Skip to main content

Not yet Ripe...

I type on an on
line after line
in a rhytmic fashion
with set iambs
and unsettled thoughts.
They read perfect
and are my best so far.
I have no doubts,
let the world read it
and praise my skills.
But I realize,
no
time has not yet come
let my self mature and
wait
till my fingers can
say a toast to my life.
I undo my typing
faster than ever before.

Comments

  1. LizaJuly 30, 2011 at 5:56 PM

    u should not have undone the typing...words play truant at times...work on it...

    ReplyDelete
  2. Farah ZachariahAugust 1, 2011 at 3:15 PM

    hey sure...impatience...:)))

    ReplyDelete
  3. NeethaAugust 10, 2011 at 12:14 PM

    set iambs and unsettled thoughts :))
    waiting for the final outcme...

    ReplyDelete
  4. Farah ZachariahAugust 14, 2011 at 12:01 PM

    @Neetha...dts wt i said...time has not yet come...:)))

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"Until we meet again"

One Two Three,they came and I lost my count. All in an embrace brown and blue with a band of white. I clutched my ring But missed the caress. The waves faded into the waves But I had no shoulder to rest. The vastness ahead swallowed my tears and echoed from a distant land "Until we meet again."
9 comments
Read more

Only If I Could

The smile on her face was still the same, as I had seen her on my 7 th birthday.   But the red lipstick had lost its glow and the fair skin looked a bit tanned. It was not the red glowing sun that had baked her brown as she had been indoors for more than a dozen years. It was the dust and years of negligence. I had once shared my childhood with her. The red saree with its golden spots carefully spun had given bright colours to my dreams I had woven on yarns of childhood games. She looked like a bride in her bright red saree celebrating life with golden bangles, tingling the bell of festivity. She smelt of jasmine.           Now, her beauty is a blurred reflection of the past. The bangles are broken and red saree has faded. She now smells of kerosene that I had once accidentally spilled on her. Her smile did not elicit a smile from me. But I was tempted to pick her up from my closet. There she lay for seventeen years, uncared and...
Post a Comment
Read more

Kochettan's 'chaya kada'

The smell of hot Samosas frying in the oil filled her with memories of a land she had long forgotten.The land of dreams,hopes,aspirations,laughter,smiles.Not to forget,the pain,tears,and wound it had left behind.The river in the picture, on the wall suddenly confluenced with the imagery in her mind of the still deep waters of Manimala.The days she had spent on the banks throwing pebbles at hoppers,creating ripples(any bum's delight)gave her an impetus to think further. All memories ushered in fresh thoughts and sour tears.The aroma of the piping hot masala tea filled her thoughts.Slowly,gradually she was sipping hot memories.There stood the small,yet happening place-Kochettan's 'chaya kada'.Home meant memories.Memories meant her village.Village meant Kochettan's 'chaya kada'. Her days started with a distant glance of the 'chayakada' from her room in the upper storey.She would peep out through the curtain at the shack, at the corner of the road.The ...
10 comments
Read more