Wednesday, December 26, 2012

broken dreams


to have been watching
the sky lights
the darknesses between
all woven together
in a comforting dream
to have the engine
of a mortal machine
fly closer, and larger
with a murky wind
whispering ideas, beliefs
fitting nicely jigsaw
with the glitter and greed
but when I look again
on the final descent
they are transformed
to shifting lights
fleeting, iridescent
with passing clouds
a handful of seashells
with mollusk intact
and a taste for angle
at the mercy of the many
wayward shapes of spaces
then just before touchdown
they come alive
in a flurry of music and pain
crumbling the puzzle
waking the dream

Friday, December 07, 2012

the end

* This one is from my husband

everything must start
then must come apart
like the day or the night
or the stars that shine bright
nothing is right, or is wrong
why won't you, just play along
laugh and play,
till its bursting at its seam
it will all unravel,
just like a dream
not a moment too late
or a moment too soon
the end shall come

Sunday, November 18, 2012

night of the wolves


invisible, but for the gentle lapping of waves
intent, a music faint and heavy in the wind 
a restlessness in the sharp green leaves
a sleepless darting and jumping hurdles
sweat forming a human shaped indent
nothing so obvious as howling
splashed with water and a light, some loud comforting food
prowling, until the darkness hardens, incites a wind
knocks reproachful at the window panes
till an uneasy truce is laid to rest
away from doors, sprawled on cool marble  
close to dawn, when the sweet smell of earth
rises with savage coconut trees
around dense clouds, and the occasional sky
flashing, breaking, sleep away from sheets
thankful, smiles, parched for the sound of water
and in the silence between night and day, 
snow falls


Tuesday, November 13, 2012

fire drill


all this paralysis
from computational theory
I never studied
but practice without
a license
inside closed walls
a short fat witch
cackling over my laptop
more clothes than I can wear
ghosts of books that flutter past
heavy and light
monuments and friezes
the games and sites
lighter, but just as permanent
as a coldly blinking router
watching as I galvanize
with no tearful goodbyes
for its wavering devotion
return in vague disappointment
to see everyones still here
and everythings still still

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

pavement in progress


fall fiestas
dressing a feverhead
dried dying, incomparable
making a tiny concrete wish
littered in glorious debris
to believe in you who
today shaded by moonlight
guarded by mist
will see an ill omen
on a dying bejwelled crow
stunning in clarity
mocking on a february
near midnight twenty eight
twenty twenty
and choose
to ignore it, reach for
a promise, a deadly fear
and voilĂ ,
a bridge shall appear


Thursday, September 13, 2012

barefeet only


tic tac toe, live
from the diamond square
strewn with shards
reflecting each other
gouging the pavement
rivulets blurring the lines
between
a game and the game
crosses and noughts
equals and winners and losers
ringed by cold
sets of matching shoes
ringed by fire
sets of watching shoes
all knowing, all moves, all cuts,
are the same

Sunday, September 09, 2012

asking permission


Like all good-ish little Indian girls, I was raised by a severely well-meaning community to believe that I have no control over my life, and no right to do what I want, simply because, well, simply because.

If I put my faith in my elders and the Gods, I will become the noble best and fulfil everyones dream. I dont blame them, this teaching has been handed down for generations, and its strength is literally overpowering. By the time I realized this is a crock, I was already set, I was impressed when I was most impressionable, and nothing to be done without years of undoing, years I am not willing to give.

The worst of the traits I developed was asking permission, till date I cannot do a damn thing I want without asking the permission of a whole disinterested spectrum of people, pets and furniture.

So today, I have decided to create my own Yes-Man (Not God, thank you, here is my opinion of God). I will call him Richard the Great.

Dear Richard the Great,
I am about to embark on a long lonely journey today, ignoring my work, all my pressing chores and earth-bound commitments, ignoring all the people I love and who love me, and would love to spend more time with me, whom I would love to spend more time with.

It will be a difficult, pointless task with no reward, no foreseeable end, and no benefit to anyone but me. It is something im doing because I want to. What do you think?

And Richard The Great's response

Dear Madhuri, You own your life, you have carte blanche to do whatever the hell you want with it.

Thursday, July 26, 2012

Social Bureaucracy

Gmail - ... Dear All, please mark the change in my home address starting 1-Jan-2012 ...

Twitter - ... Finally! Internet setup, I am back baby! ...

Facebook - ... Tried pineapples and goulash today, russian dish. Its very different! (insert pic). Missing all my friends! (Tag 50 people)...
    Miss you too darling!
    Ooh looks yummy, u r eating without me (insert sad smiley) ...

Chat Status - ... The only constant thing in this world is change - Anonymous ...

Blogger -... I will be back soon guys, just settling in... Here is the song im listening to a lot these days (insert nostalgia youtube video) ...

Linked In - ... 18 new connections made ...

Monster - ...Leveraging opportunities in a fast-paced new environment ...

... I moved ...

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

listening for water

My struggle begins at the vertical end of the earth. Higher than Everest, much higher, where the air is so thin, I can hear the moon rise. So high, the clouds glow brighter than the sun. And then I slip, down, down to earth.

I look back and its a push, a person among the clouds, its a people, a presence, I dont rightly know. Fairly certain its not God. But theres a force, holding a payload, that pushed me. I squint against the brightness, but no faces appear.

The payload. There is a thin transparent cord of indeterminate plastic, tied to my feet. the cloud flutters and hovers as I descend. The cord is my connection to source, I am its elastic limit

A desperately cheerful voice fades as I fall - You can be anything you want

I try climbing back up, but im too heavy. Apparently I cannot do anything I want

Earth is a long way down. After a while, my mind drifts with my body, and I forget where I came from, where im going, why... I see pieces of paper floating by, no wait, its money. I make a wild swing at them, grab a few.

Soon my hands are filled with notes. there isnt much else to do. Thats when I notice others, they swing by on identical payloads.

Its a wide-eyed little schoolgirl, with pigtails and the sweetest smile

Give me a quarter of those notes, and you will get what you want, right here, down this fall, a few minutes later, you don't even have to move

But im already moving

You dont have to move out of your way, I mean

Oh thats convenient, but how do you know what I want?

You want more notes, you want to slow down this fall

I think about it. You are right, and right, I give over the money.

She follows me down the fall for a minute, singing a happy song. The fall slows down

She snags a note or two from the wind. I politely wait for her to offer them to me, but her song is not yet complete. I politely wait for her to finish before asking ...

Oh heres Didi, he'll take care of the notes for you now

Didi is taller and his smile is less sweet, but hey, he's still company. I notice more notes are missing from my hand. I must have dropped them when I wasn't looking. I try to catch some drifting notes but if I open my hands, the notes I have slip out

I think hard and try to remember how I did it the first time. Didi is silent beside me, he catches all the money that slips from my hands, and all the money that flutters by, its a kind of magic to watch him work, his hands are already full, but he always has room for more. He doesn't smile or sing though,

The fall starts getting faster and the landscape blurrier, as I wait for Didi to hand over the notes

Its been another spell of forgetful time, my hands are empty, I look from side to side, Didi's gone. I dont remember where he went, or when.

I start grabbing at the notes again, and my hands are a bit quicker, a bit more desperate, I cannot explain why

Soon it will be earth time, I dont see how I can survive this fall. My hands are full of notes again, and they are clenched into fists

More people on threads start appearing again, sure enough

This time its a puppy, sad eyes and furry tail wagging hard, that catches my eye

I use the last of my strength to start swinging around on the rope, listening for water

Thursday, May 31, 2012

gestalt or the gita

so far from a simple world
that understands yes and no
with but a single rule
get it right, or try again
messed up with messy humans

this bit is mine,
that bit is wrong,
this bit is secret
that bit is useless

thank you for the ragged ribbons
the money for my priceless time
please accept this pretty bow
as a memory of us
I must
return to all the broken bits
waiting jumbled and wronged
put them in a straight line
and make a byte

Saturday, May 05, 2012

turn dammit turn

born with a compass
conditioned with metal
levers and pulleys
slowdown
theres a dream due north
fastforward
to the final destination
compass-in a ditch
a lever and a pulley
clutched tight in each hand

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

water water everywhere

three leaking fingers
bound around a totem pole
tugging along a roman rickshaw
coiled around feet and hinges
hissing holding desperately
as if a broken branch boat
on the edge of a trickle
will go anywhere
as if the ocean cares
after the perfect pearl
it helped create

Sunday, February 19, 2012

the resistance

 
dameherr distress disaster
illness injustice
thrives and weeps
burns and screams
for to have lived without
some inc after the name
red and runny
the dotcom or the wikipage
the hundred likes, the bottom lines
no link untouched
no pixel free
the promise of heaven behind
firmly closed eyes
leading to tomorrow
is to live without
living today
 

Sunday, February 12, 2012

kitschy ku

 
working the urbanoid undrama
under several watchful eyes
waiting for superglue
between passion and trade
to congeal
 

Thursday, February 02, 2012

snow

 
the treasure is the final promise
beginning and end foretold
the journey is the junket selling
half the price for half the soul
it may well be grand progression
but if you're not fully sold
through the driving storm
a darkness bursts aflame
into magic, threading onyx silence
a matching night beyond the walls
on the glass melting
is a tiny perfect snowflake