Wearisome days

Black and white stripes
Of dilapidated images
Lie juxtaposed
And reflected on my retina.
Seeming to me,
Like a delusional chimera.
Bland , vacuous sketches
In a vision splattered
With wishy-washy reveries.
The colours have drained,
Leaving behind mere traces
That moan in solitude,
Jostling amongst each other
Wanting to make
That little streak of colour
Last for just another moment,
On a wearisome day.

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Thoughts?

Thoughts are creepy scamps crawling slackly on our minds. Jostling us from a wake moment and pushing us into a labyrinth so solitary yet crowded with unsettling notions; I know I’m trapped. There is this intangible barrier closing in on me. I feel no claustrophobic, but relieved. A rush of berserk assessments in a voluptuous wave of the perpetual thought process. I cling on to the virtual mayhem for wings don’t weigh a bird down. Into the beguiling conundrum, I raise my wings and soar higher…

Claws of servitude

A tear of unkempt agony surfaces her eyeball. Brimming up, it spills the last pe(r)ice of sentiments that she withheld  all this while. She caresses her abandoned wounds like a mother does to her prodigal child. Woebegone but relieved. Seething but pleased. Overwhelmed but irrepressible.
She closes her eyes tight and traverses her mind over the itineraries of life that naively reside somewhere on the back of her head.
She promises a getaway to her devastated self. Arousing an uncompassionate demeanour of a vendetta , her fights are like a fugitive; waiting to be rescued but escaping the claws of servitude in a battle so personal.

Deep within.

The unabating cry
Of an outlying cricket
Invades the stillness
Of a monsoon night.

Sweet cacophony
Fills the airspace
Quietly summoning
A mellifluous cloudburst.

Hounds of melancholy
Strengthen their shields
And sharpen blades
In perpetual obstinacy.

In the distrait ambit
I see a flourish too bright
Like stars caught
In a cast net.

A breath of damp soil
Plunges into my nostrils
Leaving a dewy freshness
On my curved lips.

A cry breaks the tranquility
Of the morose nighttime.
My soul awakens to the
Plea that I realise has come from
Deep within.

Child of dreams

It lay there
Among the debris
Of yesterday;
Breathing heavily with
Tightly shut eyes,
Cold and forgotten.

A pile of white
Shrouded hastily neat.
A thin layer of flannel
Obscuring its limp body
In a trashed mould.

A cry rose into the night
Stirring the impregnated silence;
Leaves shook, twigs broke free,
Rivers ceased flowing,
Chaos grew like the west winds.

Subtle as the night sky,
The brown skin glowed,
And the folks paid heed.
They rubbed its tiny feet
And kissed it clean,
Naming it: ‘The child of dreams’.

Marionette of your dreams

My arms ache with the weight
Of the emotions
I’ve gathered;
Long years of togetherness
Kiss my feet
With a hushed goodbye.
The fiery scent
Of woody musk you
Fancied
Stings me over and over
Again; I give up.
You blew neat
Sawdust into my
Irreproachable vision-
Yet, you guffawed, a laugh
So deep and vexatious;
It still pounds in my ears.
The church bells ring;
It’s the time of atonement.
Do you hear?
The garden lilies have
Spoken them all
In one full servile sway,
The words you failed to me.
You spat and tainted my soul
With words of dishonor.
I waited.
You overlooked what brought
You to me in the first place.
L.o.v.e.
I feel dark and tenebrous.
No, those overcast skies
Are no more delightful.
They moan
Like you and I do.
Tonight, when I stand against
The might of the storms-
I shall liberate myself
From the solicitude ,if any,
I have towards you.
Because, until then
I shall continue to be
The marionette of your dreams.

Fallback careers

I avert my gaze from a monstrous HVDC transmission textbook, and  I see my vision obscured with vivid images that persuade me to pluck a pen from the stand and scribble a drabble.
Whatever happened to my passion for engineering? If at all I had any. But what I do know is that creative writing has definitely proved to be my best companion. It alleviates my mind and works as a good stress buster.
So now I’m pretty sure what my fallback career would be if engineering doesn’t really work out for me. Just like I have this inclination towards writing , you might have towards painting , singing or some other extraordinary talent. Honestly , you must never give up on these. Because they are the ones which are substantial solace when everything else in your life starts falling apart.
So the next time you start feeling a little queasy and uncertain about your life , I urge you to make the right decision about your career and cling onto dear life.

The pink syndrome

Whoever has the pink syndrome? Not me, though. A plain accepted or rather a stereotypical thought among the men and some other eccentric women is that pink goes well for any girly equipment. Whether it is a silly frock or any equipment used by women, they always come in pink or shades of pink. This makes me wonder. Am I the only girl who has a strange distaste for the colour pink? Right since my childhood years, I’ve never really understood why pink is supposedly considered to be a girly colour. I don’t comprehend the insane logic behind the same. All my life I’ve considered all colours equal and do not have a strong inclination towards pink.            Yet every single time I’ve shopped, the women’s section has always been pouring with pink dresses , pink accessories and moreover, even any styling equipment turns out to have this nasty colour.
Why don’t they go for blue, green , purple ? Ugh. I’m no fan of the silly Barbie pink .
I remember going to a shop once when I asked for something and the bloke showed me a whole box of pink products and I nearly gasped. Is there really no other colour existing or are they restricted from being used by women? Jeez. I never really can say enough of this.
I’d just wish to say everyone that pink is not a girl’s colour for god’s sake! It’s a just a plain mild shade that perhaps looks good on some women and honestly speaking, stop stereotyping colours.

The mirror of positivity

We always have those times when at home or anywhere else, a mirror hung on the wall grabs our attention like no other.
Whether it’s just a pane of glass on a reflective window or even a teeny weeny piece peeking out from the most extraordinary of places, we stop by and glance. And there are other times, when we gasp at these reflections, wondering how we changed so much overnight.  Well it could also mean that the light effects in the area could have transformed you into a better looking person or unfortunately ugly. So this makes you feel that a mirror is more so an illusion and you never really know when to believe what you are seeing.
I’ve experienced the same when I’ve travelled places. The mirror in my home seems to be awfully obedient showing only my best self and that’s why it turns out to be my favourite. When I encounter my ugly self in the mirror of somebody else’s home, I just stop and gasp . Disoriented  as I feel, I don’t really know which one I’m supposed to believe and which one I shouldn’t. This is how I termed the situation as ‘ The mirror of positivity’. Those are the ones which reflect your best self and infuse you with a great deal of optimism.
Likewise, there are people who could be referred the same way. Some point out your best and persuade you to believe that you are unique and equally wonderful. There are also others who constantly undermine your abilities and point out your not-so-good self. Which is why we need to ascertain what kind of people alleviate our growth and always stay with them. Maybe then we would could focus on our best selves in these mirrors of positivity and embrace a delightful living.

Those times

That day we first met

Your eyes spoke substantial

And I pranced in their depths

Like another silly butterfly.

I remember the way

Gray patches on the sky

Spoke for us

And gently burst into silvery Droplets

that you called ‘tears’ .

The perfume that I wore

And your searing scent

Still lingers on my mind

And I never cease to turn

Into a foggy mess

Of nostalgia

And then you gazed at me

Feigning emotions after emotions-

When my fingers trembled

With apparent tension

Between just the two of us!

And when I think of the times

We sat together In that very place-

Like we knew each other since years

I’d felt the deceit in your eyes

But I only shrugged it off.

The way your lips twitched

On every mention of your name

Like you hated it

I should have known That it was not the name

But the person who said  it

That made you wince in discomfort.

And I would dismiss my feelings away

Like a shepherd does to his flock of sheep

But in vain-

For they are not dauntless enough to flee;

Likewise, the sentiments that I felt.

And now I breathe hard

and hold back the tears

Whenever I think of those times

I momentarily had thought you to be mine!

copyright © Varina Rasquinha 2015