Sunday, 29 June 2014

The Ballad of the One Who Stayed

I watched "The Lunchbox" recently and was reminded of this write here, called "The Nit Picker's Ballad", which I then shared on my Facebook Wall. That in turn brought me a couple of requests for a different ending... or the extrapolation of the narrative with a different ending. Here goes :)

On the shores, bereft, he stood
(Though it should be she
He having left at her honesty
At her gift of love)

Gazing long at the loyal waves
That came back again and again
Asking him, beseeching sometimes
To find his peace.

He was young, they seemed to say
Love will come around,
Their quiet murmur consoled
The soft splash had nothing to do
Really, with the twin trails of tears
That found their way down his eyes.

Oh no! Not love. Not forever.
He knew they did not exist.
It was a lesson he was taught.

A niggling doubt, a tiny seed sown
By her yearning eyes. Her silent plea.
By her unshed tears, and brave smile
As she watched him back away.
As she watched, and did not cling.
Did not pursue. 

Was he wrong?
Must he unlearn?
He would try, he had to try
He knew.
Else there would be no way
To ease the agony of his heavy heart.
Back he went, his footprints
Erased by each happy wave
That egged him on, to seek, to love
Then hold on, and never give up
Or give in, to the
Traitorous thoughts that reneged
On faint promises made to himself!

He followed, swift, the trail of wet prints
In the soft moist sand, landwards
Till he came upon her, seated
Knees drawn up, chin on knee
A faraway sadness enveloping...
In the shadows of her thoughts,
And the small fishing boat!

May I sit? hesitant, he asked.
Mute, she nodded.

May I simply hold your hand?
His voice trembled as he asked.

I couldn't stand for you to then leave, she said
I won't, a soft whisper from him, if you'll let me stay.

Let you stay? When did I ask you to leave?You walked, away, away...And will you, again? she did not look at him
As her pain reached out and pierced his heart.

I couldn't leave, I couldn't leave...
I went away, but couldn't leave, 
Hoarsely he repeated over and over...

There were loveless shores of such emptiness
He'd wandered, that he knew, unlearned,
And learned yet again...

Trust or not, Love or not,
Forever or not...
His survivor's heart needed her saviour's heart...

And as they simply held hands
Leaned into each others' love,
A flash of insight struck his mind -
He who was doomed to wander ever
Would now find safe harbour

In his sails wafted promises of another day
Another moment, another soul
To love, to be loved.

How glad he was
He chose to stay!

Online, 29 June, 2014
Under 500 words. :D

Sunday, 15 June 2014


If I could photograph
Each drop of rain, from when it fell
Parting painfully from the cloud
Of like minded thoughts in drops

Falling down, down, down
Barely seeing. 
Just zinging down.
Of a different sort. 

If I could capture
The colours that drop caught,
In tandem with a million others...
Slip into the rainbow then,
And live those emotions.

If only, if only,
I could then save that drop.

From being spattered.

With my eyes, and through my lens
Keep it frozen, right there, 
When it deflects, reflects,
Not genuflect to the scheming
Insanity of those who don't 
Quite know, 

The magic. 

The absolute beauty.

Of how that drop came to be.

15 June, 2014
Online, prowling the www, on FB, and seeing this picture on Jeevan Mohandas' profile :) :)

Monday, 9 June 2014

Of Words and Wishes

My wishes are dragons
Breathing fire,
All consuming
Sometimes violent
Always intense!

My words, they lag
They linger
They've gorged on too much emotion-
They're dead-weights sinking in the
Of too much meaning.

Then they meet.
Those wishes, seeking words.

For all fire, for all the fire
And all their intensity
Nothing quite comes to be.
Dragons are too much of a myth
Too scorned. 

My wishes.
How different would they be!

And so, seeking that sense
Of being real; of being tangible
The dragons meet the words.

And the predictable happens -
Violence in words, and
Emotionally handicapped dragons.
Words spewing fire. 

I could have stopped it.
The meeting.

But perversity. Ah, the very thing.
How it haunts and pokes
And pushes. Me.

Right over the edge.

Till the trails of wispy smoke
Tell you, if at all you care-

The wishes met the words.
And consummated
The love that never was to be.

9 June, 2014 


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