The sun sets past seven in the evening these days. It looked hazel when I first noticed its shadow but it was purple by the time I reached the third photograph.
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(un)Archived
I’ve packed
The portable cassette player,
Today’s newspaper, and
Roasted sunflower seeds.
The flowers at the gate
Have bloomed well,
Feeling like Spring
This Autumn afternoon.
Continue reading (un)ArchivedPlayground
The sun is still a few hours from setting;
A few hours before the kids come to the park
And compel us to handover the swings to them.
Continue reading PlaygroundMemory Material
We made a vow
To gift each other memories
Instead of materials.
You’d take me
For coffee and donuts
At midnight when
The moon was full,
While I’d take us
For drives by the beach
When the clouds turned
From red to violet to black.
We’d dance to records
Playing on your grandfather’s gramophone
After work,
In dark or pastel formals
With neon print socks.
Nothing But Tea
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I’ve got two blue shirts folded in front of me on the bed covered with black as I fold the third. I’ve let the chiffon curtain fall over the window letting the orange dance into the room. I stop midway as I stare down at the pattern and memories printed on it. I can feel the five o’clock warmth wrap itself around me but only through the sweater of fifteen months ago. I gently trace the polkas and kalkas, afraid to erase the memories yet trying to reach them one more time.
Creeks and, Blankets
It’s a quarter away to eighteen and the sun’s making its way to the horizon. I make my way out of the house and onto the streets, towards the seas or maybe somewhere else. I walk towards the main road and then take three steps back to go ahead to the alleys behind, take another two steps and trace them back to take the main road. There’s uncertainty in my feet today that take steps of restlessness. The sky’s gone from orange to pink. I’ve reached the park and for a minute I slow down, giving my racing heart a chance to slow down too. It smells of wet grass and ice-cream. I sit down in the centre of the empty bench, assuring myself single occupancy. I cross my legs over and, take two deep breaths and place my right palm over my chest. Still racing. You can see the creek from here and the lights dancing on it in graceful choreography. Perhaps today, we don’t meet the sea. Perhaps today, we meet the creek.
Moment
It’s a quarter to six and you can see the winter nudging your sleeves as the wind picks up. You can see the pavements light up with their enlarged fairy lights and a lazy rush flood in. I glance at my ten year old watch as the signal still speaks red. Ten minutes to six. It’s an odd hour to hear Kishore on the stereo but I’m the last to complain. That’s if you ask me to at gunpoint. The road starts to clear and Kishore and I make our way back to the house by the time the clock strikes six. I’ve walked up to the front door but I can’t seem to look at it with its carved roses and clear glass that bends the light in the most magical way. I can hear the blood gushing through my ears ferociously as though it pumps right there. I place my left palm on the door, letting my skin recognize warmth on its cold surface. There isn’t any noise in this part of the city. You have the silence and the waves to keep you company. And my uneven breaths.
Yours, Rhetorically 