Monday, June 18

A cup of tea.



Watching sunrise from my terrace top, I slowly sip tea from a cup. All in vain efforts to shake off the last clinging residues from last night’s dream (and all the other nights too). Like spurting Bodhi trees on dilapidated constructions-It stood and grew. It is growing, still.
Sips of the hot liquid char my careless mouth and the scarlet sky burns my heart. I’m reminded of the times spent. I try bringing those vanilla memories closer to myself. They are but, just a handful. An evocative fable of a melancholic past hummed monotonously in the throbbing of my flaccid heart. I swirl the seemingly comforting liquid inside my mouth for a few seconds until it becomes unbearable. I gulp it down quick.
Little sips yet again pinched a hibernating self-loathing self awake. Blasphemous ordeals of love and ignorance, which I thought were left far behind, caught up quick, and this time taller and stronger. Like a creeper twirling around a support to stay, or a coin in the wishing well astray- I held faith strong and gulped. The remaining last few sips (now cold) from the cup.The sun is yet to grow warm and sky still a faded blue. It is time enough to contemplate the strange resemblance of the game-The cup and the tea, our lives, you and me.

The cup of tea is over, and so I guess we too, love.
The dying cloud mourns a loss,
and soil rejoices a gift of life.

Monsoons




Gurgling resounds and echoing yells of the enraged cloud
They proclaim a theft.
Led on by the violating wind messengers,
A bigger tantrum- fuming fury, lightning and sounds.
Today the cloud was torn to bits.

Its drops stolen.






You bring out the best in me, you bring out the worst in me