Full Moon she is
Always to me.
She neither fades
Nor grows – Full Moon she is.
I have never seen
The moon twinkle
Until I saw her eyes flutter
Full Moon she is always.
I never know – she has the glow
Until I saw her shine
In happiness and in sadness;
Full Moon she is always.
She follows me wherever I go;
Weaving spatial memory
At every foot step.
Full Moon she is;
Who takes me to places
And feeds me words.
At times she disappears
Playing hide and seek.
Full Moon she is;
When I reach out,
She turns red and shy;
And when I don’t
She turns blue and cry.
She is my full moon.
The one in my “words,,”
The one I “danced” with,
The one at my “window”,
And the one “over the moon”
He was sitting at the entrance of the room. On the sofa lies a book on “Legal Ethics”, few blank papers, notebook, pen and assignments. Everything was scattered here and there, unlike his room. He was there waiting to meet his friend. It was a holiday, and the wait was getting long. He lights a cigarette, and tries to read something from the playbook. Temporality, a book on cultural study of Time by Russell West Pavlov. Anything about Time feels appropriate, so began to read. The book discusses the idea of time perceived using Clepsydra to the modern digital watches, and how time became the centre of human life. One of the subtitle of the first chapter reads “Time keeping”. His mind took a pause while the phrase “Time keeping” started repeating on his head several times. He abused her profusely in his mind for not keeping up with time.
He took a deep puff of the cigarette, and finishes it in the ash tray. And shuts down the playbook in which he was reading the book on Time. He got up from the sofa and moves around, entering and exiting the room multiple times. One more cigarette! He asked to himself, No! came the answer from his mind. The idleness made him feel bored, so he thought to himself “Let me see if I can set the room for her.” The fan indeed blew the ashes all over the sofa from the tray. So he went to the main door to switch off the fan before starting to clean. After some time of cleaning, uncle Raj entered exclaiming “Hey Akhil, when did you come? Akhil was surprised to see uncle Raj because his friend told that uncle Raj went out of station.
Akhil avoids uncle Raj because like a quiz master Raj believes and annoys everyone that he has answers to all the quires in the world. Uncle Raj says “knowlege is nothing but experience” while Akhil believes that “knowledge and Experience are two different thing. Anyway, Akhil and Raj’s meeting was not a lengthy one – Raj left early because he had some work in the bank. Akhil had almost finished cleaning the room, and he has to organise the sofa. While setting the papers, books, pen on the sofa; Akhil found a note which read “Be Happy XOXO.” He just smiled and slipped the note into his pocket. The note must be from his friend, whom he was going to meet after a year. Akhil met her in one of the Hyderabad literary festival in 2017, from then onward they became best buddies. She knew Akhil so well so that she dropped him the note in advance. Now, Akhil settled back on the sofa and began to think about all the memories about his friend – Pranathi.
(to be continued)
It was sometime in March-April of 2001. Prem was in his standard ninth; and he was very sad. Not because he was leaving the school and his friends but because he won’t be seeing his lover. It was not a fine day for him, and he was getting ready for his final annual day celebration in the school. Prem was the one in the entire batch who was neither good in stuies nor in other activities. But somehow for his lover he will try new fields such as drama / dancing / singing and so on to get her attention. God! in his attempt to make that IMPRESSION on her, I remember how annoying and selfish he becomes.
For an Instance, on the day of celebration friends usually choose a specific colour as dress code. Back then there was no Theme that differentiates us instead we prefer Colour that exhibits sameness. But Prem insisted all of us to wear totally different colours. Initially we couldn’t understand the reason behind it but eventually without any reason we agreed. We all dispersed to home, it was the same evening the cultural program begins. We were having the best bath in that entire year because we are getting the stage to perform and we have to look good. Following the bath we groom ourselves in the best way. In those days cosmetics were only for girls; but occasionally we were allowed to borrow or steal some of them from mother or sister. I managed to steal some of my mom’s Fair & Lovely which made me smell like every other mom in my locality. Also I have saved some Eyetex Kajal Paste to draw moustache. Prem for some reason bought Lipstick, to top it all we all bought different talcum powder and mixed it all together. With all the cosmetics we all met a couple of hours early at the venue, people started walking in one by one, and moments later Prem went missing. Since we all were busy greeting each other’s parents, we didn’t look for him. Almost half an hour later, we saw Prem running like crazy towards us. When enquired, he informed that he went to see his lover at the 4th cross street; after watching her leave the house he came running back to school. Not because of the fear of getting caught by her parents, but because his dress was not matching with hers. Good Lord! at the end it is I who exchanged my yellow shirt to him that was matching with her lovers dress.
For all his annoying behaviour I was waiting for him to go. Actually, such was the thought that keeps coming often in everyone’s mind; but none can handle if he leaves, ‘coz he was such a good caring person. It was not a fine day for him, the time came for Prem and his group to perform on the stage. One last time, for themselves as well as for Prem’s lover. The play was hilarious, everyone enjoyed thoroughly. After the program Prem proposed to her lover, who in turn promised him that she will wait for him.
(Now don’t ask me whether they got married or not, in spite of me sacrificing my yellow shirt on the 2001 annual day celebration, they both got married to some one else and got settled. The annoying thing is they are still in touch with each other in spite of not getting married to each other. I don’t know whether I’m behaving like a person from 80’s / 90’s. But believe me when I get married they will definitely not be in the guest list)
The dimple on her cheek is the first thing that comes to my mind when I think about her. I have written poems on her dimple. Poems on my desire to kiss and bite her cheek so hard, so that to begin the next day engaging in “Oodal” (false fight) for making it red. Did I utter the word Oodal? – the only Tamil word that makes her feel nostalgic. Yes indeed, it is her favourite word. Now I even remember how I use to collect all the Kural (Couplets) that talks about Oodal and reciting it to her.
I remember how she use to fall asleep on my lap – on the bench under the tree – in children’s park. She cuddles me in her sleep, murmurs about the day, and if lucky she gives real kisses too. My thighs pain and legs go numb but I never disturb her sleep. It is funny how she fell for me for such trivial gestures. While, I, on the other hand – after she falls asleep – continued to talk to her about how beautiful she is? When she feels everything dreamy/ unclear the next day. I feel good that way, because I repeat the same thing again and again.
Today, I don’t know why I am remembering random things about her – The tears she shed, the happy moments, fights, kisses, outings, gifts, songs, days, nights, stories, gossips, friends, dance – Thinking, whether she will ask me to live all these memories once again?
I don’t know.
But to end with, I still find her cheeks desirable and am not going to write a poem now. 🙂
She was sitting near the window – like a turtle, she was in her shell – immersed into the words of someone else. Her big eyeglasses were reflecting the text distorted; I leap to have a glance of what she was reading and all I could see was her bangles. Oh yes! bangles on both the hands – unusual I know. But the bangles looks as if she was cuffed to the book that she was reading. She smiles and laugh and widens her eyes with excitement as she read. Whomever the writer is s/he must be knowing “how to grab the attention of the other through narratives?” I know how powerful the words are both spoken and written. And I always wanted to conquer those words that interests other to get their attention; in this case her attention. Alas! I’m clearly failing.
The sun was gradually raising, and her eyebrows were moving against the light. Blocking the sun with the book in her hands she sets her hair. It was Monday, think she took a head bath and maybe due to hurry she didn’t dry her hair. I saw her hair tangled and wet. As she continued reading, her eyes slipped a line and accidentally glanced me seated next to her. Though it was like any other day I some how lost all the words that I carried with me for her at that moment. Her reflexes are so quick to understand the same before getting back to the line she slipped.
The journey continued without exchanging any words.
But the future is not.
If there is a size below zero she looks exactly the one. Some time I wonder, how she navigates her little body? from place to place. And will she able to take a pat on her shoulder? as an appreciation for the work well done. I don’t know! She flaps her wings a thousand time to maintain a balance in the air feeding on every flower. But I hardly know anything about the purpose of her flight. Am not pitying her physical strength or romanticizing. But just randomly thinking about her.
She is known for her quickness. It must be natural for her to learn everything fast, but maybe without realizing the good and the bad. And it is obvious that she has to visit every flower that is empty as well as the one overflowing with honey. As a spectator I can reason out with my human mind that not all flowers taste the same. But she has to feed herself to survive. I see her getting obsessed with one flower which she finds attractive. She knew that the flower contains honey occasionally. In spite of the fact, she waits! For days and months starving. The flower never bloomed, thereafter.
The last I saw her flew- flapping her now the broken wings- to the same flower which she is obsessed with- looking for honey.
I wouldn’t say it was a bad day. For him it was a day of Indulgence, a thought which was so deep, it made him numb. He works in a night club, he has lots of work to do now. But he seems to be occupied. Everyone who entered the hall could sense, that he is troubled. He isolated himself from the crowd, who were shattering his thoughts with laughter and stares. So he stood at the entrance. “LEAVE right now”, a voice from inside exploded like a scream. It was a voice with such a terrifying intensity, he could hardly handle. The event was pretty colourful, the lights, music, drinks and so on. The ambience and the nature of the party reaches him like a wave, whenever someone enters and exits the event. The door excluded him and the guest differently, no actually he made that. He was not attracted by the event, but his thought breaks down constantly because of the guests. He sat like a model of pain, on whom the others were relaxing. May be he was a pain bearer who stood at the entrance, carrying the bundle of anger, frustration, pain from the guests. As the time passed, the music turned louder, lights brighter, there was scream, a mad laughter, and so on. It pounded his thoughts harder from both inside and outside the door. He covered his ears and head with both hands and fell flat on his face. His conscious was fading, but none was around to look after.
I don’t know how he did that, but yes, he somehow managed to drag himself into the rest room. He made a room for himself near the wash basin. And leaned towards the wall where a huge mirror was kept hanging. He splashed some water on his face, and wiped the blood. He didn’t regain his conscious, but his thoughts were. When he looked himself into the mirror, his thoughts got a shape. The longer he looked, the longer his reflection stared at him. His image started to blend in him and became one. An indescribable SCREAM exploded and he lost his consciousness. Nobody knows what he was thinking.
I am the THOUGHT.