cosmic-blogs

[cosmic-blogs]

AN ESCAPE WITH A FAIRY

I understand enchantment.

I know fairies by name

They hide in the

Lavander hues of daisies,

Playing scented games.

I have met elves.

On nights when moon

Bled silver slivers

On fireflies.

A little girl pigtailed

In red ribbons

The colour of dried roses

reading in the library, 

Her eyes deep as sea.

She looks like me.

Star dust 

Falling from her fingers.

On the glossy pages

Of folk lores and

Fluffy stories.

Fluttering her eyes 

Like waves, holding

Paperboats,

Creased newspapers, folded into

Into mighty ships,

Worded paperboats with

Headlines for masts

Bobbing up and down

In the ripples of her oceanic mind.

I saw her and her world

So real.

You may call it imagination 

I know it was not.

She fought with ogres 

In broad daylight 

And her fairies clapped

With dainty fingers

In pretty lace gloves.

Their delicate wings excitedly

egged her on.

Their soft lilac feathers

Smelling of lavender songs.

Wisps of grass 

In glossy books,

Hiding their tiny forms.

Cheeks blushing from

Warmth of golden sun

Sparkles on their dainty feet

Scattering as they run.

I lived with them

In my pig tailed years.

They showed me beautiful caves

With golden orbs.

And diamonds so soft

Round and clear

Like a translucent tear

I know magic

Because there was some.

You cannot teach me otherwise.

I have known enchantment

Not for a few moments,

But for years.

Inside pages of

Library books,

Was that beautiful world

I lived in

For long ,as a little girl.

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[cosmic-blogs]

LESSON OF BETRAYALS

Knives in the back

Have felt to me, like wings.

Every twist, deeper in,

Felt to my mind

As a feather, pushing 

Out of my skin.

I am happy i thought it to be so,

Or i would not have walked

Or survived

This far, alone.

I walked in the hope,when

The wings become strong

I will take off.

The knives got sharper

And hardened my back

And I, believed

The story I told

My mind.

My wings were growing 

Wider and stronger.

I felt finally one last 

Gut wrenching twist.

This knife has been the sharpest

The hardest betrayal of all.

I think my wings are ready.

I think this time

I will fly the farthest.

So so far away

Further than

Any night or day.

Far far away, as far

As the eyes can unsee

Even further from

All that was me.

I have gone missing

And I don't know how to return

My wings only know

How to take me further

There is no one tethering

Me to the ground.

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[cosmic-blogs]

TO BE

I wear life on my soul, 

as a badge of honour.

For it taught me well, to say,

I am not a cynic, I am not a stoic.

I am not a saint, I am not a sinner.

I am not a blank canvas.

I am not your mirror.

No part of me was for you to claim.

Wholly or partially.

When I disposses all, finally,

having been with you does not 

become a crime.

It could not have been any different 

The power was never yours or mine.

I don't belong to anyone

Yet I am not unclaimed.

I am no one's glory

I am no one's game.

I wasn't born unfree of risks.

Nor was I meant to be safe.

I am a portal

That brings life to life.

For it to fold however it may.

In love or in strife.

Be it a tragedy or a game.

I was not the shoulder, 

you could rest your blame.

I am as fiercely my own.

As the love I know to give.

I am as breathless to a gasp

As I am death, to the need to live.

I shine more in utter solitude.

Than in the company, of a hundred one.

I see through disdain disguised

As platitude.

So I seek to renounce eclipses

You hide behind the sun.

I have known ecstasies

I have known grief

But I am neither a rejoicer

No am I a mourner.

I am,

that is all.

The same at this end

As in the corner.

And this life I wear upon my 

soul as a badge of honour.

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[cosmic-blogs]

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AFTERNOON TEA.

Its been a while, 

we have not sat and talked.

A train of events paused for a moment

And then chugged away,

Scowling,

 we did not ask it to stay.

There are conversations waiting their turn,

standing mutely by the window,

Looking out at what could have been.

It has been a while, 

we havent looked at each other's eyes.

There are stories 

they have been meaning to draw,

When they find the time.

Their paint sits dry.

The lashes spiked, stare at the easel

Let us meet, let love not be the reason.

The cold winter afternoons have returned,

 back from their lonely journey.

They stand outside the window,

looking for us, where they had seen us last,

not knowing that ages have past

Since we waved them bye

and went our solitary ways.

Come by if you miss me sometimes

cheer me up, make me smile

Come sit by the window

Let us have tea

Its been a long, long while.

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[cosmic-blogs]

PINCH OF HAPPINESS 

.

.I have to go and 

get my pinch of happiness.

I do that every day.

It loves to play hide and seek.

It runs amok, untamed 

But

I have mastered the game.

The good thing is ,it never tires

Neither do I.

I know where its favourite hiding

Spots are.

Most of the time.

Especially on gloomy winter days.

On a day like a lonely

Mountain peak.

It hides in the wedge

Of my window.

A drop of condensed steam

Rolling down like a tear

Upon a cheek.

I wipe it off, with all 

My gathered gentleness

And the glass clears,

Like the uplifting fragrance

Of a hundred flowers.

It hides sometimes 

Inside the pages of a book.

And as I search for it

Page after page,

In the mystery 

Of an unsolved crime.

A beautiful story

Unfolds the creases of my mind. 

It waits for me behind the last page.

And when I finish the tome.

It slides out and hugs me tight.

Sometimes it rides on the back 

Of a butterfly.

Polka dotted and purple.

Flitting,

With a need to just be beautiful.

I chase it with giggles 

My fingers stretched out 

In a pinch.

Between my thumb and forefinger 

Is all the space it needs.

Whether it is me turning a page 

Wiping a glass pane.

Or looking to grasp its wings.

The measure of space 

In between my pinch

Is all I need, 

To seek the bigness of happiness 

That likes to hide 

In little things.

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[cosmic-blogs]

HOME SHAPED HEART

I am making a home,

Within myself.

And it is tough.

As I grow older

And winters become rough.

I worry if the foundation,

Is strong enough 

To hold up

All versions of 

me, from all pasts 

If my walls should  be 

stark and high.

Or have 

More windows

To look at the stars

The night casts.

If i will be able to

Withstand impending rain.

Now that I know,

Joy is a momentary flash flood,

Upon a barren desert of pain.

I acknowledge the worry

Hold it close

And tell it to rest.

I want my home

Within me

To be a sanctuary.

A place to rest

When I return

From adventures of life.

I want to walk from room to room

And in the vaults of my heart

With a song upon my lips

For the beauty 

That I may find.

I want to welcome

Reluctant love,

Enough,

To feel, finally at home.

I need to clear out spaces

For gardens with butterflies.

I want a waterfall of giggles

To wash away all grime.

I want a heart shaped home

With bricks, of gratitude

And a roof, of everything enough.

I will put soft warm lights

Outside the door.

The kind that make,

The lonely feel safe

From harshness of glare.

I will build my home

Inside the vales of gentleness,

Where the breeze,

On a warm summer afternoon 

Will be much needed

Respite for my friends.

I have to be gone for long.

Into the  frightening silent,

wilderness of self.

To pick out pieces of beauty

From dangerous woods.

To gather and to rake.

To draw out a map

And a plan for

My home shaped heart,

To house all my goods.

I have the strength,

I have to remind myself 

As I pave the path back

To myself.

I will make my home

Within myself, 

From silver curtains 

Of full moon nights.

And the quietning that comes

From a dawn about to break in love.

Even if takes all my will and

The  milk of my bones.

It is the hardest thing 

To make,

I know,

Because I have to do it alone.

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[cosmic-blogs]

THE STORM, THE DEFIANCE AND THE CLASP OF LOVE

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The storm meanly growled

As it rolled down in a hurry.

Impatient, needing to vomit out

Its rage.

The wind howled at the last

evening star as it scurried

to hide in the folds of dark.

Reprimanding menacingly

its audacity to even want to

Stand its ground.

You and I sat huddled in a hug.

In a circle of clutching embrace.

The more the storm tore,

The more it ripped

The tighter you bestowed upon

Me your grace.

You and I.

I glued my skin to yours,

Tightly shut my eyes

And held on to you for life.

You and I.

My heart raced.

Our bodies teetered.

Skin turned blue underneath

Our fuss.

The rain lashed down.

Stinging, big, violent rain drops

Bullets spluttering in rage

We squealed half in pain

Half in joy.

You and I.

In the center of the storm.

Looking to hide in its eye.

There is something terrifying

About a storm

When you be alone.

Something doom like

Ominous, grey and absolute.

Quite the same as loneliness.

Surrounded by so much chaos

Yet incapable of feeling itself.

But with you wrapped around me

I felt the insane joy that came

From teetring on a thrill

Defying gravity and its horrors.

You and I.

I felt everything.

I felt the shivers of ice.

I felt the pounding windforce.

I felt the arrowtips of black rain.

I felt the needles piercing my veins.

Every sensation, an acute knife tip.

The billowing, the screeching,

And the night digging its

heels in to stay longer with itself.

You and I.

Like I, clinging to you as does vine.

Complete on my own, just as the vine.

Like absoluteness of a half,

Complete in itself,

If you can stop your needy, wanting mind.

But whole, full bodied

in your shelter.

Like leaned on strength.

You and I.

Keeping the vine upright.

With your pillared fierceness.

Giving its roots your ferocity.

Against havocking

madness of this storm.

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[cosmic-blogs]

BEING ME

On some sleepless nights and starless skies

you burn

Inside the restlessness of my eyes.

My sleeplessness

Takes a form.

It becomes you.

And I fight it

Like I didn't fight you

When you wrapped my days

With cloaks of injustice.

I fight it but it wins.

So I stay awake trying to forget you.

There is smoke trying on your shape,

In vain

Inside my evaporating memory

My eyes sting

With moments

I got to spend with you.

Bloodied, red, intense.

Bursting veins.

Moments and only moments.

Not the life they could have been.

If you had taken time out to look

And made me feel seen.

I could not have

the lush forest

Only some autumn trees.

Snatches of life, lived with you

Through rose coloured glasses.

When everything looked like a rainbow

Oh what a folly!

I need to unremember

All that I am beginning to forget.

Let thoughts of you

Disappear like mist

Or like

Handful of fractured rainbows

Splattered inside of me.

I try hard

I struggle

I try retrieval

I try regression

Only so I can remember

Not you

But

Before you

Who I used to be.

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[cosmic-blogs]

THE GREY COAT

The bees got listless

And annoyed.

The flowers

decided,

To no longer care for colour.

And the bees were blinded

by grief.

They drooped over flower beds

Like procrastinating promises.

Wilting like lost hope

Upon parched petals.

Why is spring for a day

And winter like old age?

They petulantly complained.

Why does the old man

Sit on a chair

Like it was his permanent grave.

As dirges get together and sing.

Where are the flecks of youth

That he had in spring?

I looked upon the horizon

And the sun's lips shivered

In apology.

It would not be able to keep

The grey, looming clouds at bay.

As in the sky.

As in life.

The fleeting spring

Upon a hill folks cheeks

And the big muffler of winter

Waving in the breeze.

I stood there shivering

Wondering which way to go

Whether to follow the sun

Or to gather in the warmth

Of fireflies.

The grey of the skies

Crafting into my origami bones

The chill in the wind

Painting my face.

Fear became a person in

my head.

Bone dry and undead.

Ghoul of uncertainty

Wanting to be paid.

What do I do

Oh what do I do.

With this day of judgement

And its fevers and chills.

Just then

You opened the door

You called out to me

And you let me in.

And you unhooked

The big grey coat

Warm, big like an embrace

And gave it to me.

It hugged me tight

That big, grey coat

And set the spring in me free.

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[cosmic-blogs]

FIRE DRIZZLE.

Amplified music.

Fire drizzle.

Red, warm chilliflakes.

Her drink, cold,

Frozen in time.

She walks defiantly

Against all will and fate.

Towards all that now is hers.

Only to give it all away.

For,

Her heart is in the vales

Beyond seven seas.

Her body swaying,

To the seduction

Of a homegrown backyard.

Afterall the music is amplified.

Unfazed she walks.,

Daring the vapid white faces

To match her red brown nakedness.

Daring with a laugh.

To touch her carnal, flaming heart.

Dare.

Dare.

Afterall the music is amplified

And the bees are busy

Dropping honey

On her kissed, wet lips.

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[cosmic-blogs]

MAY WE KNOW THE NOW

May we know

Spectacular journeys

Unplanned and winding

That arrive at unending horizons.

Just beyond the hill of poppies

On the other side of the shore.

May we know the difference

Of such, from

destinations promised,

On leaflets

With hurried, arrivals.

To glossy walls and better beds.

May we know.

The lone travellers.

Trudging to behold.

Their back packs filled the world.

And those some, with

Companions many,

But no hands to hold.

Standing together

looking at different things.

May we know.

That sickness remains sickness

Under polish and grooms.

That healing comes from

sitting barebodied

with wounds.

May we before

We opine on everything

Have more of self belief.

There is so much blame

From the ones that did not win.

And such little shame

From ones committing sins.

May we know.

What makes the doubter quiet

And the arrogant scream.

Why the gods be silent

While prayers plead.

What be bravery.

In its definition new.

But only a fear with a trigger,

erupting on cue.

May we know.

There is too much courage

For battles too small.

And too little for

bigger wars.

There is too much celebration

For victories too little.

And no applause for heroes unsung.

There is comfort

In instant nirvana

Doled out from charlatan chairs.

And deafness for wisdom.

That comes from wear and tear.

May we know. Oh my love

May we know.

There are too many kisses.

Too much touch.

And such little connect.

Too much concern

And such little care.

There are too many songs

none play to the end.

Too much to watch

And nothing to fend.

May we know.

There are too many dreams

But too little sleep.

In a world that billows

The homes have shrunk.

There are too many twists

And no redeeming turns.

There are too many prayers

But where be awakenings.

The louder the chants

The deeper the sins.

May we know.

There are too many lovers

That love too many.

At the slightest ruse.

There is love too intense

That dies with ease.

Right at the alter of I dos.

May we learn to feel

What is behind this flesh and bone.

In the quiet of our sense of self.

May we know.

To claim

Our own integrity

In the sea of faces of

Egos, colours and creeds.

May we know.

In this wonderland filled with

Collapsing humanity.

How to first be truly human.

May we know.

May we know.

May we know.

That

All we have is now.

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[cosmic-blogs]

THIRST OF A MOMENT

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I don't wish to be present in this moment

I want to experience it, either as an anticipation

Or as an afterthought that reminds me yet again

How exquisite every moment is

Whether I am present in it or not.

Right now, this very second is my

Longing from another time living itself out,

Surreptitiously in my awareness of

Not wanting to be aware.

Right now is also the very moment

I am going to long for at the crossroads

Of time's afterthought

I will look back and feel this very second

Carouse inside the memory of my cells

I don't wish to be present in this moment

But it's very presence

Is my future and my past.

The two moments in time

The beginning and the end

Unquenching the

thirst of my present

That makes up my entire life.

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[cosmic-blogs]

WORD ME INTO EXISTENCE

I am made of words.

Words, that I utter

Out of care

Or out of rage.

And the ones you

Say out aloud

And put colour on the outlines

Of my otherwise blurred body.

Words you spew

Words you rue

Words that make me chaste

Words that bring me down from grace.

I become your words

Even before i have uttered mine

To flesh myself into an identity.

I am nothing till you

Say out my name aloud.

When you do,

I get a form.

Words tell me who I am.

If my skin be the discolour of arrogance

Or the colour of warm fleshy patience.

Would I become your words

If you say them back to me.

Thin, large, nimble, lazy

Cold, caring.

Shackled or free.

Mean, quiet, reflective.

Cynical, bright, dull,

Talkative,

Resigned

Rebel

Or anything else

You want me to be.

There are colours

You put on me

To make me visible

So you can see me

As you want to see.

I am your words.

As much as I am mine.

The blush on my face

Has the sound of rustling roses

Hesitating to bloom as you

Mumble out a desire.

And my breath has the wickedness

Of your whispered confessions.

Like a song about a lover

Pretending to be a prayer.

I am also made from the delicate

Songs of my pregnant mother.

Of her carressed admonishing of her belly

Where I hid inside

And also the sound of her lullabies

I become sound of gasps

On frisky mornings.

Padding softly.

Through cold december air

Or the sighs

Of absent lover,

On a starless night.

I am what you speak of me

To me or to my foe.

What you define me as

Behind a closed door.

I too am what I say

Not what I don't.

The unspoken is invisible.

You will never know me

Or see me

Because there is much

I never say.

But when I speak I

Bring myself into existence.

My tongue

Traces an outline of me

Upon your psyche.

When I cease

My words will vanish.

You will forget my face

That was once so audible.

My smile that heard itself

Upon your lips,

Will melt into the deafness of ether.

But one night when

You pull out the memoirs.

My cells will come back to life.

The words on that piece of paper,

That tumbled out from my heart

Will hold you, oh so tenderly

And with each word

I will come back to life.

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[cosmic-blogs]

THE SMELLS OF A RUMOUR MILL.

Smell of pepper and peeled raw mangoes.

Their skin white and taut.

Tense in anticipation of a salty touch.

Tingling on the tongue

Like the very first sensation of love.

Crushed green chillies ,

Laying with their belly split.

On a bed of their baby seeds.

Oozing fire,

Their trysts hot and ready to spill.

A secret baby

Bawling before being hid.

As the mixture churns like rumour mills.

The green raw mangoes,

Tangy and crunchy

Whisper them out in glee.

Old grannies too awake

To stay asleep

Or

Dubious men and their

Chatter incessant,

With harlot keeps.

Little pepper dots,

Sharp and wicked.

Looking for a fight

For another round.

crushed garlic cloves,

Smelling of iron smelted.

Vie with chilliflakes

On a pungent battle ground.

Lemon comes bounding,

All yellow and ripe,

And splits into two.

It rolls and squeezes,

Its tangy saltiness

Into the brew.

An added twist to

An already twisted tale.

The smells are at war,

In the little mixie jar.

Fumes of odors strong and heady,

Like a night of lovemaking full,

Of perfumed juices.

Waft around the house.

As my sour spicy chutney gets ready.

Bit by bit.

A little envious green,

An angry red,

Furtively, like words

Unspoken on a tell tale bed.

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[cosmic-blogs]

RHODODENDRON WINE

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I poured myself some wine.

In my finest crystal.

It makes wine coruscate

And I love that.

More than the drinking

It is sparkles that make me high.

They make me think of

Forest reds, ochre trees.

Nector and

dewdrops on sleepy leaves.

The fuchsia sun glinting in my wine.

And me laying on the forest bed.

Young again,

My thick black hair

Gently moving in the wind.

Voluptous but shy.

A hint of wild,

In my stupored eyes.

The swirl of wine,

Through sparkling crystal

Makes me think of

Rhododendrons

Hundreds of them

Wanting to bloom

The minute I open my eyes.

And I feel my lips turn red.

There is something

In the pouring of wine,

Into my crystal glass

That in itself is complete.

Not like the finality of want.

Nor like the peak of desire.

But as in the last shudder

Of an orgasm.

Still there, yet done.

Like it should end there.

In the pouring.

In the rhododendrons.

In the sips,

Waiting to touch

the horizon on my lips.

But I won't drink.

The glass sparkles,

In the afternoon sun

On my window sill.

Sits there.

Sits still.

Not to be drunk.

Not to be touched.

Just sitting there.

Beautiful.

Seductive.

Holding a promise

Of mellow intoxication,

That won't be fulfilled.

The wine warming in the sun.

The sun winking inside the glass.

An anticipation.

A holding in of breath.

A hint of amorous unfolding.

A plumpness of love

And rhododendrons

Waiting to burst into a bloom

Upon my waiting lips.

Oh the joy of pouring wine.

In my shining glass.

A whole journey in itself.

An entire, wholesome life.

I won't drink it.

I like living

On the edge of a knife.

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[cosmic-blogs]

UNSOCIAL

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.Is it just me

Or do you feel it too

The erosion of connection.

An unneed to know anyone from close

Because there are maggots in

the wounds.

And none really want to heal.

They have learned to live with

Stench

Of rotting conscience

And wilting flesh.

I tried, oh I tried

To find some good

But they hide it so well

Behind toothy smiles

Posed so readily

And hugs that tumble

Out in spates.

And it would have been fine

To let them, in pieces,

Into my world

If they hadn't turned their

Sourness on me.

Their putrid venom

Trying to find my veins.

It would have been fine

If they hadn't tried

To knife me down in half.

Or smear me with stains.

I see, I see too well

Their incapacity, to go in.

Their reluctance to face a mirror

And the inability to reflect.

I rue the day I let myself

Change me

To fit into their distorted world.

To become someone unrecognisable,

When I lay down with myself in my bed.

I am beginning to shed now

People from under my skin.

My hundred avatars

I did not want to become.

And layer by layer

I see my skin peel.

I feel better as I claim myself back.

I like the face that is emerging

I recognise its beauty and will

I feel peace in knowing

Inspite of all that came to mar me

I do love myself still.

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[cosmic-blogs]

OCTOBER

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Autumn is my favourite time of the year.

I love the winter too.

But autumn has the wistfullness of loss

That entices my heart.

I have an affinity for longings

For unfinished love stories.

For tentative goodbyes.

I like the spirit of leaving.

Fading, going away

That resides in the

insides of an aching autumn.

When summer gathers up its floral

Frock and rolls down a meadow

Bidding adieu for another year.

When the leaves cannot decide

How ochre they should be.

So they let themselves be hennaed

With a tinge of orange.

How beautiful is that surrender.

I feel the autumn breeze tiptoeing.

I can feel its drunkenness in my eyes

As I pour sunset warm vanilla

And bloody tea leaves into my blue glass.

Swirl it around the

Horizon curling around my toes.

Smile

And wait for October.

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