Sunday, 14 September 2014


What is the appeal I wonder
Why do I get pulled towards this light

This bright light that blinds my eyes
Its burn, scathing my skin to feel none
Its heat, alienating my sense of taste
The smell of fiery plasma depriving my nose
The sound of my burning skin deafening with its hiss

Yet I can neither feel the pain nor smell my torture
Nor taste my fate nor in the least hear nor see how it consumes me

For in that fleeting second 
In that one tiniest existence of time that seems barely possible to realize
I find the silence brought on by this overpowering sense of surrender my most prized reward
And without missing a beat, it enshrines me in a cocoon that lasts an infinity
From the last second I exist to the first second I cease to
And the rest  ...

... are her smiling eyes

Saturday, 26 January 2013

Fancy that

I imagine a desert white and vast
Stretching all around me from no end to the next
And in my hand, a palette, of colours many
And a brush to paint a world I wish with

I paint the ground like the sky and the sky like the sea
I paint meadows full and empty and turn them to a city
I paint men tiny and small; I paint me a lord of them all
I paint me a world I rule, with no modicum of reality

Reality, what be this word, that the many want
How can I define what it means in truth?
What irony it is to find truth behind reality
While all along reality is the puppeteer of truth

I find myself after, but a while
Dissolving into a world born from my brush
I find the portraits more real in my colour
I find the colour more real than my skin

Sitting, smiling on my throne in the city
I revel at the preciseness of my strokes
Until the corner of my eye chills my spine,
And I turn to a slither that I thought I saw

Again and again, I constantly turn
Till I turn no more to have to see them move
The entire ground, the skies and the seas
The trees, the cities and the throne under me

I see now the desert that once lay before
Is but a ground of serpentine renditions
Truths defined by another’s reality, seeping into mine
Each painted by the colours of another's fancy

The enormity takes, but a sunrise to settle
But for all to be clear the night must fall
In complete darkness one will lay awake
Unaware of what will happen, in the darkness of doubt

I fight the failing colours by painting fiercely
I fight the coming darkness by running to the light
But like many a wise man have said before
I cannot touch the horizon or see the colour of a moonless night

I cower, I cry, I question the painter who painted me to being
Eventually I spend a spent night, resigned to my state
But I wait for the light to return in secret
And hope to see my world unslithering, unscathed

A watched night does not dawn
And so in an uncertain perpetuity I await the dawn
And see if the world I had painted still remains
Praying that it does, my heart strings tugged by the what ifs

I would be no closer to knowing reality
Whether my world survives or not, I would but have left with me
Either my reality for one more night to endure
Or another clear canvas, for me to redefine

Tuesday, 25 September 2012

Growing up

Fear, I guess people call it. Nobody in my age that I know of. I cannot see how they do it. How, liking a photograph or status, is enough. How typing incessantly the same nonsense is enough. How, buying the latest smart phone 5 is enough. How, intoxicating themselves to the point of meaning less intimacy is enough. Enough.
I do not know you now; I do not remember you this way. You were comforting. You had sunlight that invited me on the sands. You had waves that wrestled with me on the beach. You had a breeze, with a chill when I was hot and warmth when I was cold. You had endless roads that I could cycle on until dark. Where are you now?
I am not scared or afraid of you, I am just a little fearful. Trepidation. I know you are there, but I cannot find you.
I know everything is the same. Instead of from your arms, now I see everything in my own right.  I see everything as an individual; I see everything as, I assume, it should be seen. But the lies that protected me for so long seem comfortable, compared to the lies that surround me now. I am waiting. I am waiting at the edge of chaos. I do not fear falling on the one side, or the other. But I fear, terribly, staying here, not knowing, and not being sure of who you are, or who I am.

Monday, 30 April 2012

The Drop

Her brow twitches
Her lashes shiver
Her beautiful green eyes they well
They are deep and they have brimmed

And the lone tear it glistens
Too shy to step out
Too pained not to

It stands there on the edge
Waiting and ebbing
At last it takes the jump
And it rolls down

Flowing down the side of her cheek
Lightly gliding on her
Until it stops at the tip of her chin

Waiting to be brushed away
But she does not
And she just stares at the space
The space the void

What has been left behind as a remnant
And she stares at that point
Waiting to see if there will be another there
Who can make another tear take the jump

Saturday, 22 October 2011

Just another story ...

It started off fine. She was a friend, and I was pretty sure I would not fall for her, but I didn’t know about the small things when I came to that conclusion. Women thrive on the small things; they catch us by our necks over the small things and make us fall for them over the small things. Here is how I was snared.

It was late in the night and we were walking back home, just the two of us, and as we neared the door to the dorm she leaned over and whispered to me,

“I don’t feel like going in, can we walk a little while longer?”

So I did, not knowing that the yellow sodium vapor lamps would taunt me off her face, making me eager to walk across the next lamp just to see the light, light up her face, catch the sparkle in her eye, the dimples on her cheeks, the bounce of her hair, her perfect teeth shyly peeking out through her lips. Oh the lips.

I walked out of the exam hall within 20 minutes of the invigilator handing us the question paper, and very loyally the class stud followed.

“Hey brownie” He called out. 

“Yeah?” I said.

“Are you comin to the party man?”

“What party?”

“It’s the end of the semester man, what do you think?”

“Oh are you 100 already?”

He jumped at me ready to punch me in the gut.

“Whoa, stop fighting over me guys there’s enough of me for everyone” the hot girl said.

Instant puppy dog face mode on the stud, and he started saying the most retarded things ever. Just when my cheeks started hurting from fake smiling, she came down.

“Hellooo” she said.

“Hey, how did it go?” I asked her.

“It was ok, for you?”

“I don’t know, let’s see”

“Hey dude I left the good stuff at your place last night, just bring them to the party man” the stud said as he hurried off behind the hot girl.

“Yeah man, good stuff, to your 100th birthday party” I yelled across the hall as he showed me the finger.

“Come on he's just a couple of years older than you” she told me.

“Do you know what a couple means?” I asked her gesticulating double quotes.

“So you are coming right?” She asked me.

“Yep” I said.

“How did the exams go” One of my Indian friends asked me as he made his way towards us.

“It was ok” I said.

“And you” he asked her.

“Yeah it was good, so see you at the party” She told me and left.

“Macha naa avala love panren da (Dude I love her man)” As she walked away from us my friend turned to me and said.

That night everyone showed up for the party, even those who normally stayed at home skyping with their families. There was beer and dancing. After all this was Germany. We booked a long table farthest from the bar so people kept leaving to get drinks. There was a constant change in people we were sitting with because of the scooching from people leaving to get drinks and people coming back. After an hour I found myself sitting next to her. You can tell by the kind of distance a person puts between them and the next person at the table about their intentions. If that doesn’t give you a clue look for body language, like her hands on your thighs, her playing around with her hair, her attempts at finding excuses to whisper into your ears. Those are the toughest to fight. When her warm breath caresses your lobes and your nose, right next to her ears, picks up the scent of her conditioner and her perfume. With this girl it could turn on a neutered gay pastor. 

Eventually though I needed to get a refill on my beer.

“I am going to the bar, do you want anything?” I asked her.

“Ya, bloody Mary, no wait a beer, no a bloody Mary” she said.

“Wait wait make that a beer” she said as I got up.

By the time I made my way towards the bar she had changed her mind thirty three times.

“Ein bloody Mary und ein tequila bitte?” I asked the bar man.

“My brother from another mother” the stud slapped me on my back.

“What’s up man?” I asked him.

“Dude, call me Hobbes” he said.

“Err ok … Hobbes” I said.

“Give it up Calvin” he said raising his hand.

I looked at his hand and turned around searching.

“No no man, you, you are Calvin, as in Calvin and Hobbes. Give it up Calvin” he said.

“No no dude, I am Indian, I am a Hindu, we don’t name our children Calvin” I explained to him.

“Dude, don’t let a brother hang” he told me.

“That’s wishful thinking”

“You wish your thing was what?” he asked me.

“Ein bier und ein tequila” The barman said as he pushed a glass of beer and a shot of tequila toward me.
A hand grabbed the tequila and gulped down the shot.

“Hey” I said.

“What you gonna do man?” she asked me with a smile and those gorgeous dimples. 

They sapped the power out of my voice box.

“Zwei mal” I told the bar man and turned to her.

“Couldn’t wait for me to get them there could you?” I asked her.

“Nah, I just missed you too much.” She said.

The next thirty minutes we did shots at the bar. Pretty soon she was too tipsy to even sit up at the bar. I did the most gentlemanly thing to do; I called a cab to take her home.

I led her up the stairs, literally carrying her. God knows how turned on I was because she was wearing a dress that kept slipping like it was made out of quicksilver. I opened her door and let her into her room. I lay her down on her bed, turned on the heater, got her blanket and turned out the lights.

“I want a good night kiss” she said in a childlike voice as I was closing the door.

“Ok” I said as I went up to her and bent down to kiss her forehead.

It sounded like there was a symphony of percussion in my head. I woke up cursing the fact that I didn’t drink enough water last night. As I got up I felt a cold draft.

“Let go of the covers” she said.

Dumbstruck I turned around to see her in the bed I had gotten up from, as naked as me. I let go of the covers and rummaged through the pile of clothes on the bed for my underwear. The pounding continued.

“See who it is, please” she said.

I walked up to the door, still confused. The potted plant on the table helped clear the fact that I was in her room and not mine. I opened the door.

“How long must I …” my Indian friend stopped in mid-sentence.

That was the point I understood what flabbergasted meant. Or at least saw what it looked like. He looked me up and down and looked over my shoulder and saw her on the bed.

“You bitch” he told me as he handed me a pile of books, I guess they were something he borrowed or was lending her.

He walked away, down the corridor, possibly the last words he would ever speak to me.

It’s not the most romantic hooking up story, but as time went by things did begin to resemble one of those corny chick flicks. The part where they have the music running, probably some peppy number from Bon Jovi. We basically lived together. We sat together in class. Cooking dinner, washing dishes, doing it, watching movies, doing it, going for a walk, cycling, doing it, you get the picture. I finally began to fall for this girl. She was cute, funny, strong, and intelligent, got my jokes and was, as the saying goes, a dynamite in bed. It was all fine until that night.

It was Christmas, and she had been going on for a while about how she was going to miss Christmas with her family. So I got home early, asked her roommate to let me in, and prepared what I thought was a romantic meal. Schnitzel, sauerkraut, beer and ice cream. Just as I was about to light up the candles I heard someone at the door. In all fairness I must be thankful I did not light the candles. It was her husband.
It was three days before she came up to me to explain and thank me for telling her husband I was using their kitchen instead of ratting her out.

The night after graduation I sat at the bar drinking with the whole class. Her husband had come down for the graduation. She was not drinking, because she was pregnant which I can only hope was not because of me.

“Hey man” the stud said in a very gloomy tone.

“Wassap dude?” I asked him.

“I don’t think she’s leaving him man” He said pointing to the hot girl.

“Cheer up man, at least you didn’t help a married woman cheat on her husband” I said.

“Yeah man” he said.

Prolonged silence.

“You did what?” He asked me with his mouth open.

“Not proud of it man” I told him.

“You sly brown dog” He slapped me on the back making me spit some beer out.

Well I ruined a friendship, slept with another man’s wife, and got my heart ingested and pooped out; at least I made one dumb stud happy with my story. So that’s when I realized what love was, it’s an adventure you take in life. It doesn’t matter if its picture perfect or lustful and wrong, all that matters is that you have that experience to call your own.

She stared at me openmouthed. 

“I am sorry what did you ask me again?” I asked her.

“If you enjoyed your course in Germany” She said.

“Yeah I guess it was Ok” I said.

She threw the ice-cream on my face.

“I am gonna kill my dad for suggesting you” she said as she walked out of the car.

Moral of the story: Don’t tell the girl your family picked for you, to get married to, about your past.