Whispering Thoughts

Their XUV was snaking, though more like crawling, through the insane traffic of a nearly metropolitan city in the sun-bathed afternoon of late summer. The tiny trots were amazed and at times even engrossed in the shimmering delusions of grandeur. But the overall combination of heat and snail paced traffic was exhausting and draining. Kids were getting increasingly unruly. And her attempts to tame their rumbustiousness were all but defeated. Until the traffic lights. The XUV resounded with merry sounds of the good old nursery rhyme: Red light Red light what do you say? I say stop stop stop. She prompted them to sing further: Yellow light yellow light what do you say ? "But the lights are still red" whined the youngest. "Wait wait wait" she finished and answered in same breath. After halting at the red lights for about a couple of minutes, the traffic breathed again. So with excitement she encouraged them further: Green light green light what do you say? I sa...

I was the “ugly betty” of my class. Light brown, plastic-rimmed, thickest Gandhi lenses. I would leave them for the last. And forget wearing them. Intentionally, ofcourse! My sister, ever-the-punctual, would not wait for me to run back home. Since I would not be wearing my set-of-eyes, my class-teacher would genially allow me to swap seats. And I loved front-rows. But parents are witty enough. Been there, done it all kinda witty. They got a glasses-holder string and down it went my neck along with the school-tie. Problem solved. And, specs? Oh well, am at home with them. And heart. Courtesy: aliexpress Linking with Velvet Verbosity: 100 words : Witty

In the box beneath my bed lies a forbidden story, with unfinished ends, etched out in Chelpark on blank white pages. No secrets. Only incomplete mutterings. Scrumptious possibilities hovering over the pool of blue-black ink. The fluted-nib of moonlight's quill standing still.

Pen? Check. Purse? Check. Mobile? Check. Handkerchief? Check. Spectacles? Check. She sighed as she zipped her handbag. The drill had become exhausting. From getting up to hitting the bed again. She lived through the day mechanically. She sighed again as she heard her companion calling out to her and willed herself to get up and get going. It was a beautiful day. With late spring and early summer blending. Glorious golden sun. Fresh greens. And the scent of fall. All spread out like a painting. She sighed. Scenically stunning day. And it would be wasted behind Philips LED and rotting files. She drank the day, or whatever was visible of it from behind the skyscraping apartments, while weaving through the lanes which were being swept and dusted. At office hours. Always at office hours. Hah! What good was Nivea and Lakme when pitted against the Delhi dust? MCD sweeper using broom with vigor on a good deal of road. A rickshaw puller ruling the remaining. A groc...

Then I saw you. Aglow. Alight. And it was like You and I We were meant to be. Always. Forever. In that one moment, One flash of a second, I imagined my whole life with you. Truly, Madly, Deeply, I fell for you. You, who were All light, all fire, all power, all beauty. I, a mere moth, Bewitched by your Flickering dance, Rushed to embrace you, To seal What I felt was mine With passion. Your very touch Seared me through. Singed, I let my Vicious desires Consume me. Satiated, I abandoned myself In the bosom of My infatuation. Linking with : Velvet Verbosity : 100 words : Vicious

Yesterday, I waltzed Through Your doors. You Pulled me close, And Held me tight. Today, Dust in dust, ether in ether, I rise with smoke, Blown away. You lament But ashes. For I am the Wandering wind. Stay put and I die.

Delicate, Fragile, To be handled with care, But the ascendant charts, Mercilessly, Unrelentingly, Unheard the warning, Ignored the This side up Insignia, And Unaccomodatingly Hoarded The slightly withered, Shrivelled Heart On to the conveyor belt. Fortunately Or Unfortunately Breaking hearts Shatter noiselessly, Unlike The cacophonous Clamouring Of the porcelains And melamines. Calloused And Cauterised, It beats But faintly Beneath the ashes, Preyed upon Successfully And Unabashedly By the Zodiacal constellations.

She was scared to sleep. Closing the eyes seemed an ominous task. Daunting and lately, repelling. Dreadful even. Even though, she was exhausted and drained, yet she would not succumb to slumbers. She could not. For night after night, she dreamt. Not the happy, joyous dreams. Not even sober, ordinary dreams. Her dream jolted her. In the middle of night. Engulfed in mist. In a seemingly vast endless expanse. Infinite. Sempiternal. There seemed no start to it. There appeared no end. And she was falling. A free forceful fall. Across the foggy sheets. Her hands and legs flailing, struggling, striving. Suffocating, panting, gasping for breath. Desperate. Praying. To be caught. To be made safe. To be tucked in. Unhurt. Unscathed. But that never happened. Theoretically, in the reason of light, she knew there was a slight effort that distinguished fall from flight. She could float over the cottony blanket. But in the shade of night, all reason left her. Benumbed, ...

The benevolent sunrays, Warming, A slight subtle breeze, Rain, occasionally. The pristine greens, Sprigs and twigs, Beautiful buds, Conceived, And now, Ready to Bloom and blossom. The promise Of beauty, The hope of summer. I embrace the freshness, The zeal and zest Of spring. The staleness Of winter Washed away From the verdure With dewy mornings. It is so fresh, So bright, So resplendent That it hurts to stay indoor Amidst The artificially lit Corridors, Breathing The dark and damp Solitude. So I don The mocassins And let the Air Hit me in the face Accompanied In the exodus With a friend. Carefully We pick our way through the Foliage Strewn underneath. Two people, Breathing The spring. The lights And Sounds Of the Metropolitan cumulus Receding to the backgrounds. The sun setting In the distant horizons, The glowing embers Now bright, now mute, Finally subdued. The shadows Walking back To the niches In growing twilight W...

The writing barely legible, More like Scribbling Or as mum used to put it, The gait of A centipede Soused in ink. No amount of “Finger-exercising”, As the teachers Used to put it, Helped improve. Yes, The writing barely legible! Each home-visit, I sit down to Clean up The little mahogany-bureau, From where They keep falling down, Bits of papers, Fractured poems, prose, verses; Random, inarticulate, Ambitious attempts. Little creased capsules, From yesterday, Those end up Being smoothed, Read, Re-read And caressed. The caplets, Filling up The capsule, Dissolving With time. Every visit, The pile is sorted, But never screened. Linking up with Velvet Verbosity : 100 words : Capsule

One tiny tear At the base. And Delicious drops Hang By the edge of shelf. Giving in to gravity, Blending in the puddle, Where you can't tell One from another. The pendants, Trickling, slowly. Spirits, Draining. Sorrows, swimming. And Empty bottle, mocking.

Come eventide, I used to long For you to hold me. To shiver beneath your touch. To melt in the Heat of the desire. Oh, and I used to tremble in anticipation. But wait! Your hands and lips wandered. Caressing and cuddling The likes of me That held the ambered passion For you. Oh, and night after night I looked on from my regal palace At your amorous rovings. Wilting While you sought pleasure elsewhere. Writhing While you reveled. I finally shattered. Took the plunge And crumbled Setting free, The object of your desire. Your wavering hands Returned. My quivering soul felt The familiar touch, Picking up The broken shards Piercing and pricking Your tender skin, While The amber flowed, Unrestricted, Unrestrained, And Uncared for. Ah! As you consign me to dust, I savour your last touch, Satiating, sufficing. May be some day, After I am long gone, You will think of me, A chipped cup, That loved you much. Till then, I shall bask in These frag...