A puppet last night

My joints weak, I felt like a clumsy puppet in your lap. Puppets don’t speak. So I didn’t. And what did you do? You made me dance to your song. The strings tearing my veins. Puppets don’t cry. So I didn’t.

What do puppets do? They dance. So did I. I danced to your song.

A clumsy puppet in your hands.

Relativeness

You are a photographer. Not just one, but quiet a famous one. And you take me to your house to show me your collection of photos. I look at each in excitement. Excitement that wishes to hide away in eyes. You saw it? No?! My lips slightly apart, I am lost in your world of images.

Our minds converse with each other and I begin:

‘These aren’t pictures.’

‘Hmm..So what are these?’

‘Some are images of my thoughts.’

‘Is that all?’

‘And some…some are images of our relativeness.’

The more I am…

…open to you, the more I feel I am yours.

Maybe that is just for me.

Don’t make that face just because I am naked by the time you are on bed.

Goodnight!

.....permanently?

You don't seem to understand, but I think you must. I deleted you, long back. Months back. 

Now to make it more clear I say 'goodbye'.

A wait to find you

I hate looking back. Because I see only you. The worst part is you have a smile on your face. Always. At moments like these my heart starts burning. I wish you knew. Now I know I want you. I turn back and like always I see you gone. Yes, gone. 

Happens always. So what do I do then? I search for you and wait to tell you of the pain I have gone through in finding you. The pain because of the fire that you lit in me every time I look back into the past and see that smile of yours. The fire that leaves my heart alone burning. 

Happens always. So what do I do then? I search for you and wait to tell you of the pain I have gone through in finding you. 

Happens always. So what do I do then? 

I wait to find you.

I painted the summer

Done with rain this year, I thought of settling with summer. I felt the need to love the summer this year. Somehow, oddly! So I thought of painting this summer. A summer in three colors. Red, yellow and blue. A touch of white if you say. You like bright skies and white clouds, don’t you? But no birds fly. No rivers flow. No butterflies live. Only three colors. Red, yellow and blue.

When he came home, I covered his eyes and took him to into our room. Meant to be a surprise. I took my hands away and he finds himself in a dark room. Is this our room, he doubts? I have hung the summer paintings on the four walls of our room. And yet it’s dark. He turns from his side to side, lost like a child playing hide and seek, doing the seek job. I watch him from a corner of the room. We stood silent in that room but I thought I heard his heartbeats. He came running to me the next moment and hugged me tight. But why? I wish he knew that he had actually squeezed every bit of breath out of my body. I was breathless.

The next morning, I ask him at the breakfast table:

‘Why did you over react last evening?’

He looks busy reading the newspaper. But I saw him smile.

‘All right, if you wish not to say. I am planning to paint spring tomorrow.’

He looks at me worriedly.

The next moment I find myself breathless in his hug. What about this over reaction, I ask myself.

And then he tells me, now when I am not asking him:

‘It’s good to try new ideas. But you don’t lock away the bright summers in dark rooms.’

After a long stare into the sky through the window, he added ‘and it does rain sometimes in summer too. At least it should in yours I say!’

Perplexed. Me.

The little talk

We thought of a nice late-evening walk. And talk. We thought of the Jumeirah beach. Of course we knew the palms are growing fast and steady and that there aren’t enough waves to pamper our feet. But there is something about the walk in Jumeirah. The sight is one beautiful sight with the Burj Al Arab standing tall adding luxury to the beach. And who wouldn’t notice the far away Atlantis. It isn’t any less than a dreamland.

Well, getting back to the walk. Oh yes the talk too. We lie down on the beach spoiling our hair and clothes, looking up at the sky filled with twinkling stars. We remain silent for a long time until he decided to break it.

‘I read your blog regularly.’

I ignore and close my eyes.

‘I said, I read your blog regularly.’

I sit up with crossed legs and play with the sand. Did I smile?

‘It's nice.’

Yes I did smile.

‘Just that I don’t understand a lot of it.’

I burst out laughing. Okay! Sorry!

‘But it's good. Really!’

Smiles! Smiles! Smiles! 

I wish I could believe him. But all I knew then, was that I would have something to write today. With smiles!