I can hear the splatter of rain behind me through the open door. The passage way just behind me channels the sound so clearly, so that I can hear just about the exact moment when the rain started to pour more heavily than it did so a couple of seconds ago. It catches my attention and I listen attentively, as it pitter-patters against the pavement outside. Faintly, I could also make out the sound of when raindrops hit roofs. Like little drums, the rain beats against everything it falls upon. I wonder why it even falls heavily upon my quiet heart.


x marks this spot, baby

the world tilted
and i find
that i am exactly
at the opposite end
of where i was yesterday.

there was silence
between us
and spaces
and gaps
and infinities
yet to be realized.

i am here somersaulting
with the sound
of your voice
as i drift off to sleep,
and again waking up
to the sweet sound
of promises unspoken.

when yesterday
i cannot find
where my spot is
in the map
of your heart,
here i am
at the x
marking exactly
where your whole being
is held together.

you have brought me
to various peaks and depths
of euphoria and melancholy,
and i am sure
i can only be called crazy
for wanting to be where i am.

when you come home,
x marks this spot, baby.
i am here,
exactly where i
have chosen to be.

for j.e.

dancing to the painful tune of commute

I am motionless in motion, not in control of every sway, every wobble. My hips hurt with every movement of the waltz. 1…2…3…Slam! 1…2…3…Ouch! I don’t think there is getting used to the rhythm, the prompting.

The metal screeches, and the whistle hoots. The train lurches and the humans grunt.

I face myself in the dusty window and catch a distorted sense of myself, with the shadow of the metal bars messing up with my head, dissecting my image into sections – quadrants upon quadrants upon quadrants. My own infiniteness captured in little bordered squares.

The shadows, my reflection, the bars, the humans, my own body – we are all swaying, dancing to the painful tune of commute.

for everyone and no one in particular

I pulled the plug

I pulled the plug.

I got impatient. Things were running slow, and I couldn’t wait for the shutdown to take place on its own. I pushed my luck too far in clicking and re-clicking buttons and everything just stopped. Loading, I think. I hate lagging. I hate seeing the screen at a standstill. I hate the waiting most of all.

I had too much going on. Too many tabs were opened. Too many articles waiting to be read. Too many thoughts needing to be sorted out, and I just can’t deal with the waiting much longer. I needed everything cleared, my screen, my browser, my mind. So I just pulled the plug. Without the battery, the laptop just went blank. A sigh of relief escaped me. Finally, nothing!

Then i clicked the on button again, and the screen lights up. I am back to logging in, signing up, opening tabs, queuing articles, writing about you.

for j.e.

what is hair

what is hair
but mere follicles
we grow atop our heads?

how can something threadlike
take up much space
in the mind
and mirrors of many?

what is hair
but mere expense,
when out of vanity,
it needs to be shed?

really, what is hair,
that it should carry
such abundant weight
in our thoughts?

what is hair
that i should take delight
when you said
you liked the way
i have recently cut it?

why should it matter
that you’ve said as much
in the language
of your heart?

oh honey, why should it
matter heaps to me now
only because you’ve taken
the time
to admire
my otherwise unimportant,
messy mane?