salty flavor of the sea 

coarse grain of fine memory

roughens the tune of the kingfisher

trilling shrilly like a hollering fan

flying , hovering o'er the waves

unsure where it belongs

in the high tides or on the corral reef

washed away crashing on rocks

smithereens appear unwelcome

the coarse grain of fine memory.

Beautiful verdant  nestled on top of
tendril like stems
fanning out
So flat but almost like a green sea shell
with fine lines , and texture so smooth
Not like silk but very similar in feel
imprinted in the mind
unforgettable once seen
no wonder Chinese traditional medicine
extract juices invigorating memory.
Take a look 
and you will forever remember
lush , bursting out beautiful and medicinal
healing Ginkoa. 

j

it's quite a ritual this

pecking cheeks

or pretending to kiss the air

on the left, on the right

a little too close, a little much in the face.

And, then have an exact number

 measuring personal space.

Why does peace have to be won by wars ?
war that sits loftily , perched on blood strewn bodies mirthless in its ruby red shoes
reddening the laces of peace , amid speeches that trumpet victory over vanquished
scoffing at  peacemakers for being wimps ?
Worlds torn and ravaged by bullets and bombs ride on the back of nuclear proliferation
rolling eyes at besmeared environment littered with human carcass
peace - it sings , only war keys its volume behind, to piercing shrill, altering pitches at will.
bartering every drop , every ounce for acres of control, the triumphant words of agreement a mere disguise
bellowing cries of savage war, the rich cousin slowly denounces poor peace.
Making it impossible to survive, pushing into corners inaccessible
War , submerges peace.

Our  love together lies condensed in a trinket trove, diminutive jottings stored as if precious !
squiggles of quick fast strokes, your  rapid love now so impersonal and distant ,
the secretive amour , mingled with a tangled mysterious air
Expressive only with a hint or a glance  deciphered as our unwritten code, only I refined it to name it love.
I long to expunge the stilted scribbles,compose it with the ruby passion that defined my romance, defied my caution -
Unlike the scrunched up passion  taciturn even when elemental
Sometimes the letters shoo out , uncaring of consequences, only if my soprano exclaims could transform my lover's aloof syllables to mellifluous eloquence.
 Was I the solitary lover living in edgy spaces cursed with unrequited pining ?
Your coldness moving me to destroying madness, your impassive and dry letters wring out melancholic flow hurling me into a morbid world.
Some stormy days I am drawn back to the past
the sobs of my soul and the deluge of the poring rain merge becoming one.
 I leaf through the wooden sentiments,  solicit resolution to the gnawing question
Did you ever love me, like I loved you ?

We scribble the small, teeny weeny post it notes, hang it up on memo boards
to remind us of appointments with doctors, managers and colleagues
or at times the to do list for the day
disposable once the day planning is fulfilled
scrunched up in small balls , landing in the bin beneath the desk
It doesn't have any other uses or so I thought
Proving me wrong my daughter changed the post it notes
to write the significant moments affecting her life
the little scrape on her knee when she fell climbing the tree
the pouting when I could not make it for a field trip
wishing me a happy mother's day
reminding me to treat myself on work crammed day
small anecdotes about her day
teacher who inspired her to create
or the friend who cracked her up with that silly joke
the argument about what to wear
with girls who thought they were fashion queens
struggle with her music lesson
and the feeling that she was ready to give up
moments when we could not spend time together
distances that sometimes made sharing harder
conversations between us remote
when I was rushing to the airport
my mind trying to grasp little dalliances
I would have to make in next few days
over the phone or the computer
and she knew I could not be there one hundred percent.
I would find precious notes stuffed inside my overnight bag
on top of the folder I always check.
it's so wonderful to talk face to face
and when I could not be there
the scrawly handwriting I treasure
and makes me part of my daughter's day
even when I have to be far away.

When I gleaned  little potions
from magical knowledge of life
my mind went back to days of school
when some subjects were an ordeal.
The booming voice of the teacher
extolling logic and cold facts
found by the discoverers, inventors and scientists
In your mind you already know
they hold the halo for setting the world aglow
with theories, patterns and serendipity.
Some are so beyond the ordinary realm
of mundane life.
 It confuses the right orientations of my mind.

Take Isaac Newton's Calculus
it makes no sense
even if I heard the explanations one hundred times.
Interestingly though
when I heard he despised his stepfather and mother
threatened to burn their house and them
you realize he had fury of a little lost boy.
It brings him few notches down
like the apple he saw lying on the ground
he actually sounds ho hum
and I do gravitate towards
the genius with more sympathy.

Einstein's relativity paradigm
speaks of his scientific wisdom
but little do people know
he resented the loss of spirit
and creativity
in rote learning
or his wholly childlike stubborn streak.
wonderful anecdotes that may have made my knowledge complete.
only if I had know that Einstein, Newton
were cast from the mold
that you and I are also chiseled from.
they were geniuses undoubtedly
yet the little elements
intimidating and unapproachable
tarred with their other human selves
would have made a difference.
Relatively speaking.
If only science spoke a language
intelligible
my right orientations would have shook the hands
waiting in the left.
Oh well for every right there's a left
and for every Einstein there is ummm, me.

it is such an ordinary question

i've been asked many a times

in my childhood and even now.

what would you want to be

my lifesavings of choices

I made will gather moss

around my rolling stone  years

but deep down in my heart

I wanted to be a dreamer 

it's odd you laugh at me.

for that is what I wanted to be.

the science class

failed to explain

why the dreams ever took place.

there were plenty of hypotheses

but none that mattered to me.

In my mind being a dreamer

meant pleasant life

and all I had to to was close my eyes.

Silly how as a child I knew

no one would really understand me.

Its so sad that our dreams

change into sad reality

but if dreams did stay true

to wishes of my childhood

I would still be building images

weaving fables and tales

that would make my earth 

a better place.

If only my dreams were let free.....

does the landscape of life

mottled with love, lust and hate

sprout new nuances ?

like a seed growing into a trunk , then a tree

does it fall off back into the earth

and fade into a new sapling ?

 emotions run high and dry

but does the landscape of life

ever wring out dewy drops 

or does it scurry back in

tinders of love, lust and hate  

flaming for recycling ?

Provoked

He takes the sword

chops her

head....

All clap

Retributive valor.

She takes to streets

defies in drops......

All  slap

for

unladylike clamor.

Sparkle bottled
in bubbly memories
Its effervescence
leaves me drunk
Sobering....
 vapors old
dissolving
So misty eyed
to concoct
new glimmer
Hazy new
Dazzling old
uprooting
conflict.
Scatter
And come undone.

China Construction

Cranes of construction anchored

looming over every cityscape,

as you zip,zap,zoom across highways.

In the front, at the back,

on the sides,

trucks and lorries bear

lumber, pipes and baseboards.

Blueprint of this city

is  so chameleon like.

Crippling old structures, every single day

just don't mind the blocking curb stops.....

Masonry will be completed in three days, tops!

Suburbs fancy crown moldings

Downtown shouts for revamping.

People ? Chuck them in the crawl space!

 Make allowances for the changed order,

Shanghai has a fresh veneer

Scratch coats of  dust and debris. 

Visit this Pearl of the East
Its warped wonder board

is tempered with Z-bar flashing.
Make sure you have a floor plan
or a dictionary explaining
Shanghai's new remodeling glossary.

it was a rainy afternoon, when the rustle of silks swished , gracefully

careening inside the living room

I watched behind the drapes admiring the rainbows that were in my house

the silly chatter, then frowns and glancing papers

checking the orbs, the suns and planets , were they in the right order ?

the man in silk one approved, unsealing the awaited cue

sister rushed in embracing me ,  asking me as if it was important

the little sweetmeats earlier nibbled were now gobbled

the woman in silk two, sauntered in , checking me

the gaze that was a stare that noted , making me wonder

the man in silk two entered after she left, making sure the photograph in his hand was me.

we spoke little.

they left swishing their silks, one, two and three

I knew my life was now their ditty.

 Barefoot, every morning they appear.
 Skirts floor length and bodice laced and netted.
Necks shell like and ivory clad.
 Dangling hoops , careening with indolent gait.
Kohl eyes and a nose ring
Silver in arms, legs jangling.
Serenely settling on tuft and mud
Selling bangles and coverlets hand spun.
Flamboyant and lively
Singing with passion and abandon
in carnivals and fairs
unpredictable lives
sometimes here, next time nowhere.
Quaint and earthy
the gypsies leave no trails.

It came knocking. Gently picking its way with a little exchange ; rising like wisps  disentangled from stream of mundane, winding it's way waif like in conversations mingled with garlicky scents , lips touching the fluted rims, smiles knowingly  transferring to lips forming Os , fluttering into alleys, at intersections conferring ,before yellow turns to green.  Pausing perforated with a poke here, a nudge there , whooshing in loud schmoozes , the forte over silly quibbles in spring when airing the winter infested sheets ,cymbal beats of pan and the ladle, slowly louder, louder, higher, and higher acquiring a booming tone, hurriedly frenzied embellished with a hollering, till the whirlwind pounded brusquely , ear-splitting timbre modulations piercing deep inside the auricle. It knocked the wind off me. Gossip.

Thailand, Singapore, Philippines and some other exotic places too
the walls and floors in the house I name them after countries you visit
every week , the taxi arrives and you are gone to a land where you will spend 3 days working
never seeing the sun, presenting , negotiating and mulling
the walls in the house, one after the other they become the country you are presently in
but still don't look or feel as glamorous and I guess you also know
the travel to different places is not as exciting for the ambiance is missing
The evening cocktails are the only telltale signs of your being in a different place
but you get bloody mary here as well.

Burning in flames that mark the brother as an enemy and the sister as a victim

oppressive sparks mining into the helplessness start spinning out of control

snuffing forward civilizations with opiated philosophies

beating fists on the diminishing earth 's weakening axis

strangling, firing, bombing with weapons placed in little fists

brainwashed in aspiring hellish heavens. Inflamed by callowness and brandishing hate sparklers.

the fire catches rapidly, spreads latitudinally and longitudinally

above the imaginary line of equator

and below

consumed in the excruciating heat , the flames tornado and grab all in it's hold.

benightedness cannot douse the conflagration  

do the lacerations disappear when the eyes of the wincing soul blindfolds
accumulating, embracing the unseeing shroud as a coverlet for
the chinks callously transforming into burning holes .
Can the myopia not witness the screaming gapes that refuse to be buttoned
or cinched
squeezing on spaces still unopened to shut doors.
Braving as if the  sallies pine to be submerged in oceans digging tsunamis
Flouncing back into wounds penetrating causing incisions with each excavation.
No they carve their name on each pit with deepening darkness.
The lacerations come back hurtling , intensifying every agonizing recurrence
multiplying like smarmy flesh eating insects festering on moth eaten soul.

Drama Queen

Livid,
she tears in
a spiraling tornado !
Wrenching open chiffonier mahogany
hurtling the finest whites
goblets , flutes and thistles.
Splitting smithereens wallop
tiles of ceramic.


Squandered
clambers manic,
furiously unlatching.
Fervor dispersed
eyeliners and mascaras dissolve,
waterworks with caterwaul
commingle.

Effete,
straggle disheveled
dummy up.
Flicks, swirls , brushes
concealer.
simmered down decibels
fury fists unclench.

Cascading
tight smiles , eyes lowered
 furtively concocting
fingers musically patting oak ingress.
Crescendoing to a loud rap.

Suffused
with castigating ire
prancing here then there
beseeching mocked
and shunned
haunches droop ,marching feet left
then right, hands falling to the side.

Pensive
Piano.keys weighted
decrescendos to subdued.
flopping face one side,
crisscrossed arms on ebony,
downpour of spotlight.

Applause !!
Bowing to the encore pleas and catcalls.
Ecstatic , her theatrics resonated
slipping off the soloist heels

Evocative.
The drama queen.

the smoky shroud
atop the strip o' stream.
milling underneath
tadpoles, fish, creatures and sparrow bones
squished in the mini tides.
along with cinnamon bark scraps and coughed up leaves
backstroke
to and fro
back and forth
this or that way
the ashy shadows
and mists of moss
plainly conceal
throwing grey shadows
night or day.

Tadpole tiny fears
Eyeballed  by bullfrogs
Swamp.

.,

The waiting...

For vehicles to move forward,

Maneuver simple right turns.

In queues at cash counters,

For mental math to predict elusive answers.

At train stations , for the Express,

For the email spammed by networks.

New markets to offer more perks,

For bonuses outsourced to third world.

Applause from an unappreciative audience

For a role in the next production.

For the high connectivity of wireless signals

Recharging low battery emotional cells.

For the lottery ticket with winning numbers

Renewing terms of failed health insurance.

Pulses and temperatures increase.

Just call me impatient.

Disjointed

Gauzy wavelets streaming o'er the ocean.
merging in depths of opaque currents.
crystalline my name.

Unfelt touch of pining
cannot trace nor caress
when fingers twine and distances meld.

Lose the glitter, the gold and silver shine as articles tawdry.
If sin becomes virtue , will it be frumpy and ordinary ?

Retentivity fails ,  brimming with snippets
of life that once were major episodes
Fade.
Aspects and perspectives confluence
Becoming a confused state.
Secrets, flashbacks , hallucinations
redefined , visit in spurts.

The random becomes specific.

Ageing brain cells exercise
the right to choose.
Presenting polygons of thoughts
Trisected
Remember the hangman ,select
the tightening noose.

Faltering and filtering coexist
Shrinking the ions of coherence.
The atoms of keeping strafed
with swatches of  blinks and twinkles.
hiding, disconnecting , creating unsolvable maze.
Memories.

Underwater current pushed her, sinking her ardor.
Being below surface jellied the coherence.
Fish, small with big, eyeballed her inept flailing
The seaweed anklet and her aqua misfortune
synchronously washed particles
with drowning water.
The cool droplets and giant roars of waves
squirting her with grey water ashes
Eyes wide open , she watched her funeral
buried with undiscovered treasures
for sparking company.

What are you doing ? Where did you go ? Did you go for vacation ? Why didn't you let me know ?
How do I find a secret spot , where my thoughts are undisturbed by fanatics who have my life on their reality tv channel.
The solitary place where my imagination creates the caricatures , life size.

This is a no fly zone for oedipal sufferers. Unwelcome sign hangs on the door for such litterers
Leave me alone.

Like camels in North Pole.
Absurdly two butterflies swam the Atlantic.
Fun dimensions altered to include grotesque.
The weird measured to normal.


It made for meaningless viewing.
Our unsuitability..
Under the gazebo palm trees swayed and we wore eskimo suits
 we were incongruously compatible.

Why does the warm sun rays transform the dark clouds into mush ?
Why does the sun abandon or stroke ?
What does the moon think of all it's siblings in other planets ?
Where do the stars plank,bolster their depleted cosmic energy ?
Where does the floating cloud stop and burst into soft cottony blobs ?
The mysteries of whys, wheres and whats tire the soul.
Listen, enjoy, savor. Don't bother with why the universe plods.

The shingles on the roof sloped

The standing tree bemused by changing landscape

groped , extending its branches, it leaned on the roof for support.

Somewhat lost, among the broken bricks and concrete debris.

The multi layers of improvements chained it's growth.

The borders that defined the differences and demarcated the boundaries of thoughts somehow picked up on my confusion. One side preached doctrines of separate state, the other unity in diversity.  Muddling my way through extreme thoughts, I swayed based on my mood, sometimes here, other times there.  Like different flavors, variety of colors , I could change my lenses and observe. The zooming in and out colored my perception. But it failed to convince and convert. Maybe the lenses were inferior. Or it could just have been flawed philosophies.

The writer devises the end , corking it in same old wine bottles of destiny, fate and karma. The characters lie in wait hoping the pages where their impressions grew larger than life, will bend and twist to a different climax, pop out of the boxy sheafs and chug swigs that don't taste like sour grapes. Gripe they are shoved back into the box and held captive , trampled and meshed. Their end releases the author and imprisons new actors. Burning in the pyre, the embers of old characters curse, doused in flames of predictability.

The sourness is not in the fruity lemon
For it can be sugared and syruped
The dourness is not in the old age
For it can be needled and tightened
The happiness can be faked and fitted
It's the sadness that doodles jagged shapes.

The princess wore her chunky ivory bangles

circling her soft wrists, elbows and forearms, as was the tradition.

Both arms heavily laden , she trudged where the prince waited on top of the mountain.

He gazed at her with pride, her duty to him lay unquestioned.

She looked down at her feet , hoping he would not bind her with iron anklets.

And call it love.

The few days of spring were hot and muggy.
Replicating summer, the real spring was stingy.
People wore baggy pants and short sleeves.
Green, blue and red jackets took a backseat.

Sunny walks outside to the parks, trails and sidewalks
hotly cluttered with perspiration and talks of high mercury.
The dandelions came early. Spring fever and allergies
converted into dastardly rashes and heat strokes.
The weatherman and the analysts blamed it on global warming.
Forsythia refused to bloom, taking in retirement early.

People huffed and puffed, sweltering weather pummeled
The rains came as a nice distraction. Gardens were sodden.
Flowerbeds overflowed. Seeds sown lost their strength midlife.
We lamented on the unfashionable raincoats and
sipped iced tea. Lemonades pink and blue were toasted in memory of spring.

Clouds cleared and the sun peeked, and came out full bloom.
We hoped it would stay.
Picnics and barbecues and July 4th came. We were all roasted.
Weather mafia held spring captive. Fireworks continued uninterrupted.
Spring whimpered . We never heard its strangled screams.
We waited for autumn to cool us instead.

Copyright : Le Loop/Meena Vathyam/Pehchhan

An incomplete moment

The sunrise flaming red in the sparkling white skies, behind the purple mountains beckoned.
Walking on the coriander green carpet, the shards of glass
lying hidden between the uncut blades, foisted on my drying soles.
Besmearing the spring cleavers , soiling the symmetry with bloody corpuscles.

The crumpled spikes stuttered, unhinged then sprung back.
The orbicular translucent drops glinted reflecting hybrid pigments.
A dewy molecule of opaque and pellucid, of mixed colors.
The sun now covered with clouds peeked half interested in my miracle.

A picturesque moment lost the gloss with rays that shone life into the moldy grass.
The clouds whirred and seethed , pouring pails of water to wipe the traces.
My soles pocked and perforated, pinched me out of the daydream.
An incomplete moment scissored and crimped, I limped back to the ordinary.



Copyright : Le Loop/Meena Vathyam/Pehchhan

I drag my feet to the doorstep, gripping my valise

shifting my feet, one side to another

Nervously dusting an imaginary speck.

Your persistent asking , strafing my mind

Why am I a drifter, a floater, a loser.

The economies of life trample my artistry.

But, today, maybe I have a key , a retort to mend the gaps

Stretching between you and me.

The news of our breakup catches me off kilter

You've made grand plans, zeroed on my lack of life.

You will give me some breathing days to chalk a game plan.

I stomp to the nearest stop , hop on the bus.

"Anywhere but here" , I fling some coins . "It's less", scorns the ticket collector

The journeys of life are better walked than bussed.

I find the warm bench in the isolated park,

The paths of my life crisscross, crumble any straight thought

If I chose a direction , the GPS says I am lost.

The maps indicate detours, I fumble , arrive back at the point of start.

All my ambitions that are pinned are shot by life's crosshairs.

Without a bulletproof vest, life's a masticating test.

It's dusk, I still ponder and wander , gaze at cesspools and lakes.

Below the tides and bubbles , surfaces beyond naked eye

where spewing and brewing occurs.

There lies another quake whose tremors will be charted

on seismographs , after it has shivered.

Broken hearts crack the routes , the pursuit of happiness mars my groove.

Copyright : Meena Vathyam/Le Loop

Shanghai Notes

The alleyways bustle with vendors, people and flies. The swirling I am afraid is of tortoise shell in my noodle soup.

The luster of baubles from muddied Evian and purses of fake leather,the glossy Gucci emblem fixed. Haggle.

Starbucks coffee and the touristy tea houses bussed with expatriate dialects of the west.

The spit, the smoke, the smog, the drunken live shrimp tattered.

I am humming the Mandarin flavors - fried bees and chicken feet. Twirl the metal chopsticks.

Wet market of quail eggs and bloodied fish head, the pseudo leather boots in winter, the naked summer hairless chest.

The ubiquitous face mask,non-existent fortune cookies,

I am so not local....

Speech bound by five tones and government sermons.

My Mandarin instructor eulogizes the official calligraphy. Conform!

Sipping hong cha, bites of Confucius nibbles, monopolizing Tibet with made in China Dalai Lama.

Rosy communist palettes of Chairman Mao. Stinky tofu! It's a portrait of Barack Obama !

The American littering of dragon landscape with cheesy pizzas and portly burgers.

The micro blogger anonymously tweets of Sunday strolls and jasmine. Gagged.

The China construction as the new backdrop, poorly made commodities at world’s dollar stop.

The modern sky scrapers peer down, squinting at minuscule past. The factories incessantly fume, it’s permanently overcast.

The Huangpu drifts with communist precision, the mythical blue skies, the capitalist pollution.

Shanghaied !

copyright : Pehchhan

Indian Activist

I read about your anger,

Experience your provoking nature.

Your activism angst about peoples’ suppression, oppression

do get lost in my mundane life of standard living.

The bivouac of my existence

Chortles at your belligerent insistence.

Your venom

prods and questions.

The putrid waft of activism.

Your spittle foams , sprinkles, infrequent

Infecting my environment with your anger.

I quaff the champagne , toast to world peace

Isn't that sufficient ?

Should I rant, burst ?

Knock the flimsy walls and eruct ?

Hoarsely scream, protest

on daily rapes, murders and incest ?

My harbor is apathy.

Moored safely in my smudged reality.

Does your colored anger

Always bedaub tsunami tears of injustices ?

Radiate the unobservant

with fervid questions ?

The oppression, repression of

the people you claim - I smile in pity.

Your attention seeking vulgarity.

My impassivity is the rebuttal

to the onslaught of fugacious worlds causes.

The shining halo of ordinary.

Unmoved by life fraught with excessive monstrosity.

The peoples world is rich with injustices.

Why shatter its miasmal bounty ?

Draupadi

Five loves, five lives.

The pentagon dance.

One fifths of whole sexual state.

A nightly division.

Wooing with a coin toss

Heads or Tails.

Animalism of one night. Loss.

The bellowing of truth seeker,

The crimes of brave,

The imposition of brawn,

The silent mirthless twins,

Spectators to my disrobed layers.

Carnal gaze of brothers , it's mythology.

An epic of wisdom, tolerance

And my constant shame.

Moral virtues,Immoral tales.

Encapsulated in chapters,

Served as bitter pills invigorate..

The impotence of truth.

Note : In Mahabharata, Draupadi , by twist of fate , becomes wife of five brothers - Yuddhistar known for truth, Bhim for brawn, Arjun for bravery and twin brothers Nakul and Sahdev.

Grim

The calm is the outer façade.

The beatific smile, the confident smirk.

Aeons of practice in front of the mental mirror.

The spring season blossoms the flowers of pink.

The gushing blood pounds , the pressure building.

The mirror fragments , the pieces fused with the plastic .

The mental state.

The playground buzzes with shouts and screams,

The merry go round whirls, dizziness circles

The nausea builds.

The indifference, the insensitivity

Accusations, tears, and screams.

sinking in the quick sands

The uncontrollable leap.

Hysteria is humorous

The prescriptions force the slumber party.

The popcorn buttered with depression.

The jolly fattening tragedy.

The punctuation of thoughts.

The serial comma after the and,

Depression is the tense.

Continuous, highly nuanced.

The trajectory of depression

The curves, the bends, the alleyways.

Directionally challenged. Mentally deranged.

Destruction, Annihilation,

Truce, War, Terror, Victim

The warring factions

A simple complex emotion.

Depression.