.

Preeti sighed again. “You do realise that we are surrounded by multi-storied apartments on both sides of the road, right?” she asked with forced patience. “It’s not like getting out of this building is gonna save your ass any if things decide to start toppling over. What’s indoors or out to a corpse? I’d as soon die in a hotel lobby eating white chocolate as running about aimlessly on overcrowded streets.”

For a moment, the hapless shopkeeper stared at Preeti, open-mouthed, as if she were insane; and if Preeti was entirely honest with herself, she wasn’t all that sure that she wasn’t. Then, with a heavenward gesture of surrender, the stocky, balding man threw a fistful of beautifully wrapped confectionaries in her direction before jumping haphazardly over the counter and making a beeline for the main gates as fast as his rather stubby legs would carry him.

“Stay close to the pillars,” Preeti advised over her shoulder, already sucking on one of the mouth-watering delicacies, as she jumped lightly over the counter that the shopkeeper had just deserted, throwing herself into his cushy chair, surrounded by candy. “And try not to die in the stampede,” she added as an afterthought as another hoard of disoriented and scrambling bodies fought to get through the now congested gates. Honestly, they kept coming, like a swarm of really annoying locusts. She sighed, and bit delicately into the core of a ferrero rocher, all thoughts of annoying tourists fleeing her mind as the delectable flavours of molten chocolate flooded her senses. “Mmm...” she moaned almost obscenely, although thankfully the sound was drowned out by the sounds of cutlery crashing to the floor as another violent tremor shook the earth. Preeti barely just managed to keep her own chair steady.

“The Hell!” Preeti cursed as surprise caused her to lose her grip on the other half of the confectionary, which dropped to the floor and rolled into an obscure corner. “Damn it!” she grit out, reaching for another one and unwrapping it carefully. Oh well, she mused philosophically, as more people ran about in the lawn, screaming hysterically. She was in a candy-shop, after all. It wasn’t as though she were ever going to run out of candy.

“You shouldn’t be sitting here all alone, you know,” a voice informed her conversationally from somewhere near the staircase leading up to the rooms. Preeti did not bother turning around. “It seems like a strong one. You could get hurt.”

“Yes, because running around like intoxicated puppies is doing them a fat lot of good,” Preeti retorted testily, jerking her chin towards the guests visible right outside the glass window, most of whom were still flailing about rather haphazardly. When the voice said nothing, she sighed. She’d been having a long day, sure; some idiot kid had puked on the pristine hotel sheets. And the ground trying to tear itself apart and driving the silly people nuts wasn’t helping any. But none of that was his fault, and there was no point in taking it out on the poor guy.

“Whaddya want, Jijo?” she asked finally, swallowing the residual chocolate in her mouth with a soft murmur of satisfaction.

“The walls are gonna cave in soon, you know,” her brother said with an exasperated shake of his head, hands tucked firmly into the pockets of his pleated uniform trousers, like they always used to be. “So if you’re not gonna make yourself useful, you might as well clamber under the counter and stay put, until this thing blows over.” Even as he said it, long, thin cracks appeared across the ceiling as the ground gave another heaving jerk, almost throwing Preeti off her precarious perch on the chair.

“I’m not a rat,” she spat irritably. “Rats hide under furniture.”

Her brother raised a brow, his expression neutral even as his eyes shone with barely concealed amusement.

“Then go up there,” he said, gesturing up the stairs with a dismissive flick of his fingers before stepping aside lightly to avoid a falling chunk of concrete. “Somebody’s stuck on the third floor. A kid, I think. You saw him this morning. He was sick. He still is, by the looks of it.”

“The pukey kid? Seriously?” Preeti sighed miserably, stuffing another toffee into her mouth before looking upwards dejectedly. “Of all the awesomely heroic things I could be doing right now, you want me to get drenched in puke?” she grumbled around a mouthful of melting white chocolate, even as she got to her feet, stuffing fistfuls of sweets into her pockets.

Jijo chuckled softly, the sound almost lost in the din of crashing concrete coming from somewhere upstairs. “Well, somebody’s gotta save their asses, haven’t they?” he grinned, leaning casually against the banister.

“You tried,” Preeti muttered, an irrational bout of irritation surging up her veins, even as she tried desperately to keep her eyes fixed on the chocolate she was unwrapping, to not look up at the mangled and bloodied form of her handsome brother. “Fat lot of good it did you.”

“Ah but that’s that point,” Jijo replied, voice warm and full of his usual mischief. When she finally looked up, his form was faded, almost translucent, but still distinctly him, the annoying older brother she’s known all her life. It hadn’t turned into the broken, mangled, bloodied thing that was usually all that was left at the end of these visions. “I miss you, little sis,” he smiled, before vanishing like a wisp of smoke in foggy mountain air.

Preeti sighed, popping one last candy bar into her mouth even as she ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Oh well, there were worse ways to go than with a tummy full of chocolate, she supposed.

The Poetry Post #1

The Magazine Girl

There’s this girl in the magazine,
Smiling up through the glossy sheen
Of florid pages in the illustrious publication,
Barely into adulthood, touching the heights of acclamation.

Perfect hair, each strand in place,
Vibrant eyes, through prismatic lenses gaze
Out into a world of lights and stars,
Of dazzling flashes and airbrushed scars.

Designer labels adorn the hourglass frame,
Stiletto heels tread with careless grace,
All eyes transfix – with envy or desire,
In all hearts ignites an unquenchable fire.

Pretty as a picture, devilish perfection;
Inspiring love and hatred, with equal elation...
But in hesitant dreams of a different world,
She’d trade for a private love, all public adoration.


The Best Life

Every morning I wake up
To see colours all around me;
The sight of smiles on beloved faces,
And the scents of baked goods, surround me.

I don’t know how
Life gets better than this;
In another life I used to dream
Of this safe and sound feeling.

Feet torn with broken glass,
The stench of gunpowder all around me;
Pining for a little patch of grass,
The taste of despair surrounds me.

I don’t know how
Life gets better than this;
In another life I used to dream
Of this safe and sound feeling.

As I walk down the street,
Happy faces greet me;
The children race down to school,
And the postman rushes to meet me.

I don’t know how
Life gets better than this;
In another life I used to dream
Of this safe and sound feeling.

A child was crying for its mother,
Who lay bleeding on the floor;
I watched a while till a bullet flew past,
And the little one cried no more.

I don’t know how
Life gets better than this;
In another life I used to dream
Of this safe and sound feeling.

At night when darkness falls,
After supper with the folks;
I crawl into the covers and chase the nightmares away,
With my darling’s gentle strokes.

I don’t know how
Life gets better than this;
In another life I used to dream
Of this safe and sound feeling.