Saturday, May 12, 2012

.

Chipped graphite rolls in between the finger tips
It has a wooden cloak
It nudges the white under to let it move
Allow it to dance on it
But it is repelled
By the brain that is lying beside
For it has gone through 300 emotions in the past second
The graphite mulls
Not knowing what piece to perform
Its confused
The wooden cloak it wears is getting sullied
It looks ancient
But has no proof of experience
It is still long but not drawn
It has not been written with
Danced with
It is handled by nail-bitten appendages
Anxious and trembling
Scared of what might be said or heard
It needs to let go
Of the brain
Of the fingers
Of the cloak
Of the white
All of it

Sunday, May 6, 2012

A Minute

Give me a minute
Let me rewind
To a time long gone
To a wind blown away
A morsel chewed
Trickled bead of sweat
A morning tea
Rustling crisp leaflets
Fogged spectacles
Kohl smudged eyes
Tired jubilant smiles
The stretch on the bus
Heavy backs of bags
The setting sun
Starry night walks
Familiarity of populace
Touch of books
The lost letter
Seventh birthday card
A crumpled photograph

Snippets of my Coloured Compartmentalised Life.