The Journey of the Sun

As the Sun peeks lazily over the sand dunes,

The Bedouin packs his tent away and greets his ship.

For the pair, another long day of travel looms,

But destination beckons close and saves their sprits from a dip,

And the Sun just keeps rising.

As It reaches its full glory, blazing haughtily,

A deal is being made here and a government over there;

The air-conditioned city ignores It blissfully.

Progress, money, power and fame, oh, there is too much to care.

And then the Sun starts descending.

As the harmless orange ball in the sky ushers in the dusk,

The busy birds fly back to their nests, adding to the gloom of the day,

Successfully evading the poachers, the proud elephant retains its tusk,

The jungle shudders to think of the creatures that will soon start to bay.

All the while the Sun keeps moving.

As the tired Sun dips into the ocean,

The magical, star-lit sky makes an ostentatious display.

Nocturnal creatures slip out of their haven,

Carefully plotting the hunt, that will help them claim their prey.

And the wheel just keeps turning.

Greener Grass

Baked land, slightly smoking;

Cracked land, intensely thirsting.

Faint reminisces of a river, flows halfheartedly

Yellow gold stokes the fever, shines vengefully

Mercy, won’t you rain upon us now?

The chain strains, hunger is the new enemy

The expense pains, nutrition is a rare commodity

Perspiring and laborious breathing,

Burning and painful blistering,

Mercy, won’t you rain upon us now?

A sudden whiff of cool breeze

A surprising show of turbulent seas

Lovely shades of gray, across the sky

Tiny droplets of moisture, teasing the cry

Mercy, please rain upon us now!

Musical pitter-patter on hot tin roof

Inspires dance even in the hoof

Pitiful streams turn to gushes, rivers need to be restrained.

Dreams of crops turn to ashes, huts have to be relocated.

Mercy, please stop raining now!

Fungi prosper, food becomes scarcer,

Hydro-phobics splutter, prices go higher,

Depressing shades of gray, across the sky

Destruction of life, teases the cry,

Mercy, won’t you please stop raining now?   

Rush

The night was nothing out of the ordinary. But strange thoughts were running through her head as the warm wind whipped her hair violently around her face. Usually, the strum of the engine of the bike reverberating under her, filled her being with a calm void, riding was almost like meditation to her. But not today……Today it was as if the engine was not tuned to her frequency. Every turn she took on the familiar road seemed alien; every other vehicle that passed her seemed hostile.

She found herself wondering what it would be like to die. It was after all well past midnight, if she had an accident, no one would find her until a long time. Maybe it would be too late by then. The last few seconds would be painful, no doubt. But then again, would it? She had always associated dying with immense pain. But what if she was wrong? She had read somewhere that in the last moments, one re-lives the most significant moments in one’s life. Wouldn’t unbearable pain cloud this experience? More importantly, was she going to find out the answer tonight?

She shook her head slightly, trying to clear her head of these weird ideas. She was not a shaky rider; she knew the city inside out, even in the dark. There was no reason to think about accidents. Besides she was too young to die, twenty is hardly an age when you contemplate the end of your life. But if I do, will life seem unfinished? She thought about her boyfriend, she would miss him, of course, and her family. But what about everything else? Would she regret not having done some things? She thought hard but couldn’t come up with anything. She suddenly realized she wouldn’t mind dying right then

There was something very disturbing and strangely satisfying about this revelation. She had barely lived her life, had hardly done anything with it and already was ready to let go. As she took a sharp turn, she was overcome with a feeling that it was not worth living a life which she would not terribly miss. The calm she was missing so far in the night suddenly washed over her. Everything on the road became painfully clear to her, the tree that she could ram into, the black abyss that she could ride off into.

A pair of headlights came into view at the end of the long road. They were powerful; it had to be a large truck. It was approaching at full speed; the driver was taking advantage of the virtually empty roads. As she raced towards it, she felt slightly high. All she had to do was swerve at the right time. The unsuspecting driver would have no way to save her.

She drove forward purposefully, increasing her speed. The truck was quite close now. The lights were blinding her eyes. She could hear its engine play a jarring note in her ears. She was almost there……In 30 seconds, she would have to jerk towards the right…..20….15…10…5…4, 3, 2, 1……………………………………………………….

The rush of wind dragged along by the truck felt like a slap on her face. The driver horned musically as he went past her. Never faltering for a second, she drove on, increasing the distance between her and the truck. She smiled. There was nothing out of ordinary about the night. It was not a night of suicide. Yet. 

Windows to the World

The musty smell of old worn out pages

Which have seen more life than your grandmother,

Or the lovely promising smell of new pages

Which are anticipating an excited wonder.

The glossy happy cover or the warning, dark look

A famous author or a raving review,

Whatever draws you to a particular book

The journey through it is paralleled by few.

The insistent jabs of curiosity

Or the need for an emotional flush,

The drive to attain virtuosity

Or experience the rare adrenaline rush.

Bile raising accounts of torture

Or the warm inner glow of the loved,

Whatever hopes you nurture

Can be realised looking through the windows to the world.

Misunderstood

Glittering in the sunlight, the lovely streamline,

Adorning her beauty, catching everyone’s eye.

Try as hard as she might, free was the brine,

Unfathomable purity, shines through when you cry.

Dragging and hobbling, with a pain that is alive,

Morning bed to the bathroom, seemed a chore from the hades

Elating and uplifting, his joy refused to take a dive,

Beyond the field or the locker room, the victory never fades.

Branches swayed and danced, as the gusts of wind blew,

The trees stood solidly, as the world unfolded around

And they cringed and blanched, wishing they could eschew,

The vehicles zooming speedily, making toxic vapors abound.

Well meaning to sadistic, sarcastic to sweet,

Intentions are intrinsic, interpretations are not.

Breath-taking to rustic, intelligent to dweeb,

Qualities are generic, perceptions are not.

The First Fight

Filled with purpose, she stumbled along the words,

Some beautiful, some alien,

But something gnawed on her heart’s chords,

The want of the one in a million.

The thin, long hand ticked by slowly,

Without any signs of mercy.

Her eyes trained on the door expectantly,

For her love in her favorite jersey.

However when the awaited moment arrived,

Red anger replaced the longing,

Unaware of the storm, he smiled,

But a stony silence hit him, hard and stinging.

He apologized, he pleaded,

But she had very harsh things to say,

He defended, he begged,

But the temper of the shrew does not easily sway.

Soon the first drop of rain fell,

Forging a path down his left cheek.

The hard stone turned to gel,

The pain in her throat made her weak.

“The absence of your smile hurts me more,

Than any imaginable thing in this world”, he said.

The horror of guilt filled her core,

Pulling him close, she hugged him and said,

“I love you.”