dream in a dream

There was a dream

A day dream

Once

On a Sunday late morning

While the old sax player

Played lazy jazz

Bare feet feeling the cold of the  old Verandah

And the drummer playing  by the frangipani tree

Flowers red and white

An aim-less heart absorbing

The tunes

Like The fermented barley froth

accepts each bubble rising through the golden the brew

I dreamt of a happier place

Where greener grass grew.

Today  I dream of that day

Play the tunes

In my head

Smell the flowers

In my mind

gazing at the shells

From some unknown beach

in the south

holding the echoes of the  ocean

Within

I dream

Of my  day  dream

PS: May be it is because of  the slow tunes of "bushfire fairytales"  (not Jazz really). Or may be it is because of the smell of a perfect Parippu curry. Or May be I was dying to use this set of words "shells holding the echoe of an ocean in their belly".  Or may be I am just day dreaming of going home.  This was written.

Rain is coming

You can see the airport at a distance

Toy cars

Small wins

Yesterday.

When the train doors started making that bleaking noise just before they shut. And the unknown Chinese girl’s voice repeated the usual sentence “Please keep away from the door area”.
The last few seconds to get in , get your flowing shawl out of the closing door. 

A middle aged  woman ran down the escalator  in to the train . Her determined face running down the escalator was a bit unmatching with her age . Yet they say age is nothing but a number .
Her short fast strides across the platform were not graceful yet were suspending almost in air.

She got in ,( the doors seemed to close slower , just for her ),  the doors shut behind her,  she smiled.
For she has won.  Her small win for the morning .

It dawned to me then  , this is what life is about. This is what we yearn  for , toil for and some times die for.  Things that make no sense at all to the whole world except us .

Our small wins . 

Che and me (many encounters)

There’s no denying

Life amidst the trees did not do for you

Nor did the  

poster filled room , of rock bands ,

poems &  photos of Cuba

for me

The day when hordes invaded

Hungry flames  , black smoke

Blood on the street

You hung from my wall

(In white background , black frame )

And proclaimed

“A small price to pay for a greater cause”

You che

With your mystique

Green barret

& Rolex

You said that

And I, may be  naïve as I was

believed you 
almost

May be it was in another life ago

May be it was a day more

Though in the forest  it brews

The autumn breeze carries the scent of a revolution to the city

Be it Havana , Beijing, Moscow, Caracas or Colombo

revolutions quintessentially are urbane things
born in the hearts  of  working men

Yet needs a city to draw air to breathe
to settle  in to lifestyles

much alike the T shirt with your face sketched
on the young man singing Beatles' songs
in the Metro

 The day I stepped out

still embriatted with the sermons

I remember  asking  you Che

How will this end

will it change this time

You said

I don’t know padre

for I am already dead.

May be it was 10 years  ago

May be  it was a day more

  

Strolling down the memory lane

 in the souvenir shop

under the amber glaze 

on a match box I saw your face

there you were  , Che
in Mao’s town
 , stacked  between Mary Jane  ,&  Sophia Loraine

“40  for six

The matches come free “
the sales girl said

Yet , I walked a way

for  

 it felt a tad too much

to pay
for a revolutionary
(so I got a tattoo instead)

May it was weeks  ago

May be it was a day more

PS: Che, for me was a Hero. An enigma . A fad. And now settled at as an interesting concept.
The photo credits to an unknown photographer and good old google.
This piece is still work in progress, so any suggestions are most welcome

3 Some random pics

Heart strings

It was not meant to be anything special.
Just a school concert. Nervous kids , eager parents. Or is it eager kids, nervous parents.

Few songs , applause.
But when the orchestra surrounded the crowd , two little girls stood  by my side with their violins and played .

Something happened .

Sunday easy reading assorted

You know the magazine that comes with the Sunday paper (be it the mirror , Sandalla , whatever. It is “ The Post” in this neighborhood) . If it was a box of chocolates , assorted. This is how I imagine it would be

Strawberry centered, white chocolate
The latest line of Chandelier collection from Continental diamonds . Celebrate love & passion this summer.
 Notice, crave , sulk , move on.

Mint centered Dark chocolate

The Swedish sinophile, author and occasional TV host talks about bringing the cultural divide between China and the west.

Feel a hint of freshness

Espresso centered  dark chocolate

Phoebe Philo’s triumphant return to the fashion world , with her clear cut philosophy .

There she is with her bushy eyebrows, bare back, in a torn jeans , all in the shades of black & white . Leaving much for imagination.

An acquired taste.

Solid Dark lazed with orange peels

In a  remote corner of Nepal , a rare fungus , prized as an aphrodisiac ignited a Buddhist blood bath and destroyed a once peaceful village.

The true tasting occurs in the mind

Solid dark Chocolate , lazed with Mexican Chili

Rape committed during the Bosnian war continues to blight the lives of victims who have yet to see their tormentors punished .

Some things need closure and some things  should be healed with time, and somethings should never be mixed . Like Sunday light reading and Catastrophes’.   Chilies and chocolates .

Milk chocolate Marzipan centered

Liquid design edge coffee table , from Lane Crawford , Home store  , pacific place. Limited no’s exists, hurry now.

The murder of Gerry the clown

Twelve nights ago it was

his corpse

they found

dead for six hours  or so

not less
if only more

two sharp stabs

between the ribs

third & fourth
said the cops

It was ironic when you think

Gerry dead in his clown’s suit

With face paint

Clown nose

and all

Tragic comedy ,

That’s what  it is

Jane  swasi 

the oracle
said ,

In her gloomy tent

Under a cloak of thousand stars

In front of the crystal ball

That is what she calls her self

Mary Jones

Baby doll

the world’s tallest girl

(preety face

if not for the mole  

which drowned her super model hopes)
she puffs yet another Marlboro

Nicotine should calm her soul

Whether they noticed  

she wonders

has it been taken in

as evidence, yet

how to wipe it off

the crimson lipstick stain on Gerry’s   forehead

kiss he stole  between the acts

By the lion cage

While her man

Was running a weary beast
through hoops of flame

(It was an open secret

let’s leave it that )

  

The wise old rishi , George benham

who does a levitating act

hung from his hips

gulps another
of  pirate’s delight

cheap old rum

from the bottle

straight

That’s when he saw

through his thickening daze

in the blue red blue red blue red blue red blue red blue red blue red

light

cutting through a moonless night

a dwarf’s soft look and the silver lines
 the tears sketch on one’s face

a damsel’s  fled love ,
 trying to choose between affection and regret

In the blue red blue red blue red blue red blue red blue red blue red

light

cutting through the moonless night

a stabbed dead clown sit up

wink

and beam.