Things with faces

World peace has a beatific face
but we are told it needs
the protection of horrors of war
love has an alluring face
but wears a mask of indifference
for it is afraid of rejection and ridicule
the face put forth by fear is that of disdain
it is loath to reveal its insecurities
the face of truth sparkles with divine light
buttressed by courage and conviction
but deceit wears a face so cunningly naive

lulling most into a false sense of faith and security
beliefs and things with faces all around
or is it faces with masks
so difficult to say these days!

Chasing the sun

Roused by the tender tickling of the tenuous sun
she stumbled out in the blush pink dawn
hoping to be caressed by its velvety, amber warmth
she ambled on the empty streets in the search of morn
but silvery ponderous puffs invaded the skies
she wandered wilted and was woebegone
twisting the tendrils of tensile hope
she asked the soaring eagles where the sun had gone
the labouring squirrels too had no answer
they were busy rooting around in the lawn
desperate and dismayed she continued to look over the horizon
but her eyes met the dusky grey curtains drawn
wearily she traced her footsteps back
chasing dreams leaving her dispirited and withdrawn
she opened her palm to let her yearning slip by
slipped under covers with a tired yawn
another day, another desire, she won’t give up that easily
to dream and chase them, she was born.

( I am trying to catch up with my reading. Please forgive me for the delay in responding to your comments. I will try to reply tonight.)

The older kind of love

Their eyes meet across the lobby teeming with guests
unlocking meanings that no one else can see
imperceptible nod of his head
and she reads what’s going on in his mind
a gentle pressure on the shoulder
and he knows what is expected
the glance they exchange as their child exchanges wedding vows
speaks of unfathomable passion
always circumspect; earlier mindful of the elders, now the kids
their love never on display
it bloomed gently in the shade
the secret smiles they share,
the incomplete sentences of each other they complete
tells a story unseen today
so unlike of the youth who are too busy
staring into the camera
rather than drowning in each other’s eyes
not making predictions, but as I blessed the couple
I did wonder for a minute
would their love blossom like their parents’!

(Just back from one of the many weddings I will be attending this season. The hosts, very close family friends, setting new benchmarks of enduring love.)

Making sense

I sit still in the pockets of stillness

holding delicately the errant heart

suspended between
the harsh and loud crashing waves of accusations

mulling over the razor-sharp words

and the wounds left on my wrists

inverted query marks that question your maps

of which way the relationship should head

cynical assertions mock simplistic way of looking at life

my views are like a lost alphabet alone and adrift

in the vast seas of sardonic know-allism

now when I look back at that naive, gullible person

I wonder was that really me?

My crumbling thoughts are doctored to sync with others’

the debris of such thinking falls in undulating patterns

it is a miracle that still some sense can be made

of the free-flowing bonds that keep us tied to each other

our silence often embellished with pregnant pauses

But where others see potential of emptiness

I see an ocean of turbulent continuity.

Written for Reena’s Exploration Challenge #112

My Life a Conundrum

“What do you do the whole day?”

Is a refrain I often hear

As if staying at home, I just while time away

Which is such a non sequitur!

“You are free the entire day!”

Exclaims my little one indignantly,

“And I have to study throughout the day!”

Is what I am told incessantly.

“Look up these papers will you?”

Calls up hubby from his work

And in case I am unable to do,

The job of a dutiful clerk

“You had the complete day to play finder!”

Is his quick, witty rejoinder.

This whole day that I am free

Starts at 6 am and ends at 12.30 am.

With two half hour breaks for me

To disrupt the continuous tedium.

When you are cook, tutor, driver washerwoman,

Nurse and occasionally maid

You wish for the powers of a superwoman,

To tackle all the chores for which you are never paid!

From morn till night

Like millions of people worldwide

I toil at my job diligently

The house is clean, there’s food on the table

The children brought up well

The finances are all stable.

Yet why am I stuck with mislabel

As if I am differently able!

So now to the query, “What do you do?”

I have a smart rejoinder,

With a jaunty toss of my head

I say, “Oh! I am a freelance writer!”

Theirs eyes go wide and wisely they nod their head

Now you all will somewhat agree

This is no mean feat by any degree

It may be a motley group of followers

But why should I tell

Let them think I hobnob with scholars

And that I have a faithful clientele!

(A few days ago Robyn had written a post, I so identified with, and I had told her I would dig out this old post for her! So Robyn this is for you, me and other “homemakers“!)

The seas at my doorstep

Bone-weary but contented when you return
you bring the vast seas to my doorstep
roaring capriciously and tranquil by turns
The tempestuous tides are forever interwoven
moving rhythmically with your heartbeats
responding automatically to the pull and push of the moody moon
The coarseness of the sand I feel on your palms
tingles my senses with gentle abrasion
The unfathomable depth of the oceans
reflects in your eyes
hiding subtly the underlying passion
I taste the sweetness of the brackish seas on your lips
a taste defying any definition
The sea and the moon are forever bound
sometimes close, at others afar
leaving my landlocked home awash with sea spray always.

Daily, no more

For me blogging is cushy; it gives me ‘khushi’ (happiness) and is not at all taxing! But I will not be at my prolific best this month and the next. Writing daily is not a problem but due to some family commitments, travel plans and a few weddings I have to attend, I will be posting sporadically. Posting indiscriminately, without finding time to read others, doesn’t feel right. I am not being saintly (far from it) but by observing some of the best bloggers here, I have learnt reading others is as important as posting. It is all about a healthy give and take. Blogging is a community activity not an ivory tower existence of journal writing.
I am very much here but will not be posting or reading daily. Wishing you all the very best.