22 January, 2012

21 January, 2012


chasing the dusk with the scimitars of night
this heady medley of fight or flight
or the limpid calm before the storm
cool eyes, bright lies and an alabaster form
balm to soulscorches in a fading light
amid a handful of cheers and a thousand jeers
rag-tag cloak of long-lost hopes and fears

half-remembered some childhood tune
lucent in the shade of a lycan moon
scuffed-foot walks with those might-have-beens
measuring out their worth with a tablespoon

i have scribbled my soul onto the mossy wall
of these narrow by-lanes of anywhere
to ensure that whenever i hail or call
the ship has already sailed the port
'tis left only to wave and smile -
have no doubt, it's a jolly good sport!

20 January, 2012

rambling still

Gorging like post-famine peasants at KFC. The 12 piece bucket. Three people.

Then the impersonal labyrinth of Salt Lake. A nod at my old pilgrimage routes. Dark silhouettes in shady nooks, away from the sullen glower of amber street-lights. After so many things had happened around a place (relatively speaking of course. No more than a flyspecked footnote in the true scale of things) one would expect a bit more than the everlasting sobriety of evening in a residential area.
Ogden Nash in my head. Some random meme must've put it in my head. And some other smattering of the evening spread out against the sky.

If we were to meet in this city, my old friend, after say 5...6 years. Odds are that we would still be walking down these unnamed roads or rambling down Park Street, speaking of much the same things as today. Half-heard confidences to the ghosts of yesteryear. A silent homage to distant summers that none now recall, to silent walks in the swift eventide of winter: little flecks of soulblood, congealed now, that tumbled away into oblivion as people went ahead with their lives.

Those tales never end. And remain the same. Only the folk in them change at times. Sometimes unnoticed, often unheard.
My pet peeve for the day remains the steady drain on equally jobless folk to take care of my rants during my higher moments.

14 January, 2012

voices shall not share

Yesterday was memorable. Be it wearing the old school blazer, the Xaverian mein still intact after four years of battering by plebes (:P). That dazzle of floodlights, the upturned faces. And of course "My worthy opponents .... "

Some glad known faces - juniors - right in the hustle and bustle of organising things. It was a familiar place, thanks to the times when wanderlusting away from the humdrum brings me to the welcoming highness of JU.
And after it got over, the lights doused and the curtains fallen. With the hosts (as always) staying back for that last hurrah, that final adjusting of the chairs. A last look at the stage.
Thank you people for letting me relive debating, a schoolboy passion that was almost stifled in a mire of collegiate machinations.

So another ramble through that uni with a hitched hyperactive schoolgirl (even though in 3rd year), orange-glow limned silhouettes with ghosts from the past, present wisecracks and future maudlin-despair.
The comings and goings, hook-ups and ditchings, meet-ups and leg-pulling.

Life's as good as it gets. Me? Bleh.

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