Monday, July 29, 2013


i’m like windows 8,
boxes of essentials,
bundled upon purchase,
safe, dependable,
available one click away,
predictable, boring.

what i’d give
to be the app you purchased
the one you chose to download
and hid under a different name.
the secret on your smartphone
the ‘it’s nothing’ when people ask
‘what beeped?’
the DM you ought to erase but can’t,
the conversation that makes you smile
the picture in an album innocuously marked ‘food’
the burning need instead of a habit...

but the wish app costs $9.99
and my credit doesn’t go that far.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

role reversal

hands behind my head,
feet crossed at my ankles
i will watch football
and answer all your questions
with my eyebrows.
you will not take a hint
but snuggle right beside me
and murmur some nonsense
into my ear, kiss it
and assume i want more
because i will turn my head away.
you comfort me, calm me,
i like the stillness inside you,
your wandering hands
are a tad annoying
but I will let you explore
nevertheless. can’t you see,
you are my escape,
you are my haven,
and i just want to rest.

Sunday, April 21, 2013

would you?

if you knew the secret to my loving
would you stop and watch the show?
i could flick my hair with the back of my hand
and look sideways at you,
just like those eternally breathy girl-women
men find so attractive.
i could preen for you,
looking deeply into my reflection
on the window, straightening
a pleat or two on my dress,
knowing you’re watching.
i could pretend sophistication,
sighing into murakami as you watch tv.
i could melt languidly into the bed,
hair carefully lifted away from the spot
on my neck where you like to kiss,
but you pretend you don’t see.
and when you think I’m not looking,
would you reward me with your smile?
would you taste the confessions of love
from my mouth with your lips?
when i scramble to unentangle
from your curling long hair,
the meaning of the notes
you’re playing on the guitar,
would you hold me so i don’t fall
any harder than i have already
into this green jello ocean of love?

Monday, December 31, 2012

get off!

Get off that merry-go-round!
It’s for people half your age!
Get off that table!
Stop that dancing!
Stop that drinking!
Stop that singing off-key!
Join the matrons now!
Your turn is done!
The sun has set,
on your parade!

Cant you see?!
We were just,
Too polite to say it!
But now it’s time,
To hang up those dancing shoes,
To put away your clown hat,
To pick up that walking stick,
And settle down quietly
in that rocking chair.

It’s time to complain
About the nasty weather,
of tired aching joints,
and sudden pains,
faltering eyesight, fine print,
And lack of civilized company.

published ages ago on clearly i have not learnt this lesson yet. call it a reminder...

Saturday, December 29, 2012

Spring Cleaning 2

the big blue velvet chair
of cosmic recklessness,
has been vacuumed today.

i have retrieved several lost kisses,
the green bottle of stardust
i’d planned to sprinkle
over the furrows on your forehead
when you are asleep,
six coins from your jacket,
many a silly thought
which other accomplished friends
would have converted into
instant poetry, are all now tucked away

in my memory box
that still has the pink button from my shirt
evidence of our early passion.

the pillows are now fluffed
and i’m halfway drowned in merlot
unable to decide if i should
simply snuggle up to you and listen
to laughter rumbling in your chest
as you watch comedy on tv
or i should sneak up and steal
you away from the sofa and...

Spring Cleaning

housewives know how 
everything must fit in the closet.
that’s why they're almost always locked
and the keys are safe in handbags.
This way no one would accidentally 

discover hastily dumped everything
that wasn't cleared in time for guests.

i’m more organised.

the back of the top shelf is for names i am called
like clothes that don’t fit.
I take them out once in a while
for airing. keeps the venom alive.
everyday arguments are kept within reach.
insults, mean and vicious words
need to be accessible.
you never know when you might need them

the other shelves have clothes
black or white mostly
so you never again put up with the uncertain greys
shirts and pants so you can be your own boss
dupattas that smother responses
salwaars and churidaars
neatly stacked, occupying space
that might otherwise
be occupied with doubts,
low self esteem,
like chores of my day.

knick knacks from happier times have been
strangled in plastic bags
because they add up all the lies lived.
i know i should throw them out
along with lacy underwear that prayed for passion
but i don’t find the time.

i am dealing with the daily
ironing out of creases in feelings
darning the damage done 

by words spoken in anger...

oh how much i ramble
let me make you some coffee
and rustle up little vanilla cakes
with blue, pink and yellow sprinkles
the cleaning up of this closet can wait.
skeletons don’t kiss and tell.

Monday, December 3, 2012

quiet life

in meetings you are the facilitator,
allow everyone to have a say,
at your desk you cook up strategies,
thousands depend on your documents,
you drive home to old rock songs,
you write funny things, share pictures
on social networking sites,
you call in groceries, talk to appliances
just so don’t forget words.
the children nod at the food,
the parents eat in front of the tv,
the husband talks through lawyers,
you cry silently in the bathroom,
the mirror is a mute witness.
you can’t say anything to the maid
or she might just leave.
the milkman and the news,
arrive at the doorstep.
the house runs on your magic touch.
the lover prefers long quiet walks
to sweet talk, heads resting on pillows,
and one day you realise, you barely say
anything. in fact you are still invisible.