Don't step in too close

 I am the vase 

Collecting dust

Beautifully hiding the corner

From the eyes of a guest...

Don't step in too close,

Don't strip the corner off its drab.

I look good

From a distance.

The flabs hidden under my saree,

The scaly skin hidden under the 

Long sleeves.

The eyes behind my spectacles,

The mind buried in a body 

Of thoughts .

The death of a thought

Somewhere around the corner,

Like the littered bits of paper,

Floating endlessly, 

With the winds

Is my mind.

Carelessness and countless mistakes 

 Run as a trail 

To my path.

Every mistake is a chance 

For others to pull the trigger 

and the death of thought. 

 Should I?

Should I not?

Should I?
Should I not?
In between my life oscillates. 

Tomorrows

I am walking
Along the sands
No those footprints
Would  be washed off
By the waves of  time.
I would  have splintered
Into millions of fragments.

Blown out into a nonentity....
As you sink me into the currents
To sway with essence of the silvery sheets
Dancing to the rhythm of a neverending journey.

The bitterness, the resentment,

  can't be a burden then,

though it aches now,
For me to breathe.
 No more restraints
To be tied down to. 

No traces ....

Not even my

footprints ...

A parent's monologue

My children ... would soon outgrow my arms and my embrace
Wandering into plains
Awaiting their footprints.
They grow
So do the expression of disparities
Grow between us.

He would soon be
twenty and still more
As he walks,
slams doors between us
Arguments spilling out into an ugly scene
... hormones...

teens, they say.
They grow,

and so do our concerns,
Their shackles,
They break free.

And yet my heart is tied

To a moment.

How so tiny was he
Wrapped in white.
When the nurse
Brought him to my arms
And those teeny wee little fingers,
Closed tightly into a fist.
The warm kiss I breathed onto his forehead,
Afraid I might hurt him,

Still afraid he might hurt himself
And my arms
Won't be there to hold
Him anymore.
Let him
Learn as he falls
For am afraid
I won't
Last his lifetime
To hold him.

Arguments or no arguments.

Under the mask

There was always a happiness in not being seen,
In lying hidden among the unknown
To be masked in a crowd...
It took years of practice
To learn not to stand out...
To remain camouflaged
Like a chameleon
Not showing the odd vein out.
But then....one day
You would be shocked to find out
What lies under my skin
The colours of my thought....
The redness in my blood
Under this facade of a calm...
The dread of a storm...

An aside to the wanderer in the wilderness of my home

Is it strange that 
I go spirally down the gyre
of life....
Some times I wonder
When I open my windows
Do I close my doors
When I pull my curtains apart
Dont I stay in?
When i speak volumes about 
a flight , 
Where are my
brooms, my pans, 
And my pangs of unfinished jobs leading me to?
cleaning,scrubbing , cooking
ohhhhhhh!
The clean grey tiles of my home
Tell you a tale
of a suspended time
I live everyday,
If you can see it.

The doors of my home that forces me back
into the never ending bondage.
Call it life.....

And you managed to escape all that  through
What you called  revelation