Posted in Epics, Poetry

Escapism

Here in cityscapes
I just want the delicate breeze
To lend me a butterfly kiss
And carry away the gloom from the afternoon.

These cloudscapes are way too tempting

They make me want to float with them
But I am doomed with logic and limits
And left with mediocre alternatives.

Then I step into streetscapes

Out of my midday discomfort
I trace the graffiti and picturesque walls
Searching for signs of paradise, but I fail miserably.

I sprint across moonscapes

They aren’t appeasing, they don’t suffice
In letting me witness how a moonbow is casted
Or providing a guiding light towards home.

So I rely on dreamscapes

To dream within a dream may not be
A random act of escapism after all
At least I get to adjust what I envision.

~Poem 24

Midday gloom
(Picture credits: Solve Sundsbo)
Posted in Epics, Poetry

A phased out bond

Never did a man fancy
Ribbons or bows
Till a tiny tot
Tugged at his toes.

Promptly, but not intentionally
I snatched the place of his lady love-
And she was now bound to be on
Either side of my glove.

Everything he bought for her
Now came in a pair of two
But somehow the reverse
Was barely ever true.

It was never a matter of shame
To serve him by pulling out his socks
And he could be the one
To get me into frocks.

Our bond was a fresh example of faith
As when he would fling me up in the sky
Even a perfect couple remained curious
For when I would let out a cry.

As time flew by
Puberty struck me
Mild touches turned awkward
Not even with the exception of a bruised knee.

Tantrums no longer worked in my favour

Nor could I argue that red wasn’t close to pink
Instead he was ready with a cane
Somehow that was enough to loosen our link.

I met my love in my later years
But he couldn’t perceive my emotions
Instead he disapproved with a ridiculous explanation
And subsequently cited what I felt as notions.

He appeared to be friendly
Yet failed at being a friend
Because when I required support
He seemed preoccupied even on the weekend.

Gone were those days
Of not being tied down by restrictions
But now when he comes home late
My heart develops a series of intuitions.

His fragile arm sticks out
From his flannel shirt
Aimlessly flicking through channels
As I stretch my little skirt.

He passes the salad bowl
From across the table
And mashes up his food to
Cover his worry of my being stable.

~Poem 23


Some bonds are magical
(Picture credits: Unknown; Source: We heart it)
Posted in Epics, Poetry

U-turn

Thrice upon a time,
I chose the glossy finished wood
It seemed like a dime,
From where I stood.

An ounce of forgiveness,
Along with a downpour of the holy river
Has only caused me to be a mess
And a walking wound generator.

Even the banyan tree shakes its head,
And lowers its prop roots further
To say I don’t deserve even a death bed,
Let alone being pardoned by a mother.

Throughout the path,
I subconsciously got tangled in ivy
Assuming I wouldn’t require a calamine bath,
And brush everything off slyly.

Now I sit here by the lake,
All alone on a slimy wooden log
For my own goodness’ sake,
Passing the buck on the fog.

I can easily ask for a third second chance,
And after yet another repeated sigh
I will vow not to call it a happenstance,
But the real doubt is- Will I?

Oh! How foolish was I to think,
That because counting deeds is a sin
Draining my misdeeds in the sink,
Would mean they’d flow into the mouth of a bin.
A day will come when I will stop my search,
For a u-turn in a one way
But, my soul will continue to lurch,
As that day will be doomsday.

~Poem 22

Searching for a U-turn in a one way
(Picture credits: Unknown; Source: We heart it)