Warts, lots of them.

Where,
There should
Have been
Colorful stains of
Our taunts and fights
And
Souvenirs of our
Cute little mistakes-

There,
Now are just warts.
The kind of drab
Sensations when
Something as
Beautiful as you
Walks away with
No promises of
Returning.

Long Nights

Some nights become,
Sleepless deserts.
Cold thoughts,
Heated up discontent.
All curled up,
I lie dead in the dark.

Old scars light up.
Some regrets and
A lot of guilt.
Bored, lonely and beaten up,
I feel the time that
Passes by my cheeks.

And like an ailing bird,
I flip around searching
For an oasis of sleep.
A sleep that might quench
The emptiness and help me
Through nights.

Smelly Cat Doesn't Share Food..

She had become considerably close. Often meeting her, having food and tea in random places was not a surprising thing by then.

That day in the cafe, while I ordered just tea. She ordered a cup cake along with a masala tea. When the waiter brought the cup cake and kept it on our table, I grabbed it.

She gave that look. The not angry but not again kind of look. I pretended to eat it but before her heart fell out, I slowly slipped it towards her romantically and said,

Will you be my backup?

Gleaming at me she said... Like she already had a ready answer..

"Only if you'll be my Joey"

Then giving myself away to her I wore a ear to ear grin and said...

As long as you're my Phoebe, I'm you're Joey baby..

And then she giggled and extended her hand to take the cup cake.. and before she even realized I snapped and took a bite, shrugged, closed my eyes and nodding my head....said..

Joey doesn't share food.

Starry Dreams

To let you sleep on the bed of
The starry dreams you deserve.
I shall conspire with the sun.
To keep the night hung forever.

To let the world know
How special you're,
I'll embellish some metaphors
With your elegance and
Surrender all of my verses for you.

And I'm ready to walk beside you,
To the end of the any tunnel;
Through any shade of darkness,
To find the luminance that
Can bind us in a forever.

Kiss me or Kill me..

For the stars
You had promised,
I've still preserved some
Darkness in me.

For the rains
You had assured,
I've still kept some
Thirst unquenched.

And for the rainbows,
My bleached heart,
Still waits like a canvas,
In its whitish glory.

Paint me or taint me.
Bruises or some blemishes.
Just don't leave me
Stabbed with apathy.

Not the violence of silence,
Don't want this emptiness again.
Pain or some peace,
I just want to feel . Again.

Wordy Vector

On the long lonely,
Sleepless nights...
You come to
Infect me with verses.

I'm vulnerable,
You're contagious.

And like that
I'm a victim of
This epidemic
Called poetry.

The Forever..

You be yourself.
I'll be myself.
Let there be peace.
Let's not hurt ourselves
With our pretense.

Have your today,
Have some tomorrows.
I'll too have mine.

Then again..
If we meet somewhere,
We'll try to design,
Some beautiful yesterdays
That are forever.

The First Flight

Have you ever tried to set a kite in a flight? Have you ever let your heart feel that redemption seeing something of your creation flying high in the sky? And have you had that feeling of a stab in your gut when the thread was cut and wriggling in the distant sky, a part of you faded away? Also, that adrenaline shot up chase to catch the cut loose kite and the relief that followed after you caught it. Or the despair that remained for days after you had lost one.

Those feelings are age-old. Of the times when old newspapers were uncommon in the home and something as insignificant as a roll of thread needed years of commitment for saving and preserving till the next season. This also involved lots of quarreling with siblings and cousins. But it was all worth it. All worth to see our hearts fly in the sky.

The first time I had seen a kite was in our primary school playground. A couple of guys standing there like wizards. Running around to catch the direction of the wind to set it in flight. That day, then a couple more, all I did was, sit there to watch the magic that unraveled. That surprised face of mine reminds of Pink Floyd’s Learning to fly- Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earth-bound misfit, I.

See, making a kite is easy. Just two slender, flexible, dry mid-ribs of coconut leaf. A paper in the square shape of around one square feet area and some gum. Attach one mid-rib straight, diagonally. Other in a bow shape aligned across the other two corners of the paper. That’s all. The kite is ready. But the most important thing is the sutra, the knot that balances the weight of the kite. It decides the stability of the kite.

As I said earlier, in the era when paper and thread possessed some economic value, without a wailful cry in the home, buying them was difficult. Well, crying is a super-power of a kid, ain’t it? So I used it to make the ends meet. Then I found a guy in my locality who could help me in making the kite. He was a pro. Before noon that day he had pulled off the magic.

In the school playground, he stood holding the kite at one end. I stood at another. As he had instructed, I ran clutching the thread in one hand upon his signal. It took few tries but finally, it was a pleasure seeing it fly while I unrolled the thread from the roll. A few meters up in the sky seeing it fly in the blue background; thinking, what if it entered the cloud or a bird hit it or myriads of such anxious questions spinning in the head. The heat, the cold didn’t matter. Only the flow, standing there giving the thread a slight jerk to maintain the stability mattered.

It is one of such experience that always reminds me of a quote by the legend, Leonardo da Vinci, “Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes with your eyes turned skyward. For there you have been, and there you will always long to learn.” Ain’t it right?

A Beyond Feel..

You might be,
An epitome of boredom in
Someone else's story.
But in mine,
You're;
An unparalleled poetic feel.

A painting that's
Beyond the strokes of colours
And the shades of words.

Doesn't matter if,
Venus is just a planet.
When the light is out,
And gloom is set.
Like a lit up metaphor,
You're my evening star.

The Dog Rescue Squad

That was the last monsoon of our school days. The 2010 one. The encumbrance of the class twelfth was not yet on shoulders and we always had our crazy stuff that was worth remembering a tons of time.

So, on one of such nights, after dinner, it was drizzling and there was no electricity, (a night without electricity was always a great pastime). While we had some chit chat in our house, a junior came running and said, Anna, its Pallavi akka this time. God! Not even the sturdy one, I said and rushed to the Udaygiri house. Sacchya, Wasya and others along with some juniors who held the same concerns were already there. The crowd was a bit big than usual.

It was decided to bury her near the pump house that was near the boys' water tank. Someone carried her and we all walked behind in silence. Digging a pit with a rod was easy as the ground was moist. After the burial, for a brief period of time, we stood there in silence to offer our condolences. The death of this sturdy puppy had ended the dog rescue mission that was undertaken by Sacchya.

Let’s talk about what’s going on. Who’s Pallavi? Why a burial?

See, Sacchya loved puppies. One rainy night he found out some five newborn puppies near the pool that’s by the boys' ground. Without any shelter, seeing them all shriveled and shivering, he was moved. He thought he could do something for those poor souls. So he, along with his squad assured them a shelter under the staircase of Udaygiri house. The waste gunny bags and some clothes provided the necessary warmth. Some daily doses of milk smuggled from mess assured some great nutrition. At least that’s what we thought.

And men will be men. After two-three days, according to the appearance of the puppies, they were named after our class girls. The one that was white was Ganga. The one that was a bit white but frail was Paru. There was one, well built and with a dark complexion, someone called it Renuka. Don’t really remember why the fourth one was called Trisha as it didn’t really resemble her. The last one was Pallavi, very akin to how she looked.

It was fun for some days. Then all of a sudden, Paru died. It was sad. She was buried. Then again, in a succession, they all started to pass. Pallavi had held it for some time but that night she too had given it up. Though it is a funny memory now, it sure was bit emotional then.

Akash Chavan

As a part of the curriculum in the final year of B.Sc Agriculture; the graduates, in my time, were placed in a rural setting for a period of time. The motto behind this placement was to enable students to interact with the farmers and become aware of the practical issues involved in farming. My batch was placed in Akkialur, which is in Haveri district. We chose to settle down in Hangal as the accommodation and the food was promising there.

We took food in a khanavali run by this guy whom we called as Shivu Anna. He was just a few years older to us. It was easy to get along with him and it didn't take long to become close to him. Late in the evening, his place became a routine hangout place. Sometimes we talked at lengths or watched TV. Usually, pro kabaddi had our interests held. Even we played kabaddi for a brief period of time.

Sahana, his cute little daughter was around four years old. A talkative, naughty kid whom we teased always. She went to a nearby nursery school. Daily his father would take her to school in the morning and pick her in the noon. Upon Anna's request, once in a while, someone among us picked her up at the lunch hour as that the time he handled customers. As days rolled by and he became bit more close, we started picking her up regularly. Sometimes we would even go to drop her to school.

I loved talking to her. So, I went regularly to school to drop her or pick her up. Sometimes alone, sometimes with one of our guys. Her class teacher had become familiar with two three faces. One day as most of us were away, Akash Chavan- who usually didn't go to pick her up- had to go that noon. Here, I should describe his appearance. He was of average height with a dark complexion. His uncombed shabby hair, unshaven face and clothing style projected a vague sense of suspicion in anyone's mind. Especially when it involves a kid, no one can blame the person at the other end.

The next day noon I went to school. I entered the classroom. I saw her sitting there with a serious face as her shoe was missing. Her teacher was busy finding it. After the shoe was found, she helped Sahana to wear the shoe and before sending her with me she said, "Anna, dina neeva barri. Hosabra yarara bandra kalsaka hedarki. Adragu ninne bandarva jodi kalsod kasta agittu. Sahana avaranna gotta hidididdakka kalasidvi", meaning please you only come to pick her up. It's difficult to send her with an unfamiliar person. Especially the one who came yesterday arouse an element of suspicion. I only sent her with him as Sahana recognized him.

Well, that was not a surprise at all.

When thug life chose Ravi anna

The second period was over and the third period was about to kick in. Suddenly art mastar, Chandrashekharayya rushed to Sixth 'A', stood at the door with a grave look. The kind of look a predator wears in search of its prey. Then he rushed to the third row and grabbed Ravi. Another teacher whose face was familiar, yet unknown to a sixth class kid was behind him. Though his dark complexion was terrifying, his conduct projected his sympathy towards what was about to happen.

The whole class had its eyes fixed on the prey which was in the grasp of the beast. After a few slaps and thumps on his back, the interrogation started. Art mastar would ask, “Wasn’t that you in the Dharwad bus stand yesterday?” for which Ravi would reply in his terrified trembling voice, “It wasn’t me.”

No matter how brutal art mastar was, Ravi was equally firm with his denial over whatever mastar accused him of. Though he had to go through few more blows, he was finally saved by the teacher who had come with art mastar. He pacified him and made him walk away from that hunt.

From whatever had happened, everyone had a rough clue that it was related to Ravi’s act of absconding the previous day. He was brought to the school by his mama that morning. When the actual story got unraveled slowly, sure all were awed by the stunt Ravi had pulled off. No wonder why art mastar was furious.

That day when Ravi had become Andy Dufresne, he was caught by art mastar in Dharwad bus stand. While Ravi waited for the bus and art mastar had made Ravi realize his worst of the nightmares, Ravi chose his thug life and faced him. When art mastar asked him if he was from navodaya school, he said, ”Ye niv yaar namag gottillari pa. Na namma amman jodi bandeni. Aki ille hogyal” meaning he doesn’t recognize him and he has come with his granny who has left him there while she ran an errand around.

And art mastar had bought it. In a state of confusion and deep contemplation, he had left the place. And that morning when he saw Ravi around the principal’s office, he had realized how he was played by the little brat.

Infinite Love

Mountains are
The love letters,
Written by the ocean
To the sky.

Rain is a reply
From the sky.

And that's how the
Highs and the vast depths,
Make it possible to create
Something infinite....

Something infinite....
Like LIFE.