Space

There's nothing wrong
with space between cities and stars.
Kilometres, lifetimes, light years,
I was sure you'd never be too far.

Sometimes space was just an
inch between your face and mine.
Sometimes it was the space between two floors,
Sometimes it was the space between two car doors.
Sometimes space was an anomaly,
 and our fingertips met.
Space Oddity,  but just sometimes.

Now you're only sitting a table away.
It's like you never went away.
But the distance in your gaze
 is difficult to fathom.
and I'm falling here,
falling through a chasm.

There's nothing wrong
with space between cities
as long as the affinities
between two hearts last.
But now it's a thing of the past.

Queen

When I was young,
I longed for love,
Through trapdoors below,
and canopies above.

Got tired of giving more
than taking what I need.
Made me think,
somehow there's safety
in killing the seed.
It's boring but safe,
when you don't even bleed.

When love comes and goes,
though you resist,
Mood clouds pour around,
you spend your days
feeling pissed.

Could it be there is more to Life?
Than collecting and planting
the lies in their eyes,
flowering into compromise?

 When nothing is right,
cry yourself to sleep.
But in the morning,
read the magazine,
 and remember-
You're still a Queen,
with your dirty feet
and your tambourine.

Dear Frenemy

Dear Frenemy,
once you said to me,

"Look, it's as plain as
sand touching the sea,
as simple as this piano-
and its broken keys:

Ivory and Ebony,
that's all we'll ever be."

You add, forgetfully,
"That's the one I used to play before."

I say, regretfully,
"Couldn't agree more!
 We're only binary,
Only ebony and ivory,"

As I walk out the door.
And go and write in my diary-

'I wonder if he knew,
or even considered true,
how a prism splits light,
ironically, white.
into a damned spectrum.
What a conundrum!'

Winter was supposed to arrive.

May Musings

My grandmother passed away last week and it's taken me some time to put things in perspective.

She lived to a ripe old age of 85, however, at her funeral service there were less than 10 people. Reminded me of Eleanor Rigby. She was very social and had been a teacher for 30 years, had 9 brothers and sisters and a large, fragmented extended family. However, being in Delhi and away from everyone, she had to be put to rest with only 3-4 people around her. 

Being asocial and not having people to fall back on, I don't have anyone to share my sadness or happiness with.

My son was born on March 25th. I have not been able to indulge in his birth and share my happiness with anyone. It's a sad, sad situation and it's getting a little bizarre.

My life is a cigarette, and as I'm approaching 30, I realise I'm already half-way through my journey. However, I'm not sure what I've achieved. Death of a loved one always makes you muse about Existentialism, especially after vodka.

I hope I've been able to touch a few lives and will be remembered after I'm gone.

Death is the greatest leveller and as I sit and sort through my Coeen's meagre belongings, I realise we come into this world with nothing and go with nothing. In between, if we can create something worthy- like new life or art, it may, just may be worth it.

Let's hope for the best.