Blackberry

Kind friend
you exhaust me
with this phone
which is neither a fruit
nor a phone
it lies of its color
and its kind
it speaks to you only
and whispers deviousness
into your eyes
and occupies you
from me
and pings
like a bee

Forget this lovely mistress
she is only your keep
for once leave it aside
and look at me

Poetry in Motion

Milleniums have passed between moments
the warm hug that stayed our bodies
the morning vent
the bitterness thereafter
the rift therein;
all precede
the reconcilliation to come

All apologies are none
our scathes and jabs
sweltering as the summer
and pelting like the rain
all as we lay
we are all seasons
in a day.

Tell me what good is

Saying that you're free

In a dark and storming sea?

Poetry in Motion

The burden of your beauty

On my shoulders

Meek as glass

The sharp shards

And minuscule particles

From when it last broke

Are still somewhere

And somewhere is

Where we are

Between dawn and day

And without the moonlight

Guided by nothing

But wind and tide

The infallible sea

Is a little small

For the continuum

Of what we feel

Between dawn and day

With either way to drift

It is too dark for the night

And too bright for the sun

You are of course,

Poetry, in motion.

Love altogether, as an emotion, has a negative basis. It is based on possession, sacrifice and bondage (see: commitment). It is so easy to substitute it with any of these three. To forget love, absorbed in an iron grasp, self righteousness or needless worship, is but natural. The corny Hindi songs about love being like a dangerous poison or alcohol (depending on the quality of your translation/translator), were not altogether wrong. It's hard to dodge a blackhole-ish continuum of jealousy, care, sex, apathy, commitment, romanticism, friendship and every other set of antithetical values in the world. As Prince Charles famously completed Princess Diana's answer to whether they were in love:

Journalist: So, are you in love? (or something like that)

Princess Diana: Yes

Prince Charles: (aside, caught on the mike) Whatever that means.

Ps. She died.

Woma(e)n

Honesty is easy. Honesty, with the full and complete knowledge of what people want to hear, is difficult.

'The Rose is a Rose,

And was always a Rose,

But now the theory goes,

That the apple's a rose,

And the pear is, and so's

the plum I suppose,

Dear only knows,

What will next prove a Rose'

You of course are a Rose,

And may still stay a Rose,

If in the throes

Of vindictive prose

You retain that scent

That really shows

What really makes a rose

And unless I am blind

I do see a Rose

With thorns a-plenty

And a bud that froze

But for my the sake of my lows

Shed this winter ghost

And remain

A rose

Everyone around me is so pretentious that I would rather be a hypocrite.

Bookmark

I move today. I look forward to it. Things come my way. Choices *puke* await.

Ps. Apoorva Shankar must stop singing 'love the way you lie'. Ergo, I have to stop humming it.

Dear Old Lady

Dear Old Lady,

I received a call from you today. It felt nice. Inspite of the niceties. You have so much strength. I am terrified of you. I am even more terrified of what I did and how little I can do to un-do it. I want to write but it seems like a mockery of the situation. Please call back.

Soon.

Love,

Rishi.

Dinner

Trust diligently self righteous half baked, ill-constructed, forcefully presented, freely passed, crudely critiqued and imitated thoughts to put me off dinner.

The only individuality allowed in the existence of a house maid is that of a few idiosyncrasies in an overbearing servitude. Nothing more, nothing less.

Tolerating incitations and coarse tones is respect.

I'm full I think.

On the shores

"This is fucking epic dude", he said. "I've got you, the fucking beach, the fucking lights, I'm tripping on fucking New Years' with my best fucking friend", looking straight at me, and then flashed a smile that was too big for even his gigantic face. I put an arm around his shoulder and from the far South end of the conglomeration of the beautiful coast of Goa we looked North up till the last light. A beautiful semi-circle glazed with a rich dollop of lights at at least fifteen different spots. Once you looked inside these little private fests, they were pitch dark. It was the most scintillating compound of light and dark in my brain and on the shores. Over 10,000 people conjoined in these few hours to bring in a year to be forgotten, much like the others, in dateless mentions. A great celeberation of the redundancy of what has passed and an empty hope that the future will be better. Most of all the feeling that the night has brought some sort of accomplishment with the wind and the substances. Something that did not up till then exist.

But it did.

I look at him, he looks at me. We smile. "I feel like I've thrown this motherfucking party! It's my party!", what I said to him, you said to me. The world comes another circle. A year ends, a feeling ends, a role ends, a phase ends, an idea ends and I hug you. I suddenly know what each one of them means to me.

Poetry in Motion

I implore you.

With all my honesty.

Love Always,

Rishi.