Sometimes it happens

With hopes bubbled up. Anticipation's pounding touching one's heart. Lenses cleaned up battery charged up. Went out. I thought I would stumble on that perfect shot . Real.Life. Drama.

But 4 hours later here I am sitting empty handed. Writing because I have to . Sometimes I write to remember . Sometimes to forget.

Well sometimes it happens.

208 aka Stripey

Let me introduce a friend of mine.

He is officially christened "208" . That is the number that was given to him at Singapore zoo's souvenir shop inventory.

He is very much like most of us, He thinks he is a typical Zebra, no different to the one grazing in the Kenyan Savanna . While only wilderness 208 knows is the natural looking surrounding of the Singapore zoo. He thinks he can relate to the pains and feelings of the common zebra.

At times when I talk about the ground situation in Muhamalai or Life in the free eastern province, I remember 208 and wander whether there is any difference between both of us.


Now he lives in Hongkong . Having done a bit of travelling around (even to Sri Lanka), he considers himself well travelled. Often talks about how things are different in the Savanna.

Guess it is a dangerous combination.

When I close my eyes………..

I shut my eyes to see

mirror dark water calm

formy surf wash away

the unsung song stuck in my heart

aglow in the lunar gleam

Butterfly fish scuttle

amidst the shadows the clouds make

Mermaid songs whiffed

feel cool on my face

After an eternity and an instant

I open my eyes

my mouth dry

yet my lips taste saline

A complete joke

Have you ever marveled how some things we presume and because many people assume the same thing ( generation after generation) , that ‘may be’, becomes almost a fact.

I am sure you would have read the nursery rhyme. Enjoyed it . And most probably even know by heart , the story of the egg. Who fell and cracked at the foot of a great wall. How the royal staff of a particular kingdom , had nothing better to do than to figure out a way to fix the situation. But to no avail .

While, even after almost half a life time later , I feel puzzled over the unconceivable concept of this VVIP of yolk & shell , I can not help but to chuckle at the paradox that , never in the prose does the author actually say that it was an egg.

Bad habits (Poem)

Yeah’ you heard me right
that is what I said .
Now, you ask me why ?
well that is my new bad habit
Now I swear
I know it is not nice
darling
But that is just the point
Bad habits are bad habits
are bad habits
give me a tick till I
put off this cigarette
As I was saying love
I was bored stiff
with my old ones
I fancied a new
No it ain’t passing phase
I stick to my habits
I'll tell you
Like the penchant to
stringing together words
in to peculiar sentences
breaking them at odd places
to make it appear
a prose
almost