Tinydancer

Epiphany

2012-02-03T00:15:00.000+05:30

¨ You are naive. And you do not trust people¨
-S

People who know me well might get why this feels revelatory. They have never been put together.

Also, I have too many S(s) in my life.

We

2012-01-30T16:18:00.002+05:30

falter

at the stem

never

the root

Only poetry,

2012-01-28T14:13:00.000+05:30

I shape a verse
into your palm

All I have, to
keep you warm.

2012-01-28T14:04:00.003+05:30

Leave me

among the leaves,

These clouds,

they promise rain

I shall be wet

here,

again

These words

2012-01-28T14:01:00.004+05:30

How, with just one verse,

I become

the author of your

disgrace

and you,

the poet of my

despair

These words!

How long will we let them

circle our drains?

Reading

2012-01-28T13:56:00.002+05:30

All this poetry, enters me in the same place, at the same time.

They spear me with a familiarity so dismissive,

I fall to my knees before they can exit.

Wanting:

2012-01-24T13:38:00.000+05:30

how bold
like a star

Press me into

your hair

where I may

shoot

with

the rest.

The River- Day 20

2012-01-20T13:09:00.005+05:30

Some times when our eyes meet and hold
I allow myself the fantasy:

you are as struck
by me as I am by you.

2012-01-20T13:06:00.000+05:30

"It's so cold! I want to stick my hand into fire"

I rashly said to my roommate.

And then I promptly did just that. (as an accident of course). I nursed my burn through the night, my fingers throbbing red. All the while, I thought of you and the burn close to my heart and that if I could taste you just once, for a while, I wouldn't mind if you burnt me right through.

The River- Day 19

2012-01-19T13:09:00.000+05:30

When you ring from across

the ocean, your voice

so close to my ear,

I remember

playing treasure

island among puddles of mud,

our very own ocean

in a backyard,

we played at being fairies,

I was Blue Bell and you,

Tinker.

The River- Day 17

2012-01-17T15:54:00.003+05:30

The fog enters my jacket
and my hands are like
little blocks of ice.

I wrap the memory
of you wiping
my tears on one long

ago winter morn,

the place you rested your
fingers still feels warm

Confession

2012-01-14T17:07:00.003+05:30

There was a moment after I spoke, when the shock and silence that met me appeared to stretch endlessly. I saw my words being carried away and tried reaching out to drag them back into me where they would be safe again. But the current was too strong and my hands too weak. So I watched a little defiantly, as they settled uneasily in the faces of those that surrounded me.

And they sat, dumbstruck. Mute visitors to my despair.

Darling,

2012-01-11T15:23:00.000+05:30

When you offer
your heart like this
my brain leaves
the room

All I want to do
is run to you and beg
beg
beg

Stranger

2012-01-11T12:32:00.002+05:30

Why do the random dismissals

of strangers like you

wound me?

Nothing is new

2012-01-11T08:19:00.000+05:30

The way the past
is just a footnote
for you

the way it forms

the entire novel

for me

and the patterns
you repeat make
the sky

I fall into.

The River- Day 10

2012-01-11T07:49:00.001+05:30

Winter rain on empty streets
a sheet of glass I slip on.

Fog

2012-01-10T22:24:00.001+05:30

I wonder about the fog you see me through- when will that clear up? I can't clear your vision for you, you see I'm stuck somewhere inside this glass. I wish you would brave the sharp wind, the cool glass, and join me here. Till the time you do, and that may be never, I'll just stay right here in the middle refusing to budge, watching the fog cloud me from you.

Flawed

2012-01-10T18:02:00.000+05:30

"You have flaws. You are imperfect. And because of that, I'll stay"
- Shakthi

In The Mood for Love

2012-01-10T11:32:00.000+05:30

Maggie Cheung, brings memories
of one gladiolus curving over a crystal vase

and me, my unworthy pencil, scratching at paper
in desperate search of the point where her petals arched.

The River- Day 8

2012-01-10T10:53:00.001+05:30

In reverse:

the girl with seaweed in her hair
catches the fisherman in a snare

The River-Day 7

2012-01-07T09:42:00.000+05:30

drunken email rants and giggling helplessly

into my pillow:

when I spend

more time with alcohol than I need to.

Your hair, yet again

2012-01-06T21:28:00.000+05:30

Even in photographs

they

glimmer

and sway

Like the unfortunate

drunk

I grow heady

with their movement.

I keep needing

to go back

again and again

When you stun. And I gape.

2012-01-06T16:27:00.000+05:30

My lungs love,

they do protest.

Please stop trying

to catch my breath.

To love

2012-01-06T11:31:00.000+05:30

"Do I cease to love as the other I seize?"

-AD

The first 'political'

2012-01-05T19:40:00.000+05:30

The way writing about you gives me agency.

The River- Day 5

2012-01-05T13:11:00.000+05:30

The same
fierce, violent
misery of the night

is blurred, pale

and translucent
in this weak
sunlight.

2012-01-05T13:03:00.000+05:30

The way your secrets enter me.

The way I never want them to leave.

In the thick of it

2012-01-05T12:57:00.000+05:30

The way I want you

still:

gripping glowing

embers in my

fist

The River- Day 4

2012-01-04T11:45:00.000+05:30

black curls falling

from my head

cuddle happily

together

on my floor

The River- Day 3

2012-01-03T20:43:00.000+05:30

Tiny white pills
make tiny white

hills

for me to climb

in this new

year.

2012-01-03T16:56:00.000+05:30

Her hair drifts

lavender

raspberry

plums

I am left

falling in

love love

love

Panic at 3 am

2012-01-02T21:06:00.000+05:30

A trapped
bird

within my chest

fluttering
squawking
screeching

with no one
to soothe,

it turns
sleep

into another
distant

lover.

Two cold palms

2012-01-02T20:16:00.000+05:30

The first time it happened, the doors wouldn't open and bodies crushed us from all around. My lungs shut down and my legs lost their bones.You slipped your cold palm into my freezing hand and held tight, saying my name, asking me to breathe. Every time I find the panic rising in me now I remember how your palm found mine.

Isn't it funny how two cold palms can make you warm?

Isn't it funny how one found the other?

I owe you the gift of a sunflower.

Sakhi

2012-01-02T16:50:00.000+05:30

You make a miracle out of me.

Hurt

2012-01-02T12:44:00.000+05:30

Empty shells
wash up

on my shore

The River- Day 2

2012-01-02T08:45:00.000+05:30

Chai and poetry
in the morning,

little bursts of
sweetness in my
mouth.

Precious

2012-01-02T08:41:00.000+05:30

"How does she not see what I see in her?"

- G

This is love

2012-01-02T08:38:00.000+05:30

this is love:

the echo
of the sea

crashing

in our ears

the taste of
salt on our
tongues

when you and I
lie shipwrecked

on different islands.

The River- Day 1

2012-01-01T09:37:00.000+05:30

The dragon on my mother's
dressing gown grins at me
as I press my face into her

back.

Spelling an ache

2011-12-31T23:05:00.000+05:30

Only in verse:

the broken

turns of a

phrase

the gaps

between

your

sentences

letters tumbling

into each other

do your

untidy

emotions

begin to

resemble

mine.

We, the (in)sane

2011-12-31T22:36:00.001+05:30

I win nothing but an interesting story to tell
nobody believes in anyway

Loneliness

2011-12-31T22:04:00.000+05:30

The last petal
hanging defiantly
on

is really waiting

for the rain to

beat

it down

into

the ground.

There is no defiance in hanging on

Tough Love

2011-12-31T21:54:00.000+05:30

"I am going to give you some tough love here. No one can be saved"

-S

We all complete

2011-12-31T19:10:00.000+05:30

When I complete, will you be there to mourn me, like I have mourned you for twenty years?

Will it be your hands around my neck instead of an indifferent rope?

Will the new year bring us dangerously close to each other yet again?

I, stuck forever at 5 unable to love or wish for anyone but you..

to save me.

Masud R Khan

2011-12-31T16:51:00.000+05:30

The Psychoanalyst, Masud Raza Khan

Don't give us a man to live with.

Give us a myth to die upon instead

The spark we lose

2011-12-30T18:47:00.000+05:30

"But when the trust was broken, it was different. He didn't sparkle anymore, and neither did I"

- 'Caroline' (an analysand of M.Khan)

Pleasure

2011-12-30T13:24:00.000+05:30

Always

one

beat away

from

scattering

me.

2011-12-28T15:48:00.000+05:30

Love keeps leaving petals
in my room.

Just when I think I've swept
it all out

one pale pink bloom.

Liebster Blog Award

2011-12-27T21:34:00.000+05:30

What a nice day! Today I found out that TinGrin had nominated my blog for the Liebster Blog award thingy. More than the award (which I don't know much about) it was just really nice to read what she had to say about my poems. Thank you TinGrin :)

Now Liebster means dearest and is awarded to those blogs that have less than 200 followers but deserve encouragement to keep doing what they do. .

If you get awarded then you:

1. Thank the person who nominated you
2. List your top 5 picks
3. Post the award on your blog
4. Hope that the people you pick spread the love.

My five

1. Bits of a Mackrel Sky I wish Isa would write more but after all the waiting and wishing it is that much sweeter when she does. Everything she writes, is infused with a rare kind of loveliness that I find hard to define, something ethereal that only she is able bring, and so (obviously) I do my best to nag her into writing more.

2. Honky Tonk: If I didn't pick her she'd probably whack me with something heavy and pointy. And she would be justified. Honkytonk was revived only recently but is already such a colourful look into her life. She brings her own brand of humour and poignancy to her subject no matter what it is. And making me quite envious of her wit in the bargain.

3. A room with a view: I have a love affair with her work. Every new poem she writes is an invitation to love. I don't need to say more do I?

4. Doughnuts and Dilemmas: I love how brave her writing is, it always feels like she's trying to break something, move into something bigger. Keep writing TinGrin, it's a pleasure to read you.

5. Crow Files: Really really great poetry. And oh, readings his poems inspired me to play around with structure. Just lovely.

Damn why do I have to pick only 5?

Crush

2011-12-27T19:48:00.000+05:30

You glow worm

you

Oh the things you

set

alight

Your eyelashes

2011-12-26T14:22:00.000+05:30

Weary wings of a
butterfly resting
on a bloom

Winter Lullaby

2011-12-26T09:02:00.000+05:30

lull me, love me
wrap around me
this winter.

Breaching

2011-12-24T17:30:00.000+05:30

I try to find you, rub the edges off our boundaries through these words I write here, through those words exchanged there. I have been trying my best to leap and see what is on the other side. But I'm realising these walls were built for a reason. So I lean back, feel the warm stone beneath my back heated by the sun sinking. I will love and leave you like this, through the edges we have drawn around each other. Through mortar and stone, I will love and leave.

Julia

2011-12-23T16:05:00.000+05:30

When you speak of sadness
I feel the sea rolling her back
into me

I grab the moon, stuff it into
my mouth so the waves rush
in high

tide against me. Lapped from
the inside now, crest despair,
crest it,

not sink it, she says, as my toes
dig deep wounds in the sand.

Healing

2011-12-22T07:37:00.000+05:30

Our cells are regrouping now,
as the cut blooms

tiny petals of blood
on this white sterile band aid.

To wash

2011-12-20T15:03:00.000+05:30

I sink

into my sink

soap suds coat my arms

I coat you

in ink

2011-12-12T13:35:00.001+05:30

But the other thing is,

although I have ugly weeds

and a black sun that never sets

and my garden is stale and drying up

I now have two sunflowers you

planted today and as they gently

sway in this wind they seem to hum

within and without

withinandwithout

within and without

The thing is,

2011-12-12T12:38:00.000+05:30

I always find myself
standing just outside
the heart-at its gate,
peering inside staring
at all the people within.

One of them smiles,
gives me a coin for
all my waiting and wishing,
and then, wouldn't you know it,
at a new gate I find myself
yearning to get in.

That black, black sun.

2011-12-12T12:04:00.000+05:30

“I live it as a wound or deprivation, discovering just the same that my grief is but the deferment of the hatred or desire for ascendency that I nurture with respect to the one who betrayed or abandoned me. My depression points to my not knowing how to lose…

It follows that any loss entails the loss of my being - and of Being itself. The depressed person is a radical, sullen athiest.”

i would rewrite that last line as “radical, sudden athiest” - a powerful but temporary religious experience - even if that religion is the Church of Despair.

- Julia Kristeva, “Black Sun”

Procrastination

2011-12-10T17:53:00.000+05:30

the pile on the table
grows taller

I build a fort on my bed
instead.

2011-12-10T17:04:00.000+05:30

The light hides
behind leaves
I trip over love
bang my knee

Winter arrives (trivial rhymes)

2011-12-10T16:11:00.000+05:30

a fog in my head
my throat

raw red

the poems that I write
need I say it,

dead.

There is a well..

2011-12-08T12:53:00.000+05:30

"Your happiness is my happiness"

..and it isn't empty.

Heal, please heal.

2011-12-05T12:15:00.000+05:30

The heart is a broken wing.

The Hours

2011-12-04T12:26:00.000+05:30

The stories of the dead (or are they dead stories?) stretch like a thin membrane over my head and time stands still. As I watch the ceiling or the sky (it doesn't matter which) I wonder what it is to feel the fall of the blunt edge of a hammer? That dull sound (thud) on bone? To hear the banal crushing of my head under the steady dependable iron. Or to feel the slide of a scalpel; slitting- splitting my skin into dissenting lovers, close yet held apart by a sliver of blood?

In this world beyond the veil, I have been sutured, held together by thin wires. If you look closely at my smile there are a neat row of stitches hiding the broken flesh. From inside this membrane I cannot see myself. I don't see the hand raised, I don't feel the crushing blow, nor the slitting skin. I feel only the foolish smile stretching painfully- endlessly; held to pose, at the edges, by their fingers- cold, firm and unyielding.

Fair warning

2011-11-30T11:05:00.000+05:30

Don't hold me too close to my words.

We are not in the business of confession.

Music, my muse

2011-11-27T11:42:00.000+05:30

Gulping music

down

with a glassful

of poetry.

Tumbling

down my throat

words line up

with notes

inside my belly.

On Not Being Able to Sleep

2011-11-20T16:00:00.000+05:30

The rose beside
my bed
blooming inside
my head
furls dreams
around my body.

As I toss and turn-
on this pillow,
my fingers
stretch and yearn,

like thorns,
they leave
small holes
in these sheets

Alone in Delhi

2011-11-20T14:45:00.000+05:30

I miss faces in the mist
as this fist opens and closes
deep within my chest

2011-11-20T14:37:00.000+05:30

Promises of my profession

There are far too many

aches

in this world

to be touched, flowered-

de-flowered

tasted-slip of tongues

pressed, caressed- slide of fingers

and finally to be loved loved loved.

To love an ache-

press that point

in your belly

to promise,

to keep,

how much longer will you keep?

until you become

the ache, the ache, the ache

and there is no hand on a belly

to finally press you

into itself.

Daisy and Violet

2011-11-17T15:14:00.000+05:30

I find myself thinking about us all the time these days. I have fingers in my brain that won't allow me to let you go.

I remember, every day, that I am alone in this garden. In this garden, where you are Violet and I am your Daisy. You keep crushing and crushing and crushing me. I have these wounds blooming beneath my skin. I have often wrapped new skin around to protect you from them. I cannot tell anymore where my flesh really begins and the tumour that is us, leads. You are gone now and I am Daisy and only Daisy. People who pass by this garden usually miss me. I am plain like that. But when the sun hits me, my leaves gleam green, I turn translucent white and the faintest purple smudges glare softly out of me.

Edit:: Blogger has failed me now too many times to count. Considering changing residence. Putting that aside however, I wanted to say that this is a work-in-progress and that I am and have been inspired by the story of Daisy and Violet Hilton and Marissa Nadler. As often happens when one reveals influences, I will fall short. But I find their story so terribly tragic and moving I must I must write about them. And us. One day, I will write (better hopefully) about us.

Still

2011-11-17T14:38:00.000+05:30

Still,

like when your hair

caught the sunlight

and

would not let it go.

Oh and how,

in that moment

our breathing

gently

froze.

Delhi

2011-11-14T11:15:00.000+05:30

You are

the

dust

I taste

on my

tongue

when I
open
my

mouth to

catch a

little

rain

2011-11-06T11:32:00.000+05:30

I woke up this pre-winter morning with:

And I hummed to all my lost loved ones

this morning I feel you like I feel my skin. just there.

And I steal this happily from Irigaray:

Already, I carry you with me everywhere. Not as a child, a burden, or a weight, no matter how loved or precious. You are not within me. I do not contain you or retain you in my stomach, my arms, or my head. Nor in my memory, my mind or my language. You are just there, like my skin.

- When our Lips Speak Together

Hunters

2011-11-01T11:34:00.000+05:30

They keep sinking
their fingers into my
wound,

searching,

they bypass the pus-
it is not even blood
they want.

Their fingers are too
deep now, my flesh
surrounds

them, my bone
is exposed- brittle
white

for their
stroking.

Who? (What have I done to you?)

2011-11-01T11:23:00.000+05:30

You as metaphor

keep growing,

a plant-thick

and strong-

sometimes

cradling,

sometimes

strangling.

You as real

can never

fill this room.

You see,

I fill

you.

Us (reprise)

2011-10-28T12:34:00.000+05:30

What we loved

in each other

escaped

into the wind

now

every leaf

picked up

snaps neatly

into two.

In your memory

2011-10-26T18:06:00.000+05:30

One day, you will find me
on the edge of your tongue

and I will leave with a
trail of such sweetness

you will try your best
to roll me back in.

When I read you

2011-10-26T17:34:00.000+05:30

Your writing reads
like a knife and
I am butter.

Where it sinks
right into me,
I bleed bitter.

This inevitable fall

2011-10-25T16:38:00.000+05:30

Slipping

I slip

into your

lip

now

flip

me upside

down

with your smile.

2011-10-15T19:10:00.000+05:30

the curve of your smile,
my heart is building again
on the curve of your smile

You're a wasp, love.

2011-09-17T20:49:00.000+05:30

Are you still living
in that bloom love,

where I watered
you too long-too hard.

You won't come out now,
you are living a life

of pistils and pollen
and petal silk that

cradles you to sleep.

I only want your sting and
the beat of a feather wing

against my cheek

once.

That bizarre 'love at first sight' thing

2011-09-15T19:24:00.000+05:30

All it took, was one good look.

I swallowed your lightning-
it bounced around inside
me awhile

the place it shot
out from

singes

in the shape of

you.

Hiding. Always hiding.

2011-09-11T15:18:00.000+05:30

Even the sun will emerge

pitted bruised
polka dotted

in this mist with her hidden fists

Delhi Metro (hours after the blast at Tis Hazari)

2011-09-08T13:23:00.000+05:30

Snaking her way through
the bleeding walls

her large impassive eyes
remain unblinking.

Brief respite

2011-09-08T13:22:00.001+05:30

The wind lifts
my shirt
meets the long
cool
line down my back
and freezes.

Popsicle

2011-09-08T13:22:00.000+05:30

After the summer,

her smile will glint

like pomegranate

seeds whenever

she tilts her head

towards the sun

Stone on a handful of stones today

2011-08-14T13:22:00.001+05:30

My stone Crying Jag features on a handful of stones today.

Thank you Fiona!

2011-08-07T18:29:00.000+05:30

Rings

Your fingers reached out touched mine,

together we raised our hands and circled

the moon.

The wind carried us far that night, like

dandelions blown from a child's lips we

flew apart.

We are walking with a ring around our

lives now, we are like crescent moons

waiting for

the sky

to put us back together.

2011-07-30T14:01:00.000+05:30

Have you seen my sadness?

I think the sea

took her away
from

me.

Perhaps, she is

a grain nesting,

perhaps

dreaming

she will become

a pearl, yearning
for your

ear

your hair curling

beneath, like a

creeper

seeking

a moon. I know

you will throw

her into that

box

you keep. Home
of the lost,of

the

mourning.

That voice

2011-07-30T10:59:00.000+05:30

When she sings

my bones

rattle and hum,

they want

to leap out

of me

they want to return

to that place

from where

her voice leads-

there lies their

beginnings.

Some times a voice leads you to a place and you for a brief moment witness your birth.

Fireflies

2011-07-27T13:15:00.000+05:30

These days I fall

asleep

to firefly light.

Through the sheet

over

my head, I see

them blinking like
stars

in a morning mist.

Thunder on Bolts of Silk (Published)

2011-07-23T16:27:00.000+05:30

My poem 'Thunder' is being featured in the online journal Bolts of Silk today. I, as you can guess, am really excited. Bolts of Silk features poetry from all around the world and the great thing about it is that it allows amateurs (like me) and established poets to sit side by side thus making it exciting and humbling for me.

Every week, a new poem and poet is featured on the journal. The task of handling the nitty-gritties of the journal: selection, communication with poets and posting (and I don't know how many more details) are all handled solely by the editor, Juliet Wilson. She also blogs at Crafty Green Poet which seems to marry her interest in nature and poetry.

If you are considering publishing your poems do check out Bolts of Silk. It features great poets (raw and polished) and even better, really great poetry.

And thank you Juliet! :)

Stone for today

2011-07-22T12:12:00.000+05:30

On the edge of a leaf
a drop of rain
contemplates

leaping.

Crying jag

2011-07-20T10:43:00.000+05:30

Blotted on my clothes

yesterday's poems

The Other Side

2011-07-17T20:02:00.000+05:30

Reena speaks to me
from beyond
the river.

She tells me love
has a way

of dying.

I must not mourn
its passing,

but be glad
in its leaving;

for after all,

caught in its reeds
we cannot cross

to the other
side.

Alive, I think.

2011-07-17T15:06:00.000+05:30

Every time the wind
whips across my face
my skin seems to say

"harder"

Poetry and her Poets

2011-07-17T14:46:00.000+05:30

lone flower wrestling with

wind for its place

in the earth

earthworm raises head

chewed petal

dangling

bird feeds young beaks

flowers adorn their

nest.

rain, falling from the sky

earth polka

dotted

Water: Stones for the river

2011-07-10T10:39:00.000+05:30

Every time the fish resists

the river only opens

her mouth wider

Stealing rain from

my face

your little flicks

of tongue

Dying necessitates

water and so I shall

drink

I really wanted to take part in this month's a river of stones challenge but I have no time and won't have much access to the internet after a while. But do check it out. It sounds like a great way to keep to writing and more than that, it aims at teaching you to pay attention to every single moment/thought as it happens- a beautiful but tragically underrated activity.

2011-07-09T16:22:00.000+05:30

Fingers
slowly trace
my spine.

I fall open.

Will they see
the poems
inside me

now?