Teeth

White teeth.

Glowing pearly white teeth.

Not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Able to bite into an apple, not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Saved from inner-lip lacerations, able to bite into an apple, not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Corrected crooked misalignments, saved from inner-lip lacerations, able to bite into an apple, not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Artificially-altered smile, corrected crooked misalignments, saved from inner-lip lacerations, able to bite into an apple, not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Antarctica

Last summer I went to Antarctica.

It was covered in ice.

White ice

Cold white ice

Cold melting white ice

Global warming was taking over.

He was blowtorching the polar ice caps.

At Antarctica, I saw pink penguins.

It was warm so they’d taken off their feathery jackets.

They were nude penguins.

Nude and pink like people who’d just sunbathed.

Penguins are cooler black and white.

The Thing

A poem from last year

Nightmare. It’s only a nightmare.

The-there’s a thing.

An odious object sitting at the foot of my bed.

An article so astronomical I can’t see behind it.

The terrifying tool sits still, while I lie quaking under the covers.

Immobile, the item seems innocuous enough.

But could I trust it?

The artefact had appeared quite abruptly, and I definitely hadn’t put it there.

Did you?

Did you dump this dubious device on my duvet?

Is it a gift?

Is this great gadget a glorious gift?

Now this is interesting.

What is this curious commodity so covered in cotton cloth?

This extremely endearing entity that draws me closer as I crawl across to the contrivance.

I opened it to find a glossy glass gizmo.

With polished planes and cool curves,

The instrument has intricacies etched on every exterior.

The insides of the implement were equally elaborate with

Serpentine strokes scratched on the surface.

This breath-taking body, manufactured of manual muscle work, how could I ever use this utensil?

I can’t.

It’s too phenomenal a form to be flawed.

This piece of work, perfect from every perspective, I plan to preserve perpetually.

So storing the stupendous stuff, I go back to sleep.

I wake to warm water, sprinkled on my idle eyes.

Fragmented figures flash from the previous night.

Dashing to the drawer I find that forged form was a

REFRIGERATOR?!

Mundu Mime

A poem I wrote for my character, which is now a mural.

Mundu Mime had no head. Well almost.
But the poor thing was almost dead.
Mundu Mime, he felt terribly stupid 
For his body was entirely crooked.
He felt so bad for his shape.
In every house, he hid behind the drapes.
The hosts, they always stared.
Poor Mundu Mime, how much he cared.

Mundu is the traditional attire for men in Kerala, India. It is a long piece of cloth that is tied around the waist in a specific manner.

Seasonal Somethings

Temperatures rise,

Clear skies, no rains, happy times.

Perfect beach weather.

Rumble, rumble, boom

Drops of freshness, petrichor.

It’s bath time, dear world.

Aging trees, red, gold.

Like wine, maturity gives

Priceless, crisp beauty.

Blankets by fireplace,

Warm comforts in crunchy snow,

Hot chocolate, books.

A change in colours,

The leaves metamorph again,

New season is here.

Out at Sea

The waters are still, eerie and salty black.

I remember a poem from long ago,

One of stranded sailors and a lone survivor.

Of many nights at sea,

And albatrosses around necks.

I sit on my wreck

No compass, no map, nothing to guide me.

It’s dark.

The sky has no stars

As if telling me there can be no hope left.

There is no way back.

I look up, at a cloudy sky.

I can only hope there is no storm.

But what is hope anymore?

For despite so many clouds

There is not a silver lining.

It begins to pour.

I’m soaked to the skin.

There is nothing, I realise

That I can light to make a fire

Save the raft.

Afloat, with nothing but my mind to keep me company,

And the darkness all around,

I stay up for hours playing games with myself.

‘I Spy’ in the clouds, ‘Tic-Tac-Toe’ on the raft,

Until the delusions of life fade away.

I fall into a silent stare.

One that reaches far beyond

Into the vast nothingness.

And I’m lost once more,

In real dreams

With dying embers of hope.

The stars have taught me well

As they have any sailor.

Without them I would truly be nothing.

I am nothing.

A wave pulls me out of the murky depths.

The raft and I

Drift along

Complying with its gentleness.

We are anchorless.

We have lost our bearings.

We have nothing to keep us grounded,

Nothing to hold us.

There are more now, waves pulling us with them.

Lulling us into a sense of safety,

And comfortingly sleepy warmth.

In this old unfamiliar land,

There is happiness,

There is hope.

I can always find my way back.

But the stars are hiding today.

Falsehood grows

Becoming a storm,

Crashing through my reverie

Wreaking havoc upon the raft

As I wake to find it my reality.

The stars are right.

There can be no hope left.

Piece by piece,

The raft and I disintegrate.

We are laid bare to the storm.

Yet we hang on for dear life,

But for what?

What is a sailor without the North Star?

What purpose does life have if you have been lost?

Questions that will never be answered.

Questions that are silent screams.

The raft creaks in pain.

The storm only hears itself.

I laugh hysterically,

But no one hears me.

I have nothing to lose anymore.

I have nothing.

It has been lost,

I have been lost.

I am nothing.

Walking in the Woods

Two roads diverged into the woods.

But the right path was the one I was on.

So I ignored the two diversions on the side

And walking ahead, I went along.

Based on the poem The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost.

Home is Home No More

It's been a year.

I look around.

I see that nothing has changed.

Except that it has.

Everything has.

People who were once called friends,

They are now strangers.

It's like meeting them for the first time.

But they're still the same.

Playing HALO 3 on the Xbox.

Giggling amongst themselves at their lame jokes.

Making fun of each other.

Yes, it's all the same.

Not just my friends,

But my family too has changed.

My sister, she has

Broken out of her tomboyish shell.

A young woman of 16,

Her actions seem obviously

More mature than mine.

My parents seem distant, stressed and cold.

What happened to the warmth, the love?

The warm hugs that used to make me feel safe

Cease to do so.

It seems robotic,

Forced onto me by societal norms.

Everything seems so dry and shrivelled up.

Home isn't home anymore.

I look at the walls.

They are clothed now

With posters of movies and TV shows.

Large and small,

They advertise, propagate.

They lure customers in.

Success will be theirs forever.

The once blank wall

Leaves no room for creative wonder.

It is quite stifling in this room.

It feels more boxier,

Defined.

Except for that one rectangle of comfort

That shall always be mine.

My bed.

The one thing that hasn't changed.

Still comfortable,

With pleasant dreams and

Moon rays falling in through the window.

And then it hits me.

What if it isn't the room that's changed?

Or my parents, sister or friends?

What if it's me?

Home isn't home anymore.

Ember of Light

I walk the lonely stairs.
Right to the top.

I look around.

No one.

Not a soul.

Empty darkness...

Just like me.

I sit on the concrete ledge,

Smoothened by paint and P.O.P.

The stark white

Blinds me.

I like the dark.

It’s been home

For 3 years,

While my parents

Busy with their lives

Told me the whats and hows

Of life. My life.

I was a slave.

Their slave.

I lived not for me

But them.

Them, Oblivion’s children.

My sister,

The sheep

Amidst all the bitterness

Was my only hope.

The only ember of light

In my darkness.

I lived only to see her smile,

Her sleeping face

Every morning, angelic,

Lying amidst

Soft thick blankets

Which smelled of strawberry jam

Or chocolate cake,

Whichever she’d eaten,

With hints of hair oil.

Until two months ago

When Death’s arms embraced her.

Today I stand

Surrounded by white

Disturbed by the brown of a ladder.

And a rope,

Rough and knotted,

Thick as my arm.

Its braids within a braid

Remind me of my sister’s life

Within mine.

How we were intertwined,

Until the fatal day.

I look below.

Happy people, moving on

With their lives.

Is the jump worth it?

I step onto the flat edge

Of the low wall.

Nothing above.

Nothing below.

It feels rough on my feet

The edge,

Like my parents have been

On me.

I stare out

Waiting for Death

A friend from the dark.

A double tap on my shoulder

Turns me around.

No one, but wait...

My sister’s face in the wall.

White, pale, sad.

A hallucination

Or a sign?

I step down,

Off the ledge

Back on solid ground.

A salty tear

Escapes my eye

And into my mouth.

There’s too much to live for.

Today, …today I live.

Outcast

They say we have freedom.
But from what?
We're stuck in a void
Where the only people
Who rise,
Are those who have
Already risen.
Our words are
The void we are stuck in.
Their words', absolute.
Who said we have freedom?
Who says we're a democracy?

They mock me,
Push me around,
Watch me fall.
And laugh.
I'm not a plaything, a toy.
I'm not an alien.
I'm not so different from them.
I'm no different from you.
Then why treat me this way?

They don't accept it.
"It isn't a way of life."
"It isn't normal."
Is anything normal?
'Majority wins' isn't.
It's just unfair.
My 'condition' they say
Is a 'disease'.
Snaking its way
Through the crowd
Spreading, making them
Fall at its feet.
I've fallen too.
Not at its feet.
But at their feet
Whose every word is
Framed and hung on walls,
Worshipped like Gods,
By those who've
Shunned us all.