Sunday, September 08, 2013

any kind will do

pauses have become hours
and hours turn into days
obstinate, unwilling to end

the word hangs in balance
waiting for the moment
the moment when i decide to
stop waiting.

the word.

the word waits on the tips of my fingers
adding one last accessory
borrowed from memory
or made from music

i wait

for the days work to get done
to burn in the sun
to climb over the hills
for a cut or a bruise
for some abuse
for a stupidity
an absurdity
any kind of ecstasy 

any kind will do.

Friday, February 10, 2012

See Alice Fall

Watch her fall

her fingerprints sliding off the stone walls

her gaze brushing past the backs

that have turned

watching birds as their feet lift off the ground

past the cupcakes and poison ivy

and the dissapearing daffodils


She's falling falling worlds are turning,changing

color is company draining down with her

as memories rush up the walls kissing the soles of her feet

before dying in the sunlight


Now she's talking, laughing, spinning

upside down, swimming around

making angels in the air somersaults

and all the things she could never do

with feet firmly on the ground

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Friday, July 08, 2011

murmurings of a meghana

on taking a break
After 3 odd years of being crazy busy, i finally took a break, sabbatical, whatever. But i don't have any exciting travel plans yet. Apparently that makes me some kind of loser. Even inside my own head. We (i mean me and people like me, you know who you are) are all so fixated on squeezing the very last drop of juice out of life that even choosing to do nothing on a holiday that we've earned is labelled as a waste of time. So I've started reading Bertrand Russel's 'in praise of idleness' essay hoping to find well, some kind of validation for the choice to do nothing. Let's see where that goes.

on the word 'poetry'
So i write poetry of some kind occasionally. but every time i say that word, i cringe. It feels kind of pretentious to say 'i write poetry' when all i really want to say is some simpler, less-loaded word for 'short bursts of careless, grammatically incorrect, garbled streams of thought'. because that's all that it is really. And its enough.

On the 'what-if' question

When someone starts a sentence with what if?, i know its going to be good. because what if always precedes an idea. And ideas make everything more interesting. You start talking, it becomes a conversation and then a possibility and maybe even a plan. Just like that. All because someone said what if. I'd recommend asking the what if question at least twice a day without thinking too much about it. Because you never know what's going to happen.

back soon, gym now :)

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

3 pure veins & a razor sharp tongue

the beast plunges deep

and rises like a black phoenix

from the ashes made by your light

that sliced through my shadows


blood is black lava

roaring through my gut 

burning everything in its wake

my heart & my will 


it spills on white sun 

tearing its pure skin 

setting me free 

settling me still 


here i will be

in a place of no eyes

to see my charred skin 

& no ears to hear 

the defeat within 


when 3 pure veins

meet a razor sharp tongue 

everything will come undone 


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Friday, March 18, 2011


this curve, this drop

this curse, this kiss

this gentle lift 

this deadly beat 

like sand & stone melting heady 


move or swim  

slow and stop 

jerk to pause 

snap hard

break down 



everything you can ever feel 

like blood rushing to your head

swarming around you 

engulfing every skin 

drawing you inside

deep within 


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Saturday, March 12, 2011

infinite - written in 2005

in this world of shadows and words
i see the light and language
in this empty palm of my hand i see you resting your chin gently
amongst the bourbon coloured skin and cheery red eyes
there is a thread of you and i

something indefinite ,something infinite seems to rest
something real runs with me and lives in me
this moment lives like an era , never shaking never breaking
this faith grows like a gentle beast

arms run around each other three times and then stop
i wait patiently on neck and shoulder
wait for his drooping eyes of sorrow and mist
to look down at me and whisper something desperate
and when it comes.. the inifinte stretches further beyond... the

horizon falls away

revealing a feather floating in the wind.

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