Sunday, 31 August 2014

Orange Lights and Serendipity

Some orange light sneaks through the blinds and highlights the little bottle of water lying on my table. The room is pitch dark except for the golden rays from the neon lamps that struggle to creep inside. It is not a steady beam of light but it flickers. Flickers to the rhythm of the cold winds that sway the blinds embracing the window panes. I turn around to look at the bottle of water more closely and it looks wonderful. The table is shaky and that adds mystique to the otherwise ordinary bottle of water. I see ripples. Ripples of gold and amber racing towards the wall of the bottle. Bubbles of air entrapped at the sides rise mellifluously in sync with the ripples. I see life. A life that was not noticed before. A life that was not appreciated before. A life that appears only to the keen eyes. The blinds tap to the tune of the howling winds. I get lost in the play portrayed in a casual yet elegant style. It feels like sitting all alone in a theatre and watching a mono act. The wind now settles for the drizzle to catch up. A mild drizzle that softly highlights everything on its way with a glitter and gently breaks into the skin of a little pool of water outside. They carry with them their own rhythm and this time, the active procession of golden waves retire to become inanimate once again.

Friday, 22 August 2014

Embryo Unallowed

Her clan swarm to party the day,
Cheers! she is in the family way.
Puddings and pastries fill her tray,
Softly she says hip hip hurray!

The day comes like a thundercloud,
Her kith and kin are no more proud.
For she bears an embryo unallowed,
A birth that will end under a shroud.

She will have rosy cheeks and a little chin,
So what? we won’t let her life begin.
She will do us proud, earn wings and win,
No,she is a burden, bringing pain and sin.

Words descend like pricks and stings,
She writhes on the bed and lowly sings,
A trite little verse for the unborn wings,
Apologizing for the heinous things.

She twitches and turns out of dying pain,
Little angel, she drowns in the void in vain.
Women, they think, put an extrinsic strain,
On humanity which is simple and plain.