A Positive Spin

You pull words out of a hat

And throw it on people,

Basking in their sad attention.

A magician like no one else,

Twisting words to suit your needs

That is a talent, no tease.

While you do that

I pirouette to the music

Of your slander.

I stretch and twirl,

Turning things around,

Literally and figuratively.

The very definition of optimism,

No doubt, you would agree

With a beatific smile.

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City Life

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I watch my pet cat dart about

my kitchen garden,

thinking of the changes that have crept in–

 

Eat or be eaten,

the way of life in the wild,

now, reinvented for the urbane,

concealed by shimmery electric lights

and the smell of warm notes–

 

Vehicles gush by, silhouetted

by oncoming headlights

and up, above, smoke travels in ripples

choking birds in its wake.

Words

They say that

where there is smoke

there is fire.

 

They say that

where there is a will

there’s a way.

But I don’t care

what they say anymore,

It’s not their call,

I have repainted the idioms

and they are drying under the sun-

Words that stare at me

imbued with new meanings.

 

They say, they say,

they say, that’s all they could ever do.

But now I say and I stick by my words.

And my words don’t lie.

Roads

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Two roads diverged

and I met someone at the crossroads,

the meeting fleeting

like the flash of headlights

of a car passing;

And  my dilemma

was no longer about the path

that I have to take

but the person I encountered.

 

Two roads diverged

And I met someone at the crossroads,

the meeting fleeting

like the flash of headlights

of a car passing;

Among the  blood-soaked leaves

my voice box lay out of place-

The mouth organ that cannot play.

 

Two roads diverged

And I met someone at the crossroads,

the meeting fleeting,

the flash of headlights

of a car passing;

And I was nearly killed

by someone I love.

Secrets

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She broke the news, I was surprised.

I didn’t feel betrayed, but detached,

as if I were staring at her through a glass wall.

I should have known that with each passing second

secrets are formed, locked, and buried

only to surface like corpses washed ashore.

 

It was a happy occasion but I was morose,

I had to grudgingly admit that

One could never really know a person,

And that everything I didn’t know

And would never know would only grow

like weeds amidst pasture.

Hopeless

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I get down from the bus sighing,

Conscious of the sweat on my clothes

And what’s to come in a few worthless

Hours. I turn to look at the departing bus,

The years I had squandered faded

With the smoke and dust.

 

My discoloured Penny Loafers make no sound

As they plod on the rain-polished road

My handbag dangles from my shoulder

Empty save for a bottle of moisturizer,

And a hundred rupee note, enough

For another job application.

 

Ahead a streetlamp burns out

And I become acutely aware of the eyes

Of the the men that linger on my silhouette.

I hurry towards the next streetlamp

Desperate for a light to dispel the darkness

Both inside and outside, a damp

Wind blows and I shiver, afraid;

Insecure of what’s to come

In a few worthless minutes.

 

I muster my draining energy

And dash to my apartment, happy

To be home for my last night there.

The next day was another beginning:

Twenty four worthless hours and more

To lose myself in self-pity and depression:

A morbid adventure designed for the hopeless.