Conversations

I have all these conversations
within my head
I wish I could tell you
How much they hurt
The betrayal
The hypocrisy
You care about a physical hurt
that will heal
And ignore the emotional pain
that is like a cantankerous tumour
You walked away when I needed you the most
Your lover was there filling the void
Now that I have a few superficial scars
You are the 'strong' husband looking after his wife
What bull shit
You are probably waiting to sign
on the dotted line
of the insurance papers
so that you and your work wife
can enjoy the spoils
Go ahead
the marauders always enjoy their spoils
If the dollars signs give you comfort
Hope you get yours
Over and over again

Sorry

I’m sorry

I did not know what I was doing

In wishing for death,

I was punishing you

For no fault of yours

I do not blame you

For running away

After all suicide is the ultimate act

Of treason

Running into the arms of another

Is less heinous than

Running into the arms of death

You were trying to be strong

Brave for the sake of the survivors

I was weak and broken

Apologising to someone who does not care

In chasing the shadows

I gave up on the substance

In choosing paradise

I gave up on Earth

I’m glad you did not give up on me

Walk with me my love

I will draw from your strength

Not take it for granted

Love me the way you loved me before

We will be there for each other

My living arms are open

Embrace me; I will comfort you

With a promise

Till death do us part

And to fight it

With all my spirit

And soul; next time death tempts me...

I will live for you my soul mate

And love you forever

Bonsai Gardener

A Bonsai

Stunted in a pot, weird miniature

A symbol

Of love, care, dominance

Of man over Nature

Taming her, stunting her roots

Deformed ornamental fruits

Perfectly formed, no substance

Look picture perfect

In a picture

He tends to her with loving obsessive care

Just gives her enough light water air

She can’t live, she won’t die

Every shoot that threatens to break out

Of the carefully preordained plan

Is snipped off

For her own good

He is a very good bonsai gardener

Tower of Silence

Tower of Silence

It takes two hands to fashion a vase

Two to paint and glaze

Two to lower it into life’s kiln

And lovingly caress and embrace

It takes one to shatter it on the floor

Smash it to smithereens

To stamp on the pieces and walk out of the door

Out of a house

Love don’t live here anymore

Can the remaining hand pick up the pieces?

And try a counsellor’s glue

Or sigh and sweep the shards

Walk past the shattered body for sezdo

Place loban and sandalwood on fire

While Nassaslers strip using hooks that are neat

Your vultures are a better hire

They know I do not have the meat

And when they are done stripping the flesh

Bellies full, eyes replete

I shall stand near the tower of silence

And mourn till the breath doth cease

For the death of a marriage cannot be cremated

Nor buried not entombed

It’s resigned to the Tower of Silence

Wrapped eternally in misery and gloom

Tower of Babble

Tower of Babble

It takes two to clap

She tells me, as she sits across the table

He was lonely and depressed

He lives in a house of Babble

You don’t share a tongue

An interest or a thought

He’s a strong and capable man

Who pines for what is not

I gave him what you lacked

In wisdom and affection

It’s not my fault that he strayed

Blame yourself for his rejection

I sit across the table

And swallow a morsel with bile

I’ve walked with him through thick and thin

We’ve been married for a while

You may have fought many a battles

You may be his general with a star

I’m his wife of two scores

I’m the one fighting the war

I agree with you O capable Lucinda

It does take two to clap

Does your battle plan not tell you?

It takes only one to slap

He says he likes you more than me

Your personalities are truly akin

He wants to spend his days with you

And not tell me where he’s been

I turn the other cheek and brace

And wait for a sentence to strike

I hide my pain, my battered face

A lifetime of war and strife

If it was just me O resourceful Lucinda

I would gladly gift you my Knight

But it’s the question of our daughter

Watch out!

I’m going to put up a hell of a fight

My secret Lover

The last stick

I swore

Never more

As I stubbed out the last of cancer sticks

Or was it

Last night I wanted to live

I saw something moving behind the trees

Was it love?

Maybe it was, maybe it was worth betraying

My secret of 3 decades

Of finally letting go

I came back to my stick lover

Every time I was anxious

Or needed focus

Companion on the road to boredom

Financial insecurity, infidelity and autism

But this is different,

It’s a life snuffed out too early

Like my last stick

This morning I woke up

To make a trip to the store

To for a tryst with my secret lover

Hoping eventually he will snuff out the pain

It may not be a one night stand

This may be something life-long

Till death do us part

In health, leading to sickness

Prometheus

Prometheus

Zeus will make me pay my dues

Hurtful words like birds of prey

Circle and swoop

Digging into my sensitive soul

Words with hooks, beaks and talons

Latching on to a soft piece

Pulling till it hurts and hurts

Like Prometheus,

My soul has an endless supply of sensitive soft tissue

I have to pay my dues

For the pot of gold that buys a plot of land

For Baucis and Philemon

For I am their progeny

Paying for her brother’s sins

Till the time the soul leaves flesh

And words are just vibrations in the air

My daughter

Will I ever be good enough

To be able to keep a straight face

When a friend asks

Are they all normal

When they look at your class picture

Does my face contort at the sheer stupidity

Will I always wince

When you trot behind the next person

Wagging your tail, wanting acceptance

Shunned and spurned

Yet desperate to fit in

Will I always lash out

At you because I can’t bear it anymore

Your hurt, rejection and pain

I don’t know what hurts more

A child who died, or

A child whom the world kills every day

Will I be good enough

To draw lots of two children

Right in the middle of the bell curve

Righteously claiming my street smart daughter is gifted

Puffing when my tall testosterone son,

Cheats his way into the ranks

What do their wombs know

To have children who are gifted, and sensitive

It’s a curse, a blessing, a benediction

Job Vacancy

Job Vacancy

Wanted a middle aged woman

Preferably with a son

Please apply in person

Extensive interviews are on

The woman should be smart

Ready to dress like a tart

Listening skills are essential

But speaking skills are not

Come without baggage

Of the emotional sort

Don’t complain, cry or whinge

Crib, sneer or snort

Position is without benefits

Of sentimental and emotional kind

So if you have any such expectations

Get them out of your mind

Family and friends are fine

If they vanish when not needed

As long as they don’t wine and dine

And all dictates are heeded

Food and board will be provided

Subjected to certain conditions

Extensive training offered

After the initial auditions

Son’s position has immediate vacancy

No qualifications required

As long as there is ample dependency

Along with subservience and stupidity

Lack of intelligence is an asset

Mandatory training a must

Employer’s daughter is out of bounds

You may not after her lust

Positions available immediately

Current son kicked the bucket

Wife is being made redundant

She does not know of it yet

She’ll be given the boot pretty soon

She’s fired being  for being depressed

The company will cash out the insurance

It will be a win-win situation

Our company’s policies are iron clad

I can give you that much assurance

In her misery she walks alone

In her misery she walks alone

Sings songs to the woods

Songs that no one can hear

Writes poems that only she reads

Penning hurt that goes down deep

Is trust the new five letter word?

Something that is like a shadow?

Substance is concrete.

Its alimony, its custody

It’s not financial dependency

In choosing to write and read

She chose a path that was incomplete

A path that was unpaved and narrow

With woods dark and deep

Still she has promises to keep

And miles to go before she sleeps

She has to chase the shadow

The substance is too steep

It will cost her, her surviving child

So to the path she will keep

Him

Him

Snap out of your mood

I own you

Stop being so sentimental

It affects my work life

If only you were not so sloppy

Stupid and sensitive

I am pulling the strings dammit

Dance, dance

But before that for goodness sake

Wear something nice

No one likes a shabby puppet

Anger is interspersed by fatigue

Weariness at the recalcitrant doll

Dented, and not painted

Pulling me down with the force of

Her grief, which by the way is not greater than mine

I tell her again and again

Stupid puppet, does not listen

She has inherited her stupid genes from her mother

Or her mother has wished it upon her

Through some sort of a narcissistic spell

Every time she speaks to her mother

She turns against me

Me the master puppeteer

Who could be better for her?

Her

Her,

Cold, smouldering like dry ice

Touch and you will burn

Anger that is used like a jelly fish’s stings

The burns remain forever

I wrap my grief like a cocoon made of vinegar

Acidic and tart

To save myself, yet it hurts

The stings are true

A bad mother, useless corrosive

You are supposed to love your child

Support her, watch her humiliation

And sit quiet,

Don’t stop her when she demands

Pouts and screams

She has earned her privilege

Her disability is a credit card that

She uses to cash out

Yet he was not entitled

To anything that was not cleared

By the accounts department

No special demands met

No privileges given that were superfluous

Zeus decides and gives Hercules his powers

And his battles

While Hera watches, helpless

Apple of my eye

An Apple does not fall

Far from the tree

Betrayal sometimes runs in a family

The junior found a permanent solution

To a problem that was temporary

The senior runs to another woman

Grief is an excuse for infidelity

What can a wife /mother do?

Open a sheet to pen her misery

Light a stick to suck in her pain

Pop a cork again and again

What can a daughter /sister do?

Lash out at the one person she can

Slash her wrists, scream and shout

Hit and scratch, scream and pout

A young man who showed his caring

For his grades, his exams, his gaming

In sacrificing this earth for paradise

Chose shadow over substance, was that wise?

Looped a belt around a pipe

Kicked the chair, snuffed his life

His old man shows his caring

For the emptiness in his lover’s life

Ignores the same when it engulfs his wife

For he’s a ‘strong man’ who runs away

Lives to love another day

The men in their lives have let them down

The men are blind the women drown

A sister and a brother

Two souls, entered

Rented the same uterus

One came six years after the other

A much awaited

Much celebrated

Right chromosomal combination

But with the Y comes a lot of baggage

Don’t ask me why

The Genetic expert is no longer alive

He incidentally left behind a WHY??

Back to the souls

Who rented the same uterus

One reaped the benefits

Took rather than gave to the landlord and landlady

Its chromosomal combination

Nurtured in culture of chauvinism

Born with unlimited credit

Limited skin pigmentation

An uncommon iris helps

Whereas the first tenant

XX in jeans and gene

Came with excessive baggage

And is still paying

For facilities and utilities

That she never got to use

The landlord, bereft of his lands

Poor in everything but pride

Extracts his last pound from the first tenant

A surety a deposit

Having forfeited everything

He has no compunctions

Using his genetic credit card

To wrangle

Last moment security

A last favour to live in dignity

In doing so the old landlord does not care

If the first tenant loses her all

After all it is the Y that matters

Do not ask me why

 

From A WIFE TO HER DARLING HUSBAND

Lazarus the psychologist

The one who died

Not the one who died

And was made alive

Saw emotions behind stress

Irrevocable loss, leading to distress

A negative state, an inability to cope

A theory of appraisal

An individual’s slippery slope

A reaction by the adrenal medulla

Sitting on top of a kidney

You have appraised me my darling  

And labelled my emotion for me

As hatred deep and strong

Now what can I do to convince you?

That you could not be more wrong

It is stress that dilates my pupils

And nicotine has me in its grip

An occasional glass impairs my judgement

And lets an unedited sentence slip

It is not a reflection of my emotion

Just something that lets me cope

I do not hate you my darling,

It’s just that I have lost hope

FROM A HUSBAND TO HIS PRECIOUS WIFE

Grudges are priceless my precioussss

I collect them like nuggets of gold

Vengeance is invigorating my precioussss

Without it I will grow old

Power is intoxicating my preciousss

It is the key to control

Ignorance is bliss my precioussss

Can’t see the tragedy unfold

Arrogance is a shield my precioussss

Keeps guilt away from my soul

My contempt for you my preciousss

Is a dark bottomless hole

Despair

Despair

Why does someone tie a noose around the neck

Why the fatal step

The lure of hills

The pull of the ocean

The last gasp of the air

Why the last conscious movement of a finger

Why push down another peg

Why the last whiff

Of something colourless and odourless

Why the slash on the wrists

Why the clatter of pills

The poor have gory ways

Noxious fluids

Clattering rails

A strike of a match followed by piercing wails

The poor have no fear

The rich have the right gear

Despair failed Economics and got a D- in Sociology

My random ramblings

Have been listening to a lot of songs. Franklin, Fateh Ali Khan, Sunidhi Chauhan. Music helps, heals. Akshay I listened to your songs while on a walk.

Aditi is trying to heal me. It is quite sad to see her try so hard, she says you have been asking her to pull me out of my depression. I don't know if she can. I have to support her through the next few years, so for her sake I hope she succeeds.
I am not a very good mum now, I never was. I have reached new low now. Can't go any lower. It is the Marina Trench of lows. I keep dreaming of the dead people taking me on a journey. Yesterday you took me on a journey on a tram. We went I don't know.

Relationships have stooped to a new low too. I thought I had a good marriage; but how can two normal ordinary people survive one blow after another? I guess if we make it, I can always write a best -seller; how to make your marriage work through almost every problem :)