After rains

Navigating through the clogged drains;
stepping on moss blanketed lanes.
A sea of merry umbrella floats,
others braving in drenched coats.

I turn, enter through an empty door
dripping all across the wet floor
The familiar voice dies and slowly wane,
so does faces we drew on window pane

But if smell of damp linen doesn't suffice
how about a cup of tea with hint of spice
All maligned; all conspire to remined
those rainy days, I had left them behind

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A queen

A girl called a Queen-without-a-crown
whose waist had outgrown her gown
the word had spread through the town
where cruel people look down and frown
miming her- the double chinned clown

A dress without pockets, of what use is this gown?
She was in her skin- whether white, yellow or brown
Flaunting her curves, tip toeing across the town
Shame could take a nap or rather drown
Afterall she was a queen even without her crown

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ये यादें इतनी थी, कि कहाँ समेट पाते?
कुछ चाय की चुस्कियों में ताज़ा करते,
और कुछ आंसूओं में बहा देते।

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A long short story

I imagined the sweat; heated lines of anger that seethed
But all he let me in was on how deep he breathed

I held my own with the cheer, the vices and the wits;
He with the rains, the roads and rolling stone hits

Continue...

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A long short story

Maybe it's wrong! not every jack could have his jill
We had seen, learnt and been through the drill

We filed in the voids with words random and trite
Be in touch- be good friends- cordial and polite

Continue...

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A long short story

"It had to be isn't it?" he would ask after a long pause
I would reassure us everytime with just a "yes ofcourse"

It's too long a story, that you only remember the end
Yet it's too short a story, that this couldn't be the end

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A streak of vermillion had proclaimed
That I was spoken for, not to be claimed
Fragrant garlands and the couture so sleek
but all in a tongue I didn't know how to speak
Someone read the same old vows for me
before the sacred fire laden with ghee

The green glass bangles that I adorn
the toe ring that I wore, all pricked like a thorn
The marigold petals and wilted banana leaves
all held on the truths, ones it still believes
It wasn't all happy as I dreamt in my teen
nor was he the king neither I a queen

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Wedding

A vigilant army of green banana trees
and marigold brazing the summer breeze
Merry courtyard with wedding entourage
Young and old great, as in perfect collage
Yet it isn't surreal as I dreamt in my teens
days I secretly draped saree over my jeans.

As clique of wise men and women gathered to probe,
the third world problems across the globe
like "How much does he earn"or"Does she cook"
Courtesy- chapter 101 patriarchial textbook
Reddening even my turmeric stained cheek
Yet I obliged as a coy bride forbidden to speak
.... ...... ...... .........continued

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Rainy day

Another rainyday yet no memories to unwind
Of tea, the tales and the times I left behind
Of puddle, the petrichor and the paperboat
Only the rush to seek refuge in this raincoat

What's called dreary, deluge and disaster now
Was once the thrumming music , when or how
"It's just science with a different name"
Yet smell, showers and storms are all the same

"Am I too lost to indulge in this" - profane
I see the vein of tears on my window pane
A paperboat still braves to sale on concerte floor
Perhaps there's hope around the corner like before

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Remember! stories that start with "once upon a time"
will have a "happily ever after" each time
just that the journey between these lines is a lifetime

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