The tired tune.

Sometime this year, she realized it was too late.

You failed .

S-peachy

I'd like to thank the Innernet, Lhr, MSN, Visa, Vaio, Wi-fi, DSL, Kleenex. I can't forget my advisory board: See see, RP, AJ, Ellie this wasn't possible without you.

And of course it goes without saying: Mummy Papa. You may not know this as yet but really this wouldn't have been possible without your bank account.

I love you all! *draws hearts*

Of despair and disrepair.

I write not of that house.

Of red terracotta tiles and black iron bars. Of 10 bedrooms and a library. Of two swings and a mango tree. Of 4 loyal dogs and a lawn. Of chhui muui and a lily pond.

I write not for I fear. I fear these anxieties once brought alive. Shall seal the fate of that house.

And yours with it.

Write to me the missing line. Someday?

" Romeo save me I've been feeling so alone
I keep waiting for you but you never come
Is this in my head, I don't know what to think "

The skies over a fog invested island have become dotted with pink snorts.

And if you follow the placid river. Past the towering bridge and the glittering loot. Past where the tin man now sits in spray-can copper. Past where the wigs are flung in arguments. Where the river slims. You shall see.

You shall see. That her feet have finally grown wings.

Circle's end.

There is sadness in the slow movement of her limbs. Much more than when her heart had been subjected to the unaffected.

Sometimes she wishes to slash the intermittent pages that led her to this lonely walk. Mostly she just wishes to strangle what remains of her voice.

Today you helped her put that pillow over the feeble chords till they were muffled into silence.

Don't let it hurt you too much. If you must know, all that talking the last few months, has mostly been empty chatter to fill up the air in the room.

It helped her to not feel all that there has been to.

16

It's a happy hour here again. I feel like a hindi movie funky song with you.

Won't you ever learn to dance?
Or woo my heart?

Ashubh

Tha tumhara andekha, khule dhule humare yeh kuch dhage
Phir phir baarish ko dekhe mann mein tumhari yaad sataye.

Sick leave.

Prolonged indecision sits in you like a monsoon bug.

Your stomach is turned empty. Your mouth feels foul with bile clinging to your taste buds. Long after you've washed down two glasses of water and Gravol.

The bug rejoices somewhere deep in your intestines. While you lay weak on your bed hair matted on your forehead. Sweat creasing your back. Nausea making you hate having tasted the Veggie burger. Making you wish you could throw up the very last drop of water so your stomach wouldn't have anything sitting uneasily in it killing your nausea. Atleast for a while.

If only indecision could be flushed out as easily as vomit.

Sometimes, Libra also means an illness.

In May

To perch upon a cherry blossom
And coo to her heart's content.

Rows of fluffy pinks
Dispersed with blotches of magenta ink.

Her heart does a dance
So little so wee.

She laughs she whirls
Like honey pots and a bear

So full with glee.

Brown loafers and a hazy face

Skies in winter blues and white cottonball clouds.
Streets from all their home cities and vendors in browns.

A leap into outstretched arms and two flying feet.
A tingling nerve and disquieting calm.

The mysterious man and her marriage to Peace.

Haiku 100- It's different

She opened her new black leather journal. A fresh pad of lined paper gleamed with chemical clarity. She stared at her unmoving hand . When the lanky headboy had done it, it had hurt. A lot. She took to the track field while he busied himself spreading vicious untruths.

She had run back to the track field that morning. The red clay lay clean like blackboard on first day of school. The white lines stretched all around. In the distance lay the 200 m mark. She began to sob on her first step.

Then she'd only felt broken. Now she was.

55-First

She pulled up her black halter before stepping out from the black 350i. Could he tell this was her first visit? She collected herself and began walking.

Past the bouncers, she took in the sight before her. It was everything she expected. Sans the layers of smoke.
She began to fiddle nervously with her mangalsutra.

I'd rather let Karma weigh their deeds if I were you.

Too late

I cried as I saw the boy's photos.

I saw him with a goofy grin. I saw his pictures from the night he won the bhangra contest.
I saw him with ten different bottles of beer, whiskey and soda. Molson's, Blue Label and Cola. Never in a drunken stupor.

I saw him at Indian formals. 15 different silk ties.
I saw his eyes were wide set, large and thickly fringed. That they always laughed. I saw he went to the mandir each weekend. I saw he believed in one god.

I saw him with his iphone. Vacationing through the Caribbean. Posing in his track pants and grey boxers with a bare chest.
I saw him with his bike. That he died on.

I saw his blood on the asphalt. His motorcycle under the '97 chevy. The yellow tape. His 700 friends who mourned.

We'd never met. Now we never could.

I felt his cologne when he stood in his jeans freshly showered. I heard their laughs when someone had clicked as the boys hoisted him up on their shoulders. I felt the girls' heartbeats rise as he danced wearing his silk tie. I felt the sun's glare as he squinted and his face looked softly kind. I felt the crisp morning he stood outside his law school.

That was you. That was Him too.

I cried over the photos I'd never see.
I cried for the stranger I could never befriend.
I cried because it wasn't part of the plan.
I cried for the friendships it broke.

I cried.
Because you couldn't.