Fading Away

How many memories can my mind retain?

I have seen clouds up close. They are really filled with nothing in them. Their undulating form of fluff is made of my memories of you. Their white comes from my happy thoughts of you. The greys are my desolation, the black, a drape of your absence, falling like velvet and drenching my soul.

Such magnificent shapes you make, scattered through my once clear blue sky.

End of Innings

Cheruvally Appachi (The aunt from Cheruvally) is about 86. She looks just as beautiful as I remember her from the time my grandma was alive a decade ago. Yesterday, we met at the wedding of one of her grandchildren.

As I hugged her, I could feel her tears drench my bald head and creep through my shirts collar. Her tears would not stop. Nor mine.

Great Aunt of mine, I want you to know, do not grieve for the time that is no longer there, for we shall meet again. This one was as your favorite grandnephew, the next will be as your son.

Dry Eyes

For the years my blood
Has caroused
Through these pens for you

For the one hundred poems
Through which my words
Have called out to you.
For the dreams you invade
And the days you color
And my being
That you so pervade.

For all that is soft in me
And all that is white.
For what I remember
And for what I wish to forget
For the last time we spoke
And for all these years
Of satin stained silent nights

For the stars that still shine
And for the ones falling
Yet burning bright
You have me
And my dry Eyes.

Also Published in Muse India

Of Warts and Moles

I think about you constantly. I wake up with your thoughts playing in the foreground. I clench on to you as sleep invades my world and drowns me, one thought of you at a time. The melange of your thoughts continue in my dreams. I dream that I have been in a crash and you come to visit me at the hospital. There is a recurring dream in which I keep crying because I broke your toe nail. There is also this dream of you taking me on a long drive across a ravine, the car chasing the clouds and your hair smelling of wild lilies. There are other dreams as well, the once I cannot write about but you would understand.

There was a time when I used to be extremely perturbed with having to constantly carry you in me. I would often pray for a one-time memory wash. My soul would often be heavy from my burden of you. I would often cry myself to sleep, hoping that some bit of you would probably drift away through those tears. I have cried for my grandma too. Earth shattering hollers so that she can hear me in heavens and come down again. But yours were muted. Just a steady flow of my love for you drenching my pillows, and a weak moan now and then, as if an unborn child of mine had died.

But in time, my shackles of you transformed into strange limbs. Some bit of you turned into skin, some took the form of beautiful scars and warts and all.

And my dear, all these years, I have let you be, just the way live in me.

Some thoughts have to keep playing in our idle minds, why then should it not be yours? Most of them are so brilliantly colored and beautiful. Most of them smell so wonderful, quite like you.

Abandoned !

Once a wise grey owl perched on a large sullen tree in a garden in ruins. The butterflies hushed their wings, the snakes crawled for a while like snails and the wind that was already tired from all its windiness, screeched to a stop.

The owl would now look to the right and then look to the left. It would turn it's furry head all around without a rustle. It's bright golden eyes pierced the low light dusk falling like a shround on to an unloved body.

When the night finally drenched this forgotten garden in its mossy grey, the wise owl screeched a chilling shriek, flapped it's giant wings, and through a tear in the fabric of the universe, escaped into another dimension.