Full Circle

Currently Singing: Kiss From A Rose, Seal

Right..

Honestly, I really don't know how to begin this post.. Was on the phone with a friend today.. We just realized (moment of epiphany) that we will be going to our college for classes for the last time on Monday, and the knowledge of this completely threw us into a fit of hysteria. Now, I am an emotional freak, so it's understandable if I find myself falling back on memories and remembering the past three f-ing brilliant years of my life... My friend on the other hand, is one who barely gets attached to anything and hearing her feeling low about leaving college was something I was completely not prepared for...

People enter your life for a reason... They have a purpose, a role to play to your existence... once that purpose is achieved, they head out... either abruptly, or the process is extremely slow... It depends on how you want them to leave... Some, however just stay..

Honestly, I adore my friends, and knowing that I wouldn't be seeing them everyday from Monday onwards, wouldn't be famously standing under the sun at Sat. Nik desperately waiting for chicken rolls, or wouldn't be making spontaneous plans to travel off to random places with absolutely no money in our pockets--overwhelms me with a feeling of discomfort.

It's disconcerting, really.. Somehow, everything that was constant and stable in my life seems to be dismantling itself... Now I can't say I wasn't prepared for it, I mean, I knew that this phase in my life was going to come--just didn't know it would come so early. Hmm.. sounds cliched, doesn't it?

I see the books gathering dust on my shelve, and I have lines to read before I sleep... Memories creep into the present and I sit starring into the green wall, enraptured by my past.

Honestly, I feel sad that my college life has finally come to an end... but then again, something needs to end in order for new things to begin... that's what life is about, until it completes a full circle.

College ends here R, grow up love.

Bumping My Way Through

Currently Singing: Baby's Got A Secret, Madonna

*
Let's see now... the other day a few of my friends came up to me and enquired why I hadn't written anything recently? Hmm.. good question. Honestly, I have nothing to write upon. No, no, don't give me that grin now, it's true.

Wonder if this may suffice--
The other day, I encountered a driving disaster: Now I know that on speed-breakers, one must slow down. I did... however, I wasn't slow enough for the speed-breaker to grant mercy and allow me to pass in a respectable fashion. I was at 35 kms/hr, and this baby was huge--you can let your imagination play for the rest of the events that ensued.

I was extremely slow thereafter at every speed-bumper, driving my car carefully. However, even after such an event, I still stand to say that I am improving and turning out to be a pretty decent driver. In fact the other day, my brother, who usually doesn't compliment me on anything, gave me a thumbs up for my performing skills in the driving arena.

Well, what can I say? Live and learn my friend, live and learn.

*
Yesterday however, I did enjoy a good home-cooked meal of chicken drumsticks immersed in gravy, baby corn-broccoli (stir-fried) vegetable mix along with some deliciously and geometrically circled (mind you) rotis. Yes, an interesting combination I must add. This treat was made by my friend as a token of admiration and portrayal of deep respect and immense gratitude towards me... In other words, the meal was made in my honour. Naah, not really. That woman doesn't even give a damn, I just wrote all this to massage my ego and feel happy about myself.

However, my friend loves to cook and it was indeed a delicious meal, at the end of which, I did promise her that she'll be the official caterer for my marriage (irrespective of the fact that I do not intend on marrying in the next seven to eight years! Yes, disheartening, isn't it?)

After the lunch we watched Russell Peters on Utube--an absolutely adorable and amusing fellow, who has the potential to throw anyone off their chairs in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. For those of you who haven't see him perform--honestly, you are missing out on something. I have always been a Peters fan, and yesterday was one of those days that made me adore him even more!

It was a good day indeed, two thumbs up to the girl with the curly hair!

*

P.S. Just so you know, the site is: www.youtube.com--in case you visited the wrong site. And this is where you need to go :)

Hit Me With Another

Currently Singing: Follow Me, Uncle Kracker

*

I should stop eating ice.

If one is high, water stabilizes you. Now, I am aware of that fact. However, it is highly likely that when one is high, one must muster up all the sense he or she has left in one's head to realize that ice is water as well. My point being, here I was letting my hair down, swaying my head to the music, voicing inane lyrics which didn't even correspond to those which were playing, was down two Screwdrivers and two Long Islands, when suddenly I had the habitual urge to munch on ice. Corollary to that, the drinks began to betray me, the tipsy-ness began wearing off, and my senses began to regain their strength. Not fair, I say.

I should stop eating ice.

Did you know though, that at Pebble Street, the buggers have started playing 'mast' hindi songs as well? Though earlier I protested, I realized that this New Friend's Colony pub hits the perfect note when it comes to blending Hindi mu-gik with the Angrezi. Well, needless to say, I enjoyed. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the booze... Or maybe honey, it was just me ;)

*

Soul Speakth

Currently singing: Dark child, Toni Braxton
*

An image of a forgotten reflection which earlier sparkled through my kohl-lined dark eyes. The girl who would swing her arms merrily in the gardens which embraced The Habitat Centre, or the one who would not think twice before munching on those road-side bhel puris at CP, or even gol-gappas for that matter; who would sit at any cafe and just smile to herself at the very thought of a Latte or a Cappuccino; who would dream of plays and consider them to be better than life, or the one who would love to sing, even though she knew she wasn't good at it, but still hit the wrong notes because she didn't give a damn.

The girl who walked the roads of Delhi nonchalantly in her chappals with and her famously loved jhola placed daringly on her shoulder; who smirked sheepishly everytime the wind whispered in her hair--Me, a girl who just didn't give a damn. Just didn't.

One can be happy within oneself, you say. It is true. I am a better person now :)

*

I am reading Walcott. Flirting with Neruda. Indulging in secret affairs with Eliot. My imagination finds me in better spirits. I doodle when lost in thoughts, scribbling poetry on abandoned sheets of yesterday.

I make tea for mom, coffee for my soul, make conversations for relaxation, and study for....? sigh, numbers, marks, a f-ing first division?

Answers, anyone?

*

P.S. It is 1 in the morning. I am terribly sleepy. If, pray you, you do notice certain grammatical errors, do ignore--they are errors exisiting only to remind us that we humans are immensely flawed. Oh, and good morning.

*

Category: Personal

Simple Words

Read something about me today: This made me reconsider who I am.

I am loved, and now I know.

*

"... it is possible to live within one's own self."

--Aaki

Three Years of Living

College shall end, soon.

It's funny, my past three years have been a dream, really. You know that phrase right? Living in a bubble... Well, I suddenly realized, it's all true. Never thought college would end, never felt life to be so unstable, so uncertain. Never.

My final year has been.. well... I have ambiguous emotions towards describing it.

Honestly, I completely ignored my friends during my third year... as a result, they distanced away from me--it was my fault, and I am not shying away from admitting it. Although, recently when I began hanging out with them again, I realized what I was missing out on. Fuck, these guys are brilliant, beautiful people--people whom I absolutely adore, and I missed one entire year out without them. I am repenting being without them for so long. And I shall repent, for the rest of my life.

*

The other day my dramatics society, Verbum, gave us seniors our final farewell. They sent us custom-made invitation cards, indulged us to delicious chocolate cakes,made a movie on our memories in Verbum through a string of photographs with music in the background, and made sure we felt loved, wanted, and terribly missed. Verbum is a family, and will always be one.

Sigh.

Memories remind you of the good times, yet weaken you at the same time. My college: I have lots of memories attached to that yellow-red educational structure. Honestly, coming from a girls school and entering the grounds of my college, made me realize that I had the capacity of making loads of friends. So, I made lots of friends; lost many too, but what makes me happy is that, they were there at some point or another, to make me feel special. Wanted.

*

This is indeed one of my most emotionally charged posts.

College has ended.

End. Finis.

*

Blabber-Talkie

The other day we visited the Vasant Vihar market, a.k.a the famous Priya joint. It has become our second home, literally. There was a point in time when I had absolutely no idea as to where Priya really was--me, a being living in another part of the world!

Another place I frequent a lot is Khan market. But then again, who doesn't like going over there, enjoying the view of populated India and it's tiny cars from a second-floor view at Barista while sipping on hot cocoa or coffee? Or going over to Big Chill and indulging in that delicious Chocolate Oreo ice-cream? Or even visiting those knowledgeable bookstores and feasting on those alluring book covers--Or just, basking in the sun, walking, gibber-jabbering with your friend.

By the way, did you know that the word 'Oreo' is actually a racist, derogatory term associated with those who have black skin, who wish to have a white man's way of thinking? Oreo: Black choco biscuit on the outside, white cream on the inside. Consider yourself educated. One up on your IQ level.

*
The architectural structure of my institution is built in such a manner, that it seems that the sun deliberately tries to evade it. Class-rooms are mercilessly cold, and we all sit close together in order to generate some warmth. There is ample amount of sunlight at my college gate though, so after the classes we all sit at our college gate, devouring oranges or gulping down on some sweet coffee.

Then comes the time to leave.

Driving is tiring: one has to literally inch on the Delhi roads which are consumed by more than ten thousand vehicles everyday. It's so painful that I have to concentrate more on the traffic and bitch about those who are hogging the road, rather than enjoying Jim aptly singing to me:

"Keep your eyes on the road

And your hands upon the wheel

And then roll baby, roll"

Well, I am rolling!--but somebody is gonna get hurt real baad, if people do not stop driving like pathological maniacs on the road! Ugh. Delhi traffic. Ugh.

*
My mother read out a piece written by Rumi to me the other day. He said (very poetically, of course), that if one keeps moving, swirling and doing things in life--then, one is centred: paradoxical images beautifully placed together, to bring forth a very important aspect of life.

SiGh. Some people are born profound. Others become. Make it happen, R.

*

The Open Baithak @ The Attic

Attended the Open Baithak today at The Attic. It was a relatively cold day, the streets of CP were tremendously crowded with people buzzing and passing by, as I scurried from DV8 to People Tree on my two feet, humming the tune of a song I don't remember now.

The door of the Attic opened into a warm and cozy room, brightly lit, accessorized with antique furniture--a space I would love to rent as an apartment, but alas, the space is not for sale. I was greeted by known and unknown faces, all smiling, happy to be there, waiting for the poetry session to begin: An evening with the performance poet, Bob Holman.

The thing that I have always loved about performance poetry, is the performing bit. I cannot endure people just standing in one place and reading out their poems which, mind you, are brilliant pieces left unanimated due to the lack of display of emotions, correct articulation of words, blah. Thus, to perform one's poetry is very essential, for it gives life to the piece and also leaves the audience enraptured, wanting for more.

Of course, one has to have the art of performing, and that is achieved through experience. I, for one, have done so at a college poetry recitation competition, but still do have a long way to go. Perhaps in the next Open Baithak session, I will be enthusiastic enough to read out my poems. Perhaps.

Today, a few read or rather, performed well. A few. One of the poems read was despicably atrocious, and I was confident that I could do better than the gentleman on stage. Over-confident? Noo. Just sure.

At the same session, I also met a deliciously handsome guy, whose name I shall not disclose, for the sheer fact of knowing that he might come across this page. Though extremely talented, I could not stay back for his performance. Did I mention that I like men who rap, by the way? :P

There is so much potential in me, potential I wasn't even aware of. Certain things happen in your life, and though initially you feel that they shouldn't have happened, when you see life from a broader perspective, you know that it was the best thing and that you are so much better off...

Ah well, you live and you learn. This is ME at twenty, and still going strong.

*

Sing It

Tu dhoop hai, chan se bikhar. Tu hai nadi, o bekhabar--

-- You have it in you to make it. Make it then.

*
My friend called from the States and gave me a lovely surprise by doing so. It feels good to know that there are people there in the world who still care.

*
"O hip-hopper mujhe pyaar toh kar, O hip hopper."

When this song first splashed across the television screens, I screamed. I could not believe that people could come up with such inane lyrics. Though I cannot shy away from saying that the song actually grows on you--and I have surprised myself by humming the tune now and then--but err... what happened to the entire concept of writing and making songs that actually made sense?? But I guess the music company will make songs for the masses. I feel alienated from this culture and at the same time am aware that I belong to it as well.

*

My brother told me a story the other day: There are four kinds of gadhas in the world. The first is the one who keeps walking, doing things that are required of him and is content with life. The second donkey keeps hitting the first one with a stick, wanting the first one to do his work for him. The third kind keeps lying down, sleeping, dreaming and does his work once a while. The fourth gadah however, sits in one place and mourns: "Mein ghoda kyon nahin hoon?" (Why am I not a horse?)

Most of the people in the world fall into the category of the fourth kind. Always wishing why things can't be better off for them. If you are not content with life, change it. Do it on your own--no one is going to come to you and help you change it. Don't crib, just do.

I think that's what convinced me to start driving on my own. Being dependent on someone is the last thing one wants in life. I decided, I can no longer be dependent on my dad (or auto wallas) for taking me somewhere. Lesson: Do everything in your stride to be as self-sufficient as possible. That's the way the world roles--it's your wish in whose palm you want it to roll.

Sing it: Tu dhoop hai, chan se bikhar. Tu hai nadi, o bekhabar.

*

Cotton Candy

January creeps in
Smokey eyed
Crawling through the dingy passages
Hunched on its paws,
Licking,
Rolling the fog in its mouth
Like grey cotton candy

*
Blah.
*

I woke up in the morning today with a song in my head. I kept myself busy today. Made breakfast for my dog, took him for a walk, listened to music, drove for a bit, read--life's been decent. Wanted to go to Khan today and have coffee with a friend, didn't work out.

Reason? "You need to study" (says mom).

My mom has recently decided to write an article on 'Literature and Memory'--I, being a good daughter was giving her a few tips on that. She has begun writing some beautiful poetry in Hindi and Urdu and I sit mesmorized listening to her and the emotions that are awaken through them.

Love these moments.

*

Someone rightly said: Ignorance is a bliss. It's true.

Random Thoughts

Driving has become a necessity in winters. I hate being dependent on auto wallas who bargain with me every morning as to how much I should pay him for a ride to college. Coming back is another head ache--they throw tantrums, "Madam, vapsi mein saavari nahin milegi." Bullshit!

I prefer driving now days. It's warmer in the car, you get to listen to good music, and you don't need to exchange dialogues with any annoying auto walla!

I have to admit, I am new on the roads.. but this time I ain't quiting. There are certain things in life which jolt you into reality so much, that you realize you need to take the reins of your life into your own hands.. or the steering wheel--which ever suits you best.

*

What can I say? I have the instinctive urge to write, but time evades me. She is always there when I have nothing to do, but begs to leave when I really need her. I have so much to do, and I keep contemplating as to what I should begin with, little knowing that every second counts. Sigh, here I go again knitting cliches with my thoughts. Ambiguous thoughts, really. Nothing is substantial in life and that's the truth.

One of my oldest friends told me something very important today. Something I didn't know, something I never even thought of about life. Funny. I suddenly look at things from a different perspective.

*

The other day my friend treated me at CCD for passing the army entrance test. Army. Sigh, all I can think about army is a bloody hard life--though my pal looked extremely thrilled about passing. There are some things in life you just know you want to do. Perhaps it's the calling from within.

I however, am still confused as to what exactly I wish to do. Write? Dance? Make movies? Ah, this damn indecisiveness--it happens to the best of us.

*

Notion of the day: Nothing is better than a hot mug of coffee with a pal.

ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE

The other day dad got a flute for me. Wonder why though, I have no clue how to play that thing. Nevertheless, I kept it, to keep his heart. It's funny how I love it when he gets me the most innocent of gifts unannounced. My dog was one of them. Anyhow, today my dad peeked into my room to see what I was upto. He saw the flute lying there, untouched by the owner who was peering into her novel.

"You aren't playing this fella' ?" Dad asked enthusiastically.

I looked up. "Naah. I don't know how to use this thing," I replied sheepishly.

"See, this is where you put it," he said picking up the flute and placing it right below his lower lip. A phenomenon which disturbed the air along with the dust particles which flounced ecstatically in the column of sunlight that was penetrating the curtains.

Frankly, all I could hear was "foooo"--the blowing of air by my amateur musician a.k.a dad. As a result, my dog perked his ears and happily jumped around my dad. It was honestly a very amusing episode.

"Well," I said humouring my dad, "at least you've got one fan." I winked at him and he responded by smiling, "You my girl, are becoming too big for your boots," and winked back.

He left me laughing. It was one of those beautiful days. Father, daughter, and the holy dog.

P.S. The second last word is highly debatable adjective.

*

Today we had a discussion on whether women have a good sense of direction or not. Two guys, a girl and a canteen place. I defended my stand, for I know the roads decently well (except for those parts of Delhi which I have rarely visited). The men tried to pull me down (sigh, friends!) but I still fought. Ultimately the conversation dissolved by a series of coffee and chai orders. It was cold. The sun winked through the leaves. College will end in a few months. These days won't come again. I look at my watch: ten minutes more before the classes begin. Here we go again, preparing ourselves for a new day.

*

WAITING FOR NOTHING

"Do you think I am a fool?"

"Do you think you are a fool?"

(Silence)

"Can fools think they are fools?"

"I sure think so."

"Are you thinking right now?"

"I don't know."

"Think."

"I am not Lucky and you are not Pozzo."

"Who was Pozzo?"

"Master of Lucky who asked him to 'think.'"

"That means Lucky was his slave... Then how was Lucky, lucky?"

"I don't know!"

"Lucky, Kucky, K-l-ucky, yucky, mucky." (singing)

"Enough!"

"Is it Klucky or Erky?"

"Lucky!"

"Are you sure?"

"Haven't you read Waiting for Godot?"

"Waiting for who..?"

"Godot!"

"I thought you said Lucky first."

"Yes, but Lucky was in that play."

"Was Godot in the play as well?"

"No."

"Then if it is Godot's play, why is Lucky in it?"

"Because Estragon and Vladimir are waiting for Godot, Lucky is a marginal character."

(Thinking) "So... Ass-my-gone and Lad-im-r are in the play, Lucky is in the play, but Mr. Go-dot-com is not?!?"

"Its Es-tra-gon and V-lad-imir. And Godot, pronounced as Goo-do."

(Slowly.) "Doo-do. Dodo!"

"It's Godo!

"Dodo!"

(Sighs.) "Forget it."

(Silence)

"Does Godot meet them?"

"No."

"Then why do they wait?"

"Well, because that's the play. It's about waiting. They just... pass their time."

"That's the play?"

"Yep."

"BORING!" (loudly.)

"Well, it's famous!"

"Is it?!?"

"Yep."

"Boy! People are dumb."

"U think?"

"And to think we call ourselves the fools."

"Hmm."

(Silence.)

"Well, are we waiting too?"

"For whom?"

"Dodo."

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether you want to wait for a dodo or not. Dodos are extinct by the way, so I think we'll have to do a pretty lot of waiting."

(Sadly) "I didn't know Dodo was dead. No wonder they keep waiting."

"It's Godot!!!"

"That's exactly what I said."

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't."

"I think contrary."

"U cannot think!"

"Why?"

"Beause a fool cannot think!"

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"Prove it."

"What?"

"Ph-roooo-ve it!"

"I don't want to."

"Neither do I." (Silence.) "So, are we done waiting?"

"We weren't waiting for anyone in the first place!"

"We weren't?"

"No!"

"Then what are we waiting here for?"

"I don't know."

"Well? Shall we go?"

"Yes, let's go."

(They do not move).

*

Inspired (evidently) from the Absurdist playwright Samuel Beckett's magnificent play, Waiting For Godot.

XX versus the XY SOCIETY

I am sleeping
Or am I awake?

I answered in the first,
And questioned in the next

Should I learn to be me from me
Or turn to you, to 'be' ?

Should I place my legs together?
For I am a girl and not her brother

Why should I wait for men to woo me?
Why does wo separate me from he?

Why can't I stay out late?
Burp on beer and smoke on cigarettes

What has sex got to do with it?

Speaking of which:
Why can't I have it before marriage?
Why should I whisper and speak about it?
Why should I call it, it?
IT- it- iit- itt- iti- tit--
Oh, I get it... It's because of my... hmm..

Is this poem going anywhere?
Am I going somewhere?
So-me-where?

Unless you change your designed roles
No where, is where I am going to be.

*

Apologies if this poem does not make sense. It is something that just came out of me as incoherent thoughts. Pardon, me.

"IF U BE MY BODYGUARD, I CAN BE YOUR LONG LOST PAL"

I wake up early and trod across the hall to wish my dad a jolly "good morning!" When I begin leaving his room, he questions: "Where are u going? To wake up your brother again, I guess?"

"Naah dad," I reply smiling, "I am way past that stage."

It's amusing to know that there used to be a point in my life, when my entire world literally revolved around my brother's. He always slept in late, and I being a morning bird would 'rise and shine' early(as the saying goes). So I used to make it a point to wake him up, not because he'd ask me to, but because I would love to annoy him that way. It's a silly little thing which all younger sisters do, I being one of them. My brother would groan in response, perhaps even muster all his energy to throw a pillow at me, and I would duck triumphantly, winning yet again--and thats how our mornings would begin.

My brother and I always shared a closely-knit relationship, he was not the stereotypical 'bhaiya': over-protective, over-possessive; nope he was, different. As a child, whenever the two of us got down to fighting, I sprung my nails out and scratched him all over, while the poor thing couldn't even hit me back because he never thought it was right thing for him to do (or maybe he did hit me, its fortunate for him that I just don't remember).

The two of us always understood each other (most of the times): as I grew older I learnt the profound technique of saving his butt [keeping mum about his escapades and well, his ladies ;) ], he never backed out from returning the favour.

He was not protective lad, but a concerned one. He kept out of my life, gave me the discretion of making my own decisions (even if they were the most stupid ones), but always prepared me for a lecture that would follow inevitably. Now, his lectures would be basically suffused with weird metaphors (ones which would make me twist my brows a million times), silly puns, lame jokes (which made me laugh hysterically) but were ironically, laced with logic--a 'lecture' which would take 5 minutes of his time as well as mine, but would drive home the most important point in my head. This was his way of handling me, and he handled me well.

He has been more of a friend than anything else. If I was low, down in those lousy doldrums, he took me out for a drink, made a comfortable space for me where I could tell him everything that bothered me the most and and he would provide me with the most sensible advice and make it sound the easiest as well. He laughed, ensured that I would laugh, and I would forget all the things that were on my mind and enjoy the moment, precisely because that's exactly what he expected from me.

However, it isn't as honky-dory with us always as it sounds. Even though both of us have grown and have matured, we still fight: it's an aspect inherent in our relationship and that's something we can never grow out of. Our fights are verbal, but we barely abuse because we respect each other. Sarcasm however, is a weapon we both use and subconsciously, we keep competing on whose argument is more cynical. The winner however can never be decided upon because our counter-dialogues are eventually intervened by either my grand father or my mother--dad just yawns and ignores the whole thing (he'd rather stay out of it). Typical, I know.

My brother is the one who introduced me to English music when he was in the seventh grade of schooling and I was in class five. We had gone on this trip to the mountains, and it is there when he first made me listen to the Eagles and Simon and Garfunkel. Ecstatic, I learnt all the lyrics and we both used to sing all the songs together in the car. 'The Boxer' became one of our favourite songs of all times. I think this is where our friendship really began.

This is the way we were and perhaps still are. Two very different souls and even though that boy never tells me that he adores me, I know he does. I don't know what encouraged me to write this piece down, but writing it made me remember all the great times we two have/had spent together--times which I had forgotten, but have loved to remember once again.

THE SECRETS OF THE NIGHT

And cats walk the silver street
Tails as question marks
Their paws compete

Orange with brown stripes
Black with white puddles
Brown with black masks
They walk into the night

The air breathes winter:
Veils the windows,
And seduces the leaves

While the burning red
Of pregnant lamps
Haunt the dark corners
Of the night...

And the winds mourn and wail
beckoning morning;
Forgotten letters
Fly as Aladdin's carpets
Sailing into the night

And shadows follow
The lone walkers
Whispering deceitfully where they have been--
To the quiet night

The mandir sleeps alone--
A white concrete of promises
Built on gandhian notes and gold

(The beggars still sleep on the road)

The moonlight tip-toes
Into the night
Anxious to leave the sky
Just this once

And she pours and pours,
And does not stop,
And is caught when the morning arrives...

*

PARDON, ME

You have spoken.

Speak. And I shall listen.
Whenever you want. Wherever you want.
I am here.
And I shall do as you say, sire.

Words fall
Like shavings off a blunt pencil
Now turned sharp.

Loneliness beseeches.
I shall comfort you, says she.

You take to her and wine.
The chap in the red suit
sure ain't gonna visit your house tonight.

You recite poetry
to silence.

You have coffee
and cigarettes
at khan

And you smile.
For no reason
but for the knowledge of knowing
that you are there for yourself.

No (f-ing) matter what.

**

I listened to Elvis yesterday morning. After a long time.
Danced with him under the sun, in my aunt's garden.
He sang love songs to me, made the idea of a jailhouse more interesting, and made me keen to purchase blue suede shoes for next Christmas.

He left with the electricity.

And I am by myself, again.

Will give Cobain a call tomorrow.

*

Conversations

Did it hurt?

It did a bit, but its really hot. It feels good to have it.

Hmm.

What?

I mean, I'm sure it does. Sigh, but the pain one has to go through in order to get it.

So?

Nothing. She yawns. I'm just saying it's frivolous. Besides, you look like you're bruised.

Wait. Have you ever got one of these?

No.

No wonder.

***
(Scenes from teenage life-First Hickie)

WITH A SPARKLER

I want you to write my name in the dark, with a sparkler!

Okay… but why with a sparkler?

Because others things are boring. Some people tattoo their darling's name on their shoulder; others have it engraved on their tombstone. But I… I want you to write my name in the dark with a sparkler.

Hmm… but why in the dark?

Because a sparkler won't sparkle in light stupid! Then writing my name would be pointless…

Okay… so tell me, what is the point in writing your name?

You ask a lot of questions…

I'm curious…

About what?

About who we are… and what do names have to do with us?

Names give us an identity…

I thought personalities did that…

Argh! Does it really matter what names do?

Yes.

Why?

Because you want me to write your name in the dark with a sparkler…

Yes, that's precisely what I want you to do.

But… why your name?

Because you love me and you can't just write anyone's name in the dark with a sparkler!

A moment ago I thought you said that names don't matter.

Well, there are exceptions…

Hmm…

What?

I'm bored.

Are you saying that this conversation means nothing to you? That I mean nothing to you?

No, I'm just saying that I'm bored.

Are you trying to fool around with me?

Sadly, I think by the time we are done with this conversation, the only thing I'll be 'fooling around' with will be the sparkler…

Anyway chuck that… you in the mood to do it then?

Do what?

Write my name in the dark with a sparkler!

Oh… you're still on that…

What else do you expect me to be on?

Me.

Argh! Men! Just think about themselves all the time!

Oh! Forgive me Mother Teresa!

Do you really want to start a fight right now?

No, that's your job.

Uff! This conversation isn't going anywhere.

I'm sorry, did you actually think this conversation would go somewhere?

Yes!

Where? Timbuktu?

This is not funny. I know why you're doing this. You don't love me anymore.

Oh god.. Here we go again…

You don't care about my feelings, or what I want, or what makes me happy. Sarcasm… that's all you know. You don't know how to love, how to-

Enough! I can't take this anymore! I'm going!

Where?

To write your name in the dark with that bloody sparkler!

~~~

IN MEMORY...

Remember the time when we were in love?

When the days collapsed into nights, where the roads chased dragonflies, where rain danced on roof tops, where the mountains echoed sunrise ~ it was the season of mistletoes.

Remember?

When we ran wildly after rainbows, when the trees wore the colours of olive and bronze, when the sun bathed the sky red, and your eyes sang poetry.

Or the time, when we lay naked on the grass, entangled like the roots of an oak tree, breathing into each other, while your fingers teased my skin, touring the outlines of my body, snaking the curves, as you blanketed me with your kisses.

Remember? I'm sure you do, for that's all I have to offer. Memories.

~~~

Genre: Prose Poetry