A Full Heart

Time's running slow

Day is unwinding languid

My pupils dilate 

As I look up at a fuzzy sun

Like I am in love

But I am not

I go on numerous aimless walks

Not that I rank them

But each more aimless 

Than its precedent

I lose count

Pause and forget to return

I witness roads passing by

Trees standing still for decades,

In the lull of the forest

Each bough, murmuring a story of its own 

Morning fresh dew on blades of grass

So fresh, you'd wanna eat them

And tiny little yellow flowers 

With petals, needle-like, like God put 'em there 

Bees buzzing all day long

Quiet siestas

On rainy verandahs 

Cozy under shawls that feel a bit too small, always 

My afternoon sprawls along

I wait for dusk, but not rush

Then the dust settles and 

We go into the night 

Look at clouds on cresent moon skies

Inhale the breeze that convalesces 

And exhale lifelong asphyxia 

Here's the time you never had

You have it now

There be no buses to miss

No voids to fill, noone to catch up with

Everything that is, is here, now 

My mind's at rest

And my heart is full

Feet

My feet give me away

Always. 

I desire dainty little feet

With quaint little toenails

Polished in some pastel hue 

Cut, filed & polished

Er, what I have

Is the exact antithesis 

Dusty dark skin

Unforgiving blue green veins

And rough cracked heels

Too big, furthest from delicate

My feet take me from A to B

That I owe them

And also the fact that 

My feet let me perambulate 

Without agenda

Which is undoubtedly the most precious 

However though

Nothing contains the fact that

They're not how they're supposed to be

Subtle, fair, creamy and pastel

Not that I don't moisturise

Or use foot cream of random kinds

But nothing seems to work it

My feet give me away

They are exactly like my insides

Torn up, exhausted, out of place.

Ugly, dried up and unhealable 

No matter how much I hide,

They show.

Fog

It was the nimble winter of early November. The morning air was heavy with fog. She had draped a dupatta over shoulders for the cold and was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt - quietly sipping her tea when a kid from corridor waved at her. It was a Saturday but to the dismay of late risers, breakfast at the canteen ran out sooner than weekdays. She had been fortunate enough to have had two servings of pav bhaji and was in no mood of relinquishing her cup unfinished. But the waving continued. She left her seat at the table and walked out with the cup still in her hands. It seemed she had a visitor. 

She didn't think she was supposed to have any. Surprised, she followed the kid - the security guard's son - into the reception. The guard smiled and wished her good morning. She smiled back, confused. The guard pointed at the road in front of the hostel, pointing far away. She couldn't make out a thing - until she saw a silhouette. She walked out half curious, half knowing who he was. She was gasping heavily inside and was staunchly able to hide all emotion, on the outside. 

For a second, she felt she couldn't breathe, and her temples were hot. Then her eyes were moist, and she was also angry - it had taken him so long. For a moment, in there, she was scared, so utterly petrified of him - and of herself. So many possibilities open up when they stand next to each other - and the choice they make decides everything. The minute following this one would be so freakishly consequential for her that she thought she would faint and create a scene. But she was together - all her limbs intact, hair hurriedly tied into a ponytail, spectacles tucked into her t-shirt, feet taking long steps, fingers holding onto the cup which was filled to the brim with tea - which was too sweet - too dilute - boiled for far less a duration than she liked - but this was all she got. She was regretting that tea and walking - wondering why he stood so far. Was he moving further away? Wondering what his intentions were - did he take the conversation of last night a trifle more seriously than she meant it at? Slowly the fog parted, and her face eased into a smile. 

He was chuckling like she had cracked a hilarious joke, and he was no longer able to keep it within. He raised his eyebrows and asked 

'What's up?' 

'You tell me.' She asked him, right back. 

Third Person

Moisturize,

My dear

Feet don't stop cracking

Skin, is begging for some love

Don't overthink

Think not, rather

Just keep going on

Pause not

Control thy frizz

Braid and unbraid your hair

Don't hide in corners and cry

Not in bathroom breaks, ah no

You're more than your failures

Beyond your muzzled ambition

Breathe, deeply 

And then shallow

Take long baths,

Scrub some more

Nap, as much.

Don't bother. Nobody cares as much. 

Nothing comes of anything, anyway.

Nothing gets. 

Write about losing

Just so you can erase and move on.

Be a third person

Stand, unfazed, outside your body.

You're as dead as you're alive

Disconnect on volition

Observe and appreciate

Whatever little you got

It's not as little, perhaps

You wouldn't be able swallow more.

Plateful of meals

Washed clothes, listless midnight breeze

Fairy lights, potted plants

Skin on skin; mouth on mouth

Ain't too shabby for Rachel 

Loop

It's only Tuesday

And my feet hurt

It's only Tuesday

And I don't wanna wake up

But I am keeping up 

With the world,

Because I've to keep going 

I'm keeping the world up, rather 

Everyday's in a loop

Countless weeks,

Back to back

In an anxious delusion

Nauseous afternoon traffic

The same billboards, staring down

Lunches and dinners cooked 

And kept away

Nothing is ever new

Honestly, new scares me now

And I don't even remember the old

Stuck in this static repetition 

To pause, 

Is to allow existential bs to take over

So, I'd rather not

But one random Thursday evening

Perhaps at 7:36 pm, say

In a quiet moment in the balcony

Wondering whether to water the plants, or not 

I pause, unconsciously - 

The loop is broken 

And the whole world comes crashing down. 

Saturday Sorrow

Keep your tote bags in

No brunches for you.

And no long stem, purple carnations either

No resting wine glasses or dangling forks

Or longish conversations, either

You're perhaps, not worth it, after all.

Run errands, you!

Doctor appointments, medicine store hauls

Pending gynaec visits, the psychiatrist awaits

Kitchen's all a leak, call the plumber will you

Door's come off it's hinges, so have you

The house is falling onto us, what-do-we-do

More errands, some.

What about some deep cleans

While doing which, time's a plenty

To regret, while you clean

Thing's you've done and thing's you've not done

No Saturdays for you,

Only the sorrow.

No movies, no writing

Keep your creative corner 

In your 100% imaginary artisanal balcony

Shun the jute rug, which you never bought

Decay. Slowly though

Without mercy 

Lose yourself, irretrievably 

Feel your temples heat with temper

What-do-we-do what-do-we-do 

Slow Day

Slow day, braid and unbraid your hair.

Watch yourself age in the mirror, see them lines, under eyes.

Cook slow meals, de-shelled prawns in coconut milk

Eat in quiet corners, looking at Christmas lights on a stranger's balcony.

Imagine her life, breathe in. Breathe out, be you again.

Rummage through old clothes, unworn for years, yearn for smells of past years. Past lives.

Encourage clutter. Never get rid of stuff, ever.

No agenda, no to-do crap list.

Let thoughts simmer.

Tip toe around in lil-nothings. Let dreams be.

Don't try, do not try. Just be. 

Watch the fuzzy sun, in the cloudy sky.

Take long naps, dream only then.

Wake up into the evening, cheeks a bit swollen.

Is it still today?

Then you isolate again and write a poem.