Random Ramblings

From the color of dark white walls The tones of my imagination fade. Grand glory of historic bricks, with sharp lines. Smooth as varnish,shiny these even colored marvels. One by one they stand tall bricks of a grand white wall. As indistinguishable, even colored marvels. But today at the break of the day The glassy army will enter the field. One by one the bricks will cringe Fine lines will appear, from the focus to the fringe. The mirage of merriness Squares copulating for a life shall end. Lines will mend Pre-written history with a bend. A few of them will crumble Few others, remain. Pinks and reds will gape out of the cracks Blues and blacks, un-tame. I watch, Lost in the clinking of marbles I suspend. Bricks laugh in front of me, little by little Some happy, some pretend. In the shallow of their earthen hearts How much can they swim? A metal pendant rusts A dry rose dreams.

Fall turned the color green into orange, red leaves spread loud and brazen; like the cry before deprived sleep like the burst before blindness. The chill of morning air bites, and silences the passion. Two birds that visit my window-view tree all year long like stars, Their little feet dancing in the spring of the branches. The cold seethed in the warmth of the leaves. The birds kept dancing. And my little one keeps smiling with a glint in his eyes. **** Note from the Author **** This poem is actually a symbolic representation of the changing times around Nov 2008 - The falling economy and Obama being elected. The color green in the first para : Green as is money, prosperity, green as in greed. The Fall - literal meaning is seasonal the month of Oct, Nov. Symbolic meaning -Fall of the government, economic downfall. Color Orange, Red - as in revolution, danger, trying times. The second para is about the things that are not going to change whatever happens to the environment around the

They greet like dried leaves rustling through the windows of an abandoned mansion where paintings of forgotten faces adorn walls of incomplete erosion. Two sets of eyes lock, and lips curl lovingly by chance The flitting smiles pause in respect for the passing glance. But just as dried leaves wouldn’t turn green no matter how much it pours, The wrinkles of old souls do not smoothen from love tales of yore.

S he lay in the dark Her moon face – cold The vast sky spreads like a dome In death she is again alone She died burning Sari draped the cooking fire they say Her charred face now silent Under embroidered stars Thousands of miles away Hundreds of cries later A woman screams Fire ! Fire !

I n the realm of emotions, fear has a special position. Lelin dadu’s voice triggered in Neera that same fear; except that it was still covered in suspicion. Before Neera could answer Lelin dadu she was thinking many questions. Why would he want to see her so early (when it was still dark outside) in the morning? Why did his voice sound different? He was probably awake for a while waiting for the alarm to strike. What made him so impatient? Those questions would be answered in a few minutes. Neera opened the door to the stiff figure of dadu, standing slightly crooked, his eyes almost completely hidden inside the circles of wrinkles. “My child” he started. His voice sounded like the dry susurrus of unhealthy branches. But he could speak no more and stopped. Instead he drew a long breath. His eyes were trying to avoid Neera’s. “Dadu, is something wrong? Why don’t you come in and sit?” Neera asked sensing something was wrong. He did not enter through the door. He kept standin

I n the evening Neera tried calling Jeff twice and each time got disconnected. No lines open perhaps. The village got crappy network but she was glad that there was any. The eager anticipation of hearing Jeff’s voice was replaced by the nervous resentment of not getting him over the phone when she wanted to. By this time Jeff would be usually up and ready for his daily commute to work, unless he had been staying up most of the night. Jealousy and suspicion are time-tested aides of bad relationships, more so when distance separates minds and insecurity misconstrues emotions. “This is the last time” said Neera as she dialed the number again. Perhaps she thought she will be third time lucky. “Hey Nee”, Jeff’s voice on the other side said. “I’ve been dying to talk to you!”. Neera could hardly control herself. “I wanted to tell you about...” her sentence was cut short by Jeff. “Neeeee ! Its real early here and I’m trying to get some sleep. Got back home real late last night

It surprised me to see how quickly Neera adjusted to the village living. Old memories, like old habits, die hard. They reside somewhere within us, forsaken like childhood toys, forgotten like best friends from kindergarten, forbidden like innocent mistakes made during adolescence. In our attempt to evolve living the same life, refreshed several times, we bury the old under the new; yet, scrape the top just a little and they spill out, like fresh blood under a scarcely healed wound. Today is only the second day of her stay and Neera is already trotting the village path in her Abercrombie attire and Nike shoes. The village school that she remembered from her last visit had transformed completely, from a two-room mud-house into an eight-room brick-and-mortar box-house, complete with real wooden furniture. Right behind the school there used to be the only grocery store of the village, now replaced by a row of tidy shops, twelve in all. Neera saw one of the shopkeepers holding a cell