Time zoomed by
left behind a smoking trail
and skidmarks only I could see
Nobody cared when I said
I’d been a victim of a drive-by shooting,
Love in the driver’s seat
So I stemmed my bleeding with paper
Turned poetry into paper planes
And sent them flying everywhere I saw the rogues appear
One of these days,
One of them will find its mark
And bring my perpetrators to justice.
The Corner Coffeeshop was open for business but its traffic was at a lull. It was too early in the evening for the post-work crowd, too late for the students and AC-enjoying unemployed to be hanging around. Outside, the sun had gone down but that curious combination of atmospheric density…
She perfects her face. She smoothes her look. There’s a matte finish over her entire being.
I wore a saree to a poetry event today. Unlike the last time, it was a rushed drape of an unstarched cotton. I look like an amma. But I was on my way to a new poetry event. And I thought it would be nice to do gentle romantic piece….
I sang. There was music.
I kept a journal while sailing the sea to the Greek islands and Turkey.
Did you ever hear the call of memory? That screeching wail of nostalgia, like tires on tar and you couldn’t help looking back, wondering if anybody died
and realising it wasn’t you?
