Skip to main content

Self care

Walk bare foot
In a park. Have tea.
Try different types. Green, Red
And of course white.
Morning paper, watered plants.
Sticky notes. Neatly arranged.
One crooked.
Hum Songs. Long showers.
Movies. That make you cry.
Memories. That make you smile.
And be sad.. a little.
Piano lessons. Someday.
Own Studio. Colour all over.
Diaries… some pain.
Write letters.
Books, Wednesday evenings.
Pastry, Sunday afternoons.
Solo breakfast.. Saturday morning.
Rains and window stares.
Transparent cups and tea leaves
Floating.
Slow pop. Dance alone.
Love. Kiss.
Love till the other loves.
Love when they leave.
But don’t hold on.
Believe.
Call over friends.
Read them stories. And serve them tea.
Some cookies.
Write.
Pack your bags, travel.
Near. Far. Within.
Without.
Solo. With people.
Love. Hate. But never show.
Cigarettes when you write.

Write. Write. Write.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

BLOOD ROMANCE

It was his idea to skip the main road and go for adventure at the middle of the night. Her mood was already bright as she laid her head on his shoulder. Driving through the woods, suddenly the tyre went flat. It was an abrupt jerk. Comprehending the situation, they both felt elated. Except the slow waltz that played in their car, everything was quiet. Wasn’t this what they both wanted? Albeit, for different reasons. Quelling their excitement, they wore the well-rehearsed masks of fear and disgust for getting caught in this unwanted situation. She had carried the knife hidden securely beneath the drapes of her dress as was his lust, veiled by the clemency of his innocent blue eyes. Already in her 40’s, her body exuded the rare combination of sensuality, intelligence and beauty. As an artist, she always had her muses in younger men---guys in their 20’s. The passion that these men enthused kept her adrenaline gushing and her arts towered to their crescendo. Her paintings were vividly...

The Dirtier skin

"no ship will ever take you away from yourself"---Constantine Cavafy That was long ago. Very long ago. It was that particular time of year when the shadows dance around your face as the moonlight seeps through broken clouds. We lay close, your hands trying to sketch the reality into my ears----the existence of a career and success, of a circle of friends and family, of fame and of you.  Your soothing words were covering my eyes like a lullaby, I was slipping but slumber wasn’t heavy on my eyes. I heard your voice. I saw the clouds. There was something I was waiting for. I didn’t know. Maybe a kiss. You kissed me tight. I was still waiting. I looked at the sky. The place where the moon supposedly hid herself was dimly bright beneath the clouds. I heard you say something… "your skins dirty from all that walking. Go have a bath and see you at work tomorrow”. You left.  I lay there numb , playing with my hair …minutes lapsed …I don’t know when but I slipped into a...