Memory

So then, here it is. Another 4 a. m. muse when a distant Cuckoo has begun a song, of a memory, perhaps?

Sunshine
Warm rays
Add to your blush
Early morn
A distant taxi
Blows its horn
Footsteps
On a sun kissed creek
A cuckoo
Singing a tune
Reminding you of yesterday
A yellow flower
Slides down
Your tresses
So soft
You look up,
smoldering black eyes
And smile
An unknown, distant smile
Is it then
Just a memory of yesterday?
Or thoughts
Of a magician
Weaving colours of laughter
And happiness
And just as
The pink of your fingertips
Reach out
To the bubble
Iridescent;
With smells of a rainy cozy afternoon
It bursts.
A blue noise
That makes you smile
With a heavy heart
Yet another memory,
of yesterday?

Sale! Sale!

It comes in many many colours
various shapes, various sizes
and I'm sure you'll find a kind
that'll make you smile
just as the white and blue
of a sea
kisses the brown
of a promising shore
and you put
a pretty sea shell
to your ear
and hear
an Octopus sing
oh yes, an octopus sing
my fingers sink
into the depths
of my pockets
and lay on the table
one by one
for your eyes
to see
pieces
I've spent my life picking
and now
here they are.
My dreams.
For sale.

Ra, the Egyptian sun God

Part one
The absolute smugness of taking an overnight train ride. Looking out a window that whistles its way out of a city, out what you called home.
Through nameless, numberless hamlets, children standing close to the railway tracks, staring on.
One instant your eyes meet.You are a part of an anonymous, slightly yellow eyed, green frocked, pony tailed life for one microscopic moment.
Green fields, black soil, palm trees, farmers in their spotless white in an intriguing chat, as the sun quietly slips down in a glorious crimson last bow. Tomorrow is another day.
Crowded city with a lust for everything. Life. Money. People. Lights. Food.
You arrive. Something on cartoon network is playing in your mind. Yeah, sheep in the big city. Smiling inwardly, you walk through a muggy night in Mumbai.
Between bites of vada paav and memorising the local train schedule, the sun decides to set again, the pretty blue ocean creating a sand pattern on your soles.
A woman behind you screams an obscenity in Marathi.
Life may not always play fair. But atleast it has got a helluva good sense of humour.

Ra, part two
And so you have it finally. The sea. The sun has set in front of my eyes, down an indigo skyline with the sea wafting a tune that my skin finds familiar.
All that is left is the hint of splashes of pink crimson on a dark background.
Walking down a path of saltiness touching fine sand, looking back at footprints that get washed away. Leaving behind but a memory.
Like the smell of a familiar perfume that catches you unawares one busy day, making you smile.
Children play. People mill. Some jog. Some stare.
A few distant stars peep down.
As you then walk down this line, are you getting one step closer to home? Will you reach the distant orange lights you eye?
Or will the final climax come just like this one day. Catching you unawares, when your eyes are moist.
Will you continue to tread all over the west coast looking for that one singular moment, missing it by but a few baby steps?
Or as you pick pieces of yourself, also look for nails for your coffin?