Hyetal Embrace

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Its half past twelve,
She locked the rickety door
And stepped out into the rain.
She pulled out her blue umbrella
And looked around for company.
Wet deserted roads.
She walked towards home
A score minutes away.
Every dark corner, every narrow alley,
Screamed at her through its silence.
Merciless night.
The shadow of the lamp post,
Falling on the wall stared at her.
The wind in the trees intimidating.
A looming song.
The drops on her umbrella,
And her shoes against the asphalt,
Break the gloomy silence.
Merciful escape.
The blood is rushing through her
Heart beating faster,
And knees weak.
She tried to distract her mind
From the clutches of the night,
Thinking of things
At home, awaiting her-
Hot-bath, steaming tea, a cozy bed.
She warmed herself
With these thoughts
And ignored the fringing fear.
Desperate pretence.
Her mind wandered a little more
To things missing at home
Someone to
Prepare the hot-bath
Share the steaming tea
Join her on the cozy bed.
Lately, days have been like this;
Just a mundane being.
Returning loneliness.
When was the last time she felt-
The rush in her blood?
The tug in her heart?
Knees weak?
Her steps slow down
Laden by these thoughts.
Sore memories
Now the night feels different-
It’s keeping her company
On these lonely roads,
And is warming her
With its black cloak.
The world has left them alone;
The night and her.
Mysterious lover.
It made her heart race
And her keens weak tonight.
She turned the last corner
And is glad to see her house
She reached for the door
And fiddled with the keys.
A gush of wind
Made her pause.
A hesitant minute.
She folded her umbrella,
Dropped her bag
Turned to look at the rain
And stepped back
Into the dark night.
Hyetal embrace.

--

In the library

--

I see him sitting
At the corner desk,
Reading a thick book, drowned.
He,Though in the corner,
Of my attention, is centre.
I have heard about him
From the other teachers;
Dedicated,
Smart,
And manners pleasing too.

I look at him, captivated.
A smile on his lips,
A glow in his eyes,
And on his face, contentment.
I wonder at his aura,
At his young age, marvel.
Son of a rich father, must be
And a doting mother too,
To be so at peace within
And with the world outside too.

He is writing something,
In his little red book,
As alone I stand, wondering.
He closes his book,
And packs his bag,
As towards him I walk, hesitating.
A crumpled page,
Slides off the desk, unnoticed
And to my feet, glides.
He turns around, unaware
And reaches for something behind.
I pick up the page, uncertain
On it written a single line,
Seven little words stare at me
‘To my Ma n Pa in heaven’.

A shiver runs through me,
As I stand there stunned
My myth about him broken.
I say a silent prayer
And turn to look at him, shaken.
He is walking away
Head held high,
The smile on his face touches.
The silence on me, heavy
Broken only by the echo
Caused by his crutches.

--

Rumbling Rambling

--

It’s a lazy Sunday morning,
I am awake but still in bed,
On my back watching the fan.

The flowers on my side-table,
Nodding in the fan’s breeze,
As if they approve of the lazy day.
The sunlight and the fan,
Throw flickering scenes on the wall,
It’s like watching a silent movie.

Looking at the blades go around
I remember the adage
About things coming around
I reflect it on my life
And think of all the things
That did come around.

I try to follow one blade,
The one with the dent,
As it goes and comes around,
But realize I can’t do it,
The fan is too fast and
It all gets jumbled up.

I have done it before, haven’t I?
Being stuck on one thing
Blind to everything else
Only to realize soon
I have created a mess
And I am actually nowhere.

I wonder what would happen
If a blade were to break
I think the fan would topple
And would go around no more
It would continue to hang there
But no one would look at it anymore.

What would be my three blades?
I ponder over it and it comes easy
Family, friends and the world
What if one of them breaks?
Will I continue to go around?
Will I continue to be?

The little bulge in the centre
Where the blades meet
Is a representation of the ‘I’
Giving it definition are three blades.
What would the bulge be without them?
What would I be without them?

It’s a lazy Sunday morning,
I am awake but still in bed,
On my back watching the fan,
On my back, watching myself.

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Could have been so much better...... I didn't seem to be satisfied at all.......kept editing.......but it kept dragging....hence decided to post it the way it is......

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