Teacups

Fracture

I did not know the frailty
Of my soul until you left
And it shattered into
A dozen fragments;

Muse

My words are rooted in silence,
They stem from the unease I feel
When I think about you,
And grow into poetry.

Highway

Some people like to fall asleep
Gazing upon a starry sky,
While some prefer the tender embrace
Of absolute darkness around them,

Devi

The Labor Room was in a state of restless silence. Heavy, grey clouds were gathering outside and a cool breeze was blowing, promising relief from the sweltering October heat. Yet, the interns and residents on duty were on edge. When things got this quiet, it was always either followed or preceded a storm - and no storm had struck yet.

At around 3 am, the Registrar, Priyanka, roused herself from her nap on the table and started her round. There were only 3 patients currently in labor, all in the latent phase – meaning that it would be quite a while before they actually delivered. Having taken care of their paperwork and blood-work, both interns on duty were enjoying a rare few hours of sleep during their 12 hour night shift. Luck had run out for one of them though.

Dark Romance

He turned off the lights and sat in the darkest corner of the room, laptop in hand. He plugged his headphones in and took a final glance at his phone before commencing his ritual. The first notes of Lateralus completed his cocoon, cutting him off from the world. All that existed in his universe was the empty screen staring at him and the haunting tune of the electric guitar. He lay his fingers on the keyboard, closed his eyes, took a breath and opened them again.

Cliché

Do not buy her
Rings and roses;
For she will fall
For them, not you.

The Waltz

A step ahead,
A step behind,
Your hand in mine,
We waltz to time.

Turquoise Transcendence

The sand crunched in protest under his feet as he walked. The sun beat cruelly on his brow, calling forth new beads of sweat to replace those rolling down his cheeks and into his shirt. The dry wind smothered his clean shaved face with a veritable tempest of dust and sand that precipitated on the sweat, serving to dull and age the man’s visage.

Tempest

A drop of rain comes trickling down
The mist upon my window pane;
As with every falling drop
Come pouring down a thousand thoughts,
That constellate before my eyes
And set my mind aflame.

Muffled

Eight year old Myra

Was an extraordinary girl;

She’d recite all the alphabets

While giving her hair a twirl.

But, Eight year old Myra

Was quite naughty as well;

She’d go door to door, and run

After pressing on the bell.

Flamenco at the Fulcrum

Mumbai, the City of Dreams, yet, the City that Never Sleeps. One adamant soul however, lay deep in the clutches of Morpheus.

Aarav Mehta, student extraordinaire, the Golden Son. Not much to look at, but a boy with an evidently bright future. He had secured admission at a prestigious college in Delhi in his first attempt and had spared no time in establishing himself to be one of the top minds in the institution. Back home after 3 straight months of toil, he intended to spend every ten days of his break curled up in bed, taking a well-deserved rest.

Dreamless

Snugly blanketed, save her head,
Peeking out like a rabbit from her burrow,
Her hair falling carelessly onto her face,
Rejoicing at the allowance of such trespass.
The curtain-filtered aisle-lamp,
Lights her face with faery glow;
Her eyes tightly closed.

The Pink Notebook

I was at Crossword the other day, window-shopping with my Mom. We were bored of sitting at home and Crossword was pretty much the only place where my Mom and I could both enjoy a good hour or two of staring at things we have no intention of buying. I had a quick glance through the latest titles, completely ignoring the Non-Fiction and Chetan Bhagat sections and made my way deeper into the store. By and by I reached the stationery section.

Crimson Streak

How can I be happy when

Each thought I have is brushed away
By the flitting of a gentle nymph?

Homecoming

It's been a long and painful week
Denying her both calm and sleep,
Yet as she spies the setting sun
A hopeful smile begins to peep;
Because she's going home.

Nocturne

Darkness.
And in that darkness, silence.
The silence of a thousand souls
Resting low their weary heads;
The silence of a million stars
Burning bright with thoughts unsaid;
The silence pressing on my ears
Calming down my restless brain;
The silence spreading through my soul
Brushing away both joy and pain.

The Artist

The doors to the double storey mansion slammed open, flooding the courtyard with a warm glow. A tall, lean silhouette emerged from inside. A large sack was slung over his left shoulder and he carried a shovel in his arms. A loud rumble from above made him glance skyward. Dark, heavy clouds were filling the moonless sky.

Chitter

Cockroaches.
Scuttling along the floor,
Up the wall and down again,
Six legged monstrosities,
Flying in our faces, eating all our trash.

Trickle

Trickle little drop of rain

Dancing on my window pane,

      Trickle slowly down the glass
      Till at last the sill you pass,
Trickle down the wall below
Conceived of sky of indigo,
      Trickle down into the earth
      Quench its thirst and promise birth.