Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Grown Up

The initial euphoria
Lasted all of
4 weeks, 6 days
And 12 minutes.
It lasted
Through my unpacking
And my dusting
And my arranging
It was great!
I could cook up gourmet storms,
Clean to a fault,
Decorate with colours unheard of
Shop indulgently,
(Drink even more so)
Trawl the web
Stay in bed
Have Sitcom marathons
 Laugh at jokes –
All in the solitude
Of my Adulthood.

It lasted
Till I took a breath.
And then it wasn’t the same
Any more

Home was
Waking up to the smell of breakfast.
Clothes that smell like Surf Exel.
Having to fight for the remote.
Never finding the clothes you wanted
Because your sister had them.
Having a gaggle of uninvited people
Drop in for chai-biscuit.
Not having to worry
about what to make for dinner
or whether there was enough pasta for two.
Heat and humidity and afternoon naps.
Always having something to do Friday evenings.

Home was
The smell of my mother’s hug –
 Soap, spices and Davidoff.
The sound of my sister’s guffaw
Echoing off the walls.

This isn’t home,
This is my adulthood.

Thursday, November 21, 2013


A blush blooms,
Alongside the first
spring romance.
The radiance of a hot love,
Like a summer.
Tears fall -
Autumn leaves,
Monsoon rains.
The winds of crumbling dreams
blow bitter -
A harsh winter

Wednesday, November 13, 2013


I could, if I wanted, write you a song,
full of words that inspired love,
 in Delilah, Anne and Cecilia,
and millions across the world.
If could, if I wanted, write you a story,
full of romance and clich├ęs
and put the epics that star
Romeo, Majnu and Jack to shame.
I could, if I tried, paint you something,
fill it with all the colours
that make up our love.
I could, if I tried a little harder,
sing you a song,
stealing words and emotion
from Clapton, Rafi, Lennon.
I could, if I tried really hard
tell you exactly how I feel
about you
but it would test my patience
and not convey very much.
So I’ll tell you instead,
that the way you make me feel inside…
it feels like…
hot chocolate on a rainy day
my favourite quilt
watching bubbles float in the sunshine
wind in my hair, sand under my toes
and waves at my feet
yellowing books with dog-ears
the smell of baking
candy-colour tongues
and roller-coaster rides.
You make me feel

like me.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

I have a Dream

I have a dream;
to wake up someday
in a cottage far away,
tucked into a corner of a mountainside
surrounded by trees,
valleys and peaks.
To listen to the strains
of red breasted robins
singing harmony to
Tchaikovsky’s Spring Interlude.
To sit in a chair,
sipping tea
as white clouds
drift and swirl
forming a tendrilly cap
keeping my wispy thoughts

I have a dream;
to wake up someday
in a shack on a beach
and feel my hearbeat
echo the crash
of waves on the shore.
To listen,
as the wind blows a raga
that would send
Chaurasia into raptures.
To watch,
as sunbeams
paint a Warhol -esque
masterpiece on the water.
And inhale the scent
of salt and the sea
that settles in my soul.

But for now
I have to be content,
with waking up
to the smell
of spent fuel,
roadside garbage
AC air
 and dreams.
And strain
to hear my thoughts
or my heart
over the sound of the phone,
the traffic and
downstairs aunty’s TV.
And leave half-drunk tea
to form brown rings
inside my cup.
and watch as the plants
on the window sill,
fade slowly,
like my dreams.