Saying Goodbye

Saying goodbye 
To someone you love 
Is like reading the final page 
Of an amazing book. 

As the last chapter ends
You begin to notice 
Just how beautiful 
And perfect
The plot always was.  

You appreciate the joy 
And even the pain 
As you read and thumb
Through every page. 

Finally understanding 
The moral of the story, 
You realize you've reached
The end of this journey. 

Although the last sentence  
Is the most difficult to read
Another great book awaits 
Once you turn the final page. 

Eventually you may stumble 
Upon yet another great find.
Or maybe you'll return 
To the book you left behind.

Haiku : Gravity

You are my gravity
Beautiful, I feel grounded
Anchored or Chained.

Those simple things I wish

How I wish you knew the words of the song I wish you would sing for me
The highs and the lows are a little difficult,  I understand,
But they aren't quite,  it's just your mind.
All I need is for u to pour your heart in the verses,
And give them the meaning they deserve to have to have a life.

How I wish you sang them un-melodiously at first,
But loud and clear,  breaking squealing squeaking
Yet confident and warm
All I need is for you to put my heart before your shame, your usual-ness

How I wish you sang to me sometimes,  when I haven't even asked you yet
And surprise me with the chords you have chased,  practised nights in a row
And sang a song only for me,  not for the audience,  Your intimate ones.

How I wish you brought be flowers before your performance,
Those imperfect red roses,  and your best shoes worn out,
And you sang,  like you have never sung before,
A song for the cuckoo's soul, alone and free.

The Writing Project_Reluctance

How you touch my heart,
With a reluctance, of selfish charm,
And leave me to wither.

This is the fourth part of the Writing Project in collaboration with kapil,  we started a few weeks back. We choose a word every week and write our take on it.  This week the word is 'Reluctance'. I've tried writing a Haiku poem,  a Japanese poetry style of 5-7-5 syllables here.

The Writing Project_Gap

Between you and me.
The coloumn of air,  as you pull me close to you,
the waist and your embrace, isn't close enough.

As you hold my fingers,
That grasp and yet the not-so-firm grasp,
Your fingertips and mine, aren't close enough.

Your words when they meet mine,
Tell me a story in pieces, some simple, some convoluted,
Though they aren't yet close enough.

Yet when u hold me close,  I can hear it
That heartbeat,  those fingers at my skin
And there is a gap no more.

Yet when your fingers touch mine, I can feel it,
Those thoughts of genuine caress, as you kiss me,
And  there is a gap no more.

Yet between you and me,  those unsaid words remain,
Even after we have talked for eternity,
You know my heart as I know yours,
And there is a gap no more. 

This is the third part of The Writing Project with Kapil Pilankar, wherein we choose words and write our take on it. The word this time was 'Gap'. It was quite challenging to write this one, done my part here. For Kapil's look at the Gap, please click on the link below
http://kapilankar.blogspot.in/2015/11/gap.html?m=1

The Writing Project_Earrings

Was it your voice that first struck me with nostalgia

And made me quiver at the thought of ever having lost you?

Or Was it your words, of wisdom, of ramblings with no consequence

those which made me think; stayed part of everyday memory?

Was it your effort, that unsaid, but necessary piece of thoughtful action

that which made me want to bless the blessing-giver?

Or was it your screaming, your screeching, un-nerving noise

that which made me want to hate you, while I failed at it every single time?

I think it was your sari, your smell enveloped in the skin of the fabric

That smell that was you-er than you would even know

I think it was your hair, the coconut oil drenched, pulled with rigor

That rigor which perfected everything around you, perfected me,

I think it was your earring, you were there, so close, even when you were far,

That closeness, only announced by its light tinkling, a threat, a relief.

I think it was all these, as much as it was you

I think it was you , as much as it was these,

I think it was the earrings, the only ones that stay with me now. 

I think it was you Ma, announcing a little threat, a little relief.



This is the second part of The Writing Project with Kapil Pilankar, wherein we choose words and write our take on it. For Kapil's look at Earrings, the second word in our writing journey please click on the link below
http://kapilankar.blogspot.com/2015/10/earrings.html

The Writing Project_ pencils.

She scurried amongst her sheets strewn across the damp dusty floor, and looked around in despair. The bundle of unkempt newspapers, was a determined lot, touching the ceiling which worried her. The room was getting darker and she hardly had the strength to move the curtains aside.

As she pushed back her hair behind one ear, she remembered his fingers. The way his large fingers grazed on her long beautiful strands and slowly tucked them back, almost an excuse to feel her skin, edge of her ear and the nape of her neck. That tenderness.

She blinked hard, and resumed her search. The Post Office closes at lunch time, and the walk in the afternoon sun is going to be a long one, but she must go, either way. Maybe those drawers in her closet might have it. The brass box probably. There it was, the red and black, brightly striped pencil.

Her lips curved into a smile and as she walked towards the window pane, she remembered his laugh.  The way his eyes sparkled and he yelled ,”I’ll be back in a minute!”. She was amused and surprised at his spontaneity, almost drowning out others in the restaurant, those with their stares. He came back running and grabbing the paper napkin at the table, pulled out this pack of pencils, and began writing on it. That excitement.

It was time now.  The bravery of putting down words which limit the extent of how she feels, had to be done. Desperately searching for one word, one phrase which would encompass the plethora & depth of emotions had to be thought of. A tear drop arrived as it always does, every time, she fought.

And almost like the way the rivers converge into the oceans, her letter ended with the same words he said at the restaurant. That lovely memory, those lovely pencils, and his laugh.

“Someday if I don't return from the war, erase these words from my letter, and dare to begin a new life with my love.”

This is the first part of the Writing Project with Kapil Pilankar, wherein we choose words and write our take on it. For Kapil's look at Pencils, the first word in our writing journey please click on the link below

http://kapilankar.blogspot.com/2015/10/pencils.html