29 May 2010

dream in a dream

There was a dream
A day dream
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

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

21 May 2010

Small wins


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 . 

19 May 2010

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 

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
 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

17 May 2010

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 .

02 May 2010

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

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
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
cutting through the moonless night
a stabbed dead clown sit up
and beam.