The black the white the gray of life

The black the white the gray of life

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

The ugly beauty

Hidden behind fishy eyes,
a hollow bit of a melancholic smile.
When the world kisses her beauty,
she craves seclusion.
Draped in glamour,
so much so
she hides the simple.
Not one knows,
Plain may lie behind pretty endeavors.

Into her heart,
is a box of troubles.
Joy lies in a chest within,
engulfed in crushed remains of twisted twigs.

Fingers caught in a mouse trap,
hinges scream,
guts cram,
freedom will come to believe,
playing on with miracles mean.
Petrifying every evil,
fiercely winding on,
the ugly beauty.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010


The morning brings, sun kissed tree tops and the sound of birds singing sweetly.
The mosaic of leaves reveal two little heads, rays glance down along the bark to the bottom of the tree. Playing frivolously with each other, are two little boys. Grabbing fists of dried grass in their hands and tossing it playfully at each other. Their grandmother is standing at a distance on the grass still wet from the morning dew.
Standing there she admires her two little grandsons as her eyes turn moist. A soft content smile spreads across her face and the kind wrinkles at the edge of her eyes speak of undying love for the little ones. She sets her bag of rags on the bench and takes a seat. The kids pause their game and glance longingly at the park gate for a second and continue playing again.
In the meanwhile, outside the park, there are two men jogging towards the park gate. Their car parked in the background on the lonely tar road. On the deserted road outside the park, there is no sign of man or machine. Dried winter leaves rattle past the cold cement pavements. The time travels back to the two joggers, clad in their morning sportswear. Suddenly, one of them stops jogging and quickly turns back to the car. Inside the car he is searching for something very hastily. His forehead decorated by beads of sweat, in spite of the morning’s chill. A sign of an anxiety of some unknown sort, his lips form a tense line; his eyes mirror a hint of fear constantly searching the car. All of a sudden his face muscles relax. His eyes twinkle like that of a child who has found a fascinating toy. The tense of his lips turn into a relieved curve. Quickly he grabs what he wanted so badly, bangs the car door behind him and returns to his friend. As they jog back, there is a small polythene bag in his hand.
Travelling along the road facing the two gentlemen jogging towards the park gate is a dried winter leaf. The creaking sound of a huge archaic gate disturbs the silence of the road still quite deserted, but for the sweeper. The sweeper is equipped with a huge broom, sweeping away dry golden leaves that habituated the pavements; one of those that witches fly on in fairytales.
The two men enter the park gate. One of the boys is popping his head from behind the back of the tree. His face is lit by an innocent, cherubic smile. There is an expectant gleam in his eyes. He nudges his brother with his elbow and quickly the two of them run towards the gate.
The two men are saying something but the little boys just nod. One of the little boys shyly smiles at the gentlemen, but his eyes frequently glance at the polythene bag still swinging in the gentleman’s hand.
The man kindly gives the bag to the boy as the boy takes it happily but coyly. The two kids smile at each other and the grandmother sitting at the bench joins her hands and smiles in gratitude. The gentlemen leave the park and travel back to their cars after their jog.
At the entrance door of a big office is a name plate designated with nature of business. Inside at a table, a gentleman dressed in a tie and a business suit is sitting talking over the phone, discussing a business deal.
Suddenly, he stops talking. His forehead reveals sharp wrinkles; his face turns a tinge of red. He hangs up and holds his head in his hands as if regretting something, drowned in sorrow.
In grayscale, his mind travels back to images of the park and the cherubic faces of two little kids. A silent tear escapes his eyes as he imagines the park being sold and the trees being chopped down, the grass being scraped off cruelly only to build walls of cement. How could he do that? Somewhere deep in his heart there will be emptiness. There will be poison of guilt that will never let his mind rest in peace, guilt that he destroyed a home. Destroyed a place where everlasting joy, frivolous playing and hay fights of little innocent angles thrived. The place where there are memories of joy and kindness and castles of aspirations. How will he overcome this? Will he be able to live with this? Will he be able to forgive himself if he did let the park and the little world of the kids get destroyed?
The whole dilemma sort of created a whirlpool in his mind. A whirlpool that seemed to suck out every dream, every aspiration and every joy! He just wanted to shake it off. He couldn’t take it anymore. Suddenly, the phone rang; he picked it up almost before sound escaped the machine. Some good deeds seemed to have paid off. There was an outburst of joy on his face. The client somehow did not seem to be interested in the park land! A business loss to him! But what was making him so eternally happy? To him this seems like a miracle, as he smiles in disbelief. The trauma that had infested his mind few minutes ago had ended. It last for such a small time, yet it seemed like he had lived the pain and guilt for ages.
Even the thought of it coming again brought tears to his eyes. He closed his eyes and once again entered the park; a sense of euphoria engulfed him. He visualized the soft green grass, the cool breeze that soothed him and little feet making their way rapidly chasing butterflies.
A content smile spread over his face.
Again…the park gate is opening with a creaking sound, this time mingled with the sound rapid breathing.
Two kids. Their eyes gleaming with joy and as they are alarmed by the sound of the gate opening as if a harbinger of hope and love coming their way...

once again.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Only if.....

Only if...
We could make the colors
of the butterfly
on a pallette.

Only if...
We could steal
the whiteness
from a little
snow flake.

Only if...
Dreams would
not be opium for the mind,
then setting free
would not be
tagged a crime.

Only if...
The rain drops could pause
for a while,
I could just taste some.
Keep the pure and sweet.
Let the bitter fall to ground,
meet the earth in a kiss.

Only if...
An instrument existed,
that created the sound of the
rustling leaves,
could make us believe.

The world would cease to exist!
Let some time.
Nature mock man.
Perhaps we would not let it
Only if...
The world would be
a little less complicated.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Inside a storm.

Chiselled ends
of my
carefully sculpted heart.
Plastered in places
that broken belong.

Into the lovely
stark charms
of the blue life.

Fishing into sea,
Travelling into deep shallows of dreams concerted.
Shy, timid
I slowly collect.
The confettii left,
which in,
the world revelled
my loss.

Only a little ray,
Rested on my lap
like me.....
Distorted its path.
knowing not which
world it demarks?

Still enlightening every
little speck of floating dust.
Mediocre its existence.
Belief its pillar.
Trust in its last