Ugly truths

“inkblots mutate
to form pictures,
I did not create”

In my mind’s eye
the words are perfectly aligned
arranged and arraigned
tasked to perform prettily
when I sit down to spill ink
they assume shapes of their own
writing stories I did not dictate!

Photo by mikoto.raw from Pexels

Your hands, my words

Your hands hold me protectively

my hands write, evoke life’s glory

the give and take, the working in tandem theory

unfolding every day a new story!

Your hands are pragmatic and solid

keeping me grounded on world stage well nigh!

my words rise loftily high

building a mansion in the sky!

Your hands are cool and neutral

not withdrawn but working methodically

my words spill moodily

somewhat convinced but not completely!

Your strong hands are lovingly gentle

making me twirl giddily on my feet

my words are shy and sweet

promising you heaven, when with thine they meet!

Your hands span my waist

spinning my world dizzily

my words unfurl softly

caressing your feelings tenderly!

Your hands weave magic mostly

with joy they make me scream

my words gush forth like a stream

passionate and full of dreams!

Our hands discover and create

as we continue on this journey shared

in silence as well when words exchanged

we may regret, but want nothing changed!

News in peril

Before my sleep addled mind could align with my lazy bones

my hands would reach out for the crisp black and white

morning tea was incomplete without

worldwide view sans sentimentalism or sensationalism.

There was a time I used to carry a newspaper

while waiting at the post office, metro station or at the doctor’s

to avoid engaging with people

for the daily told the truth at a slant.*

That was the time when a fire in California could undo the reader

or a Wimbledon match energise everyone

burning issues of the far-flung world

condensed in 600 by 750 broadsheet.

Now the world has become smaller

our vision narrow and parochial

mired in local political concerns

narcissism triumphing over the canopy of universality.

Fires of nationalism fan fragile feelings

real news hidden in small columns on page 18

journalism on sale to the highest bidder

newspapers don’t carry the onus of news anymore!

*Doffing my hat to Emily Dickinson.


Another day, like the one gone by

so not unlike the others before

segueing shamefacedly, silhouetted

against the abnormal new normal

held captive, not by oppressive heat or gelid winds

but fear and concern

loneliness, my unwilling mistress

sometimes drowning me in a downpour of misery

at others keeping me awake

staring at the skies through the polluted haze

my craving for human touch is intense

I look around the room

well, I have a picture pinned to my wall
an image of you and me and we are laughing
and loving it all

seems from another lifetime

memories etched deeply on my fragile heart

I am on the edge, teetering towards the inviting oblivion

clinging desperately to a modicum of sanity

the phone rings, shattering the frangible silence

“join zoom!” hisses harried sibling,
her tone dripping with blame

as my mind weaves between reality and fantasy

I see mom, frail and bewildered by technology, sitting in front of a cupcake

breaking into a beatific smile at the loud chorus of happy birthdays

I touch the screen trying to feel her wrinkles

saved by the phone call and her distant presence

atleast for the time being.

My absence has been longer than intended. I can’t pinpoint any one reason for my inability to find time to write and read. I do hope to be around regularly from now on. Missed you all.

What do you see # 57 November 23, 2020

VJ’s Weekly Challenge #122: the phone call

The rise of machines

As I delve deep

I go goggle eyed google-ing

I am sucked into a black hole of information

where celestial bodies’ gravitational force becomes infinite

technological event horizon seems nearer

because of the accelerating progress of technology

and its exponential growth

I stare stupefied at the blinking computer screen

trying to wrap my head around the scientific mumbo-jumbo

pausing for the scientific terms to permeate my unscientific brain

when suddenly it goes blank automatically

to turn on to show a funeral in progress

I furiously reprimand self for imagining things

and get up for a cup of espresso to clear my fogged mind

when the espresso machine spews scalding liquid on my hand

I know it is too much of a coincidence!

when I hear a rumble,

with an uncanny prescience I know the washing machine has turned rogue

and it is certainly not my febrile fertile imagination

shaking uncontrollably, I rush to the bathroom

grabbing the landline on my way

I don’t trust my smartphone right now

with shaking fingers I dial for help

“We have been taken over by Singularity!”

The math of marriage

We were two points
journeying in linear lines
our planes intersected
changing the course of direction!

Though the plan was to run parallel happily
life keeps changing shapes and relative distance
so now, sometimes we run in concentric circles
at others we are diametrically opposite!

We have run the entire gamut from being right angled to obtuse
encompassing various degrees of latitude
thankfully, we have struck balance and now
we exist peacefully venn diagrammed!


Time, you flutter your sixty wings
robbing me of well deserved winks

Everyday when dawn strides towards dusk
I can feel your manner so brusque

Proud thou art of your stranglehold
causing chaos and ruckus untold

If only you could slow down sometimes
I would write you endless rhymes

Wresting with you fills me with grief
crumpled lie my dreams so brief

This is not vitriol but genuine complain
pushing me to the limits, what do you gain

Threatening me with deadlines and clocks
filling me with the dread of always pulling up my socks

Maybe you have your reasons for not waiting for anyone
but I am too naive to understand your constant run

Don’t throw tantrums in a fit of pique
could I possibly have foresight at least

Remember one day I will be free of your shackles
too far gone to be bothered by your cackles!

Eugi’s Weekly Prompt “Foresight” October 12, 2020

What do you see # 51 – 12 October’20

VJ’s Weekly Challenge #116: Reason



the jumbled neurons are a dense tangled web

not letting a shard of sense to penetrate

yet the synaptic cleft is a coarse sieve

through which dark, biased thoughts slither

into the cauldron of disquiet subconscious

poisoning the process of perception

infiltrating the inviolable memory bank

leaving long held beliefs comatose

the communication between

the conscious and the subconscious

totters on the verge of total collapse

But then

learned behaviour kicks in

an antidote to the tenebrous paralysis

sometimes a battle is won or two lost

in this ongoing exhausting war

the surface calm belying the struggle within

giving up often seems the best recourse

stubborn heels dig in then.

Written for Reena’s Exploration Challenge #154


Sometimes hope dangles by a slim thread
I cling to it tenaciously
But the thread does break at crucial times

Sometimes the truth punches me in the gut
Breathless and beaten, I still get up
But the urge to lay sucker punched is too strong

Sometimes optimism sits timidly at my door
I have to let it in
But pessimism gives it a vicious fight

Sometimes I wonder if it is all worth it
But then I need something to live for
Or do I?

“How far does optimism go?”

Faerie time

shivering moon’s shadow pales

in the silhouetted hoary vales

the stars silently dim their light

the drowsy flowers unaware of the blight

in the fog dreams quietly fade

as a fey spirit hides in the shade

the woods inhabited by a phantom shape

a fae, maybe! who knows who is behind that verdant drape.

Eugi’s Weekly Word Prompt – “Fairy” August 10, 2020