My little pirate

A trilling laugh like sparkling wine
Two sturdy little arms wrestling the unseen pirate who lurks around the house;
A wet , dirty little face peering at me from under the bed ;
My morning smells like a buttered toast and fine Darjeeling.
I see him stomping on a puddle of rain water, a sword made of a broomstick in hand;
My morning follows me to soothe the bruises made during the day.
I get ready for the day's race to begin and look at the furtive glances thrown at me
He comes slowly to me and inhales my perfume deeply.
I cant lift him in my arms easily nowadays,so I bend and muss his hair.
I open the car door and turning, I see a a pair of almond eyes deliberately ignoring me
And looking at the toy soldier in hand instead...

My day begins with a small hand tugging the strings that bind me to my world without him.

Merry Christmas to Me

The bluest christmas ever , stares at me out of my monitor.
It bathes my blue room in icy blue,
I can feel the indigo,periwinkle,robin's egg blue reaching
Out at me with their wispy tendrils.

Some names which meant something somewhere try to
Smile uncertainly from my address book,trying to gauge
My stony stare; Would she? Should I? Should she?
I make a staccato sound on my keyboard,no words leap out
And touch those names. I panic, check the connection,restart.
Still nothing.I keep on typing.."Sorry","Thank You", "Love you"
My monitor remains blank. The names waver and fade out.
I keep on typing untill the blue penetrates my mind and I
Go out in the balcony for a breath of chilly 2:00 A.M air.

A thin,bent old man passes my house with faltering footsteps
He gives a fond look at the glowing tip of the cigarette in my hand
I stretch my hand through the grille and after a thought he takes it.
I can see its red glow through the fog even when I can't see the man anymore.

I whisper "Merry Christmas" to the man, long after he is gone.

wobbling towards shapes that are to be...

A rag doll sitting beside the window
trying to sort out the myriad shapes with her lifeless button eyes
A black-button eye waiting for a girl to wipe away the dust that settled on it
And the girl was speeding away from the gingham dress, the wollen hair and the button eyes
She was leaving a little part , which was hers..forever.

The swirling , murky, fishy great river that sluggishly, complainingly
Dragged itself with the weight of so much of human waste and follies,
No longer could be seen from the train window which turned foggy
In the morning chill of December. And then she cried.

After thirty years I dug a small grave tonight and rested my tortured dreams.
I sung a requiem to those button eyes.

Merry Christmas.