FranKophone

Mobile phone. Check. Tickets. Check. Sunglasses. Check. Heart. Uncheck. Tears. Check. Pain. Check. His memories. Check. Kiss of love. Uncheck. No meetings. Check. Wet pillows. Check. Lies. Check. Hi Honey ! Uncheck. Start. End. Repeat. 

I have a single dream every night, With you in it. In your favourite t-shirt, You sleep in my dream and I ... Gaze at you for hours together, Drink the wine of ecstasy ; Eyes closed, you resemble Adonis. As you wake up, I put up the question - "Why can't you be here ? With me, all the time" You smile endearingly, and say - "I am here with you. Don't you see me ?" You seem like a fleeting dream. Tears and smiles at the same moment, You taught me to do this - "Love you forever", I say and your embrace encompasses my world. I hear from you "It is your turn next time". I close my eyes imagining another rhapsody, And I do not seem to find you again ...

"Remember the last time I came to your house ?" "Yes, the same lights. No, these are new ones. It was ages ago. Christmas I guess." "No, your birthday." "Ah ! Birthdays. Who cares about it these days ? " "Come on, friends do." With a smirk, she asked, "Really ?"  I decided to keep quiet. Sofie had this hold on me. A lot had changed during the twelve years.  I had left Sofie's world and never intended to return.  But somehow I re-entered her life.   Shaking me from my reverie, she asked, "I guess you will leave in a day or two." I replied, "Yes, tomorrow evening." "And when will you be back ? " I had no answer to her question. She smiled slyly and drifted, "You remind me of him. He had no answer to most of my questions." "I am sorry, Sofie", I blurted.  "Please don't be. He is not dead." The standard Sofie-answer.  She con...

What is with this smile Mamma ?  It follows me everywhere, in good times And in pain. During journeys and at nights I rest. Remember how you read me my Nursery rhymes and the alphabet Mamma ? Remember how you waited for me To arrive from school ? Our banters And the laughter that followed. Look ! My library is bigger now, Almost as large as that of yours. Yet, I long to hear a lullaby from you. Sing to me Mamma ! Just like You did ages ago. Don’t walk away like that Mamma ! See, I am your little girl in tears. You taught me how to fight my battles But weren’t you my shield ? I am you girl, grey and portly, But I still need to hear my lullaby.  

There is smoke somewhere.  I cannot seem to figure out where.  The lights are here, the music is here. Has it been home here ? Perhaps. Maybe when it did not rain. Or maybe when it rained and it did not matter. Maybe when I walked alone, smiling to myself.  Or maybe when I realized I was okay. Had it been always like this ? Not really.  Things clicked, took effort and blood.  Did I do it ? Or the beasts did ? Maybe we both together, Played this game.  Amidst soulful solitude, it was love.  Maybe appreciation. Another journey, another dry spell.  Will it ever be home again ?  P.S. : Penned at Candies, Bandra on 11th January 2017 

Dear You, Looks like I have found you. In the depths of my love, I notice your smile. Yes, the one you flash after that brief moment of joy. I feel your fingers entwined in mine. All the time. Your eyes speak to mine, asking me questions. Remember the first time I told you of my affection and my afflictions ? You must know this. You consume my thoughts, time and grief. Glad to have met you. Yours, Me. 

Twenty nine pins. One for each year of existence. He took twenty nine different pins and thrust them into her hands. She writhed looking at them. One of them forced into her skin. A drop of blood appeared on her milky white fingers. He flinched at the sight of blood. He wanted her, she did not care. Twenty nine pins meant nothing to her. It was about her wishes and dreams and desires. He saw pins and she nursed her own pain. Years. They mean nothing. How you change matters. Into what you change matters. Twenty nine can well be ninety two pins, but she would not change her mind. Twenty nine pins.

When does a mother feel proud about her child ?  Is it when the baby walks for the first time ?  Or is it when the child calls the mother for the very first time ?  No, it must be when the child runs wildly with glee.  Ever watched a mother caress a baby ? No blemish or mask. A pure emotion that awaits a definition. The very next moment,  The baby leaps out of the mother's reach. Who can contain the  breeze of  childhood and innocence ? The mother watches.  At every birthday, a cake is baked. The guests change, children too. When does a mother feel proud about her child ? Is it when  The child attains adulthood ? Or when the first earning is put in  The mother's hands ? I do not know, but the mother knows.  It is every time the child smiles, every time the child speaks, Every step the child takes, every hurdle the child crosses.  Every time the child runs to her for a missing button, some...

Ever since you flew away, I have been conjuring up your image. In the midst of my thoughts, you light up a smoke and offer it to me. Everything ceases to be right, I palpitate. I am supposed to be lonely as the cloud. You make me forget the sound of fleeting music.  In the background, a portly man laughs. In a puff of drowsy numbness, I catch a glimpse of your sparkling eyes.  What are you, I wonder. How could you, Love was it, then ? Like a waterfall in a desert ? After that brief encounter, you vanished. I looked at you as a figment of imagination.  My body wore the tell-tale signs of time. I believe I saw the best of dark and bright, Or was it the crazy trick of reflection ? One fine evening,you landed at my doorstep. I was old and so were you. Beauty had Served its purpose. My nest was empty.  I had flowers at my feet,you were real.  Sometimes I ponder about you. I should  Have known. You were capable of hurting me.  You w...

memories. things that i did not do. things i never will. people i have hated. people i shall always love. names that i have forgotten. names that are etched in my being. animals that i have eaten. animals that have consumed me. memories. Explanations that are not needed. explanations that I never give.

Dear You, Wasn't it the other day we met ? There was no intention apart from business. You came, I complied and it all went fine. Nobody had noticed anything odd. I still wonder why you came back. Was it me or something I had told ? I hadn't revealed any of my secrets. You had none. We met at sunsets. You told me something new each day. I merely listened, thinking that this would end too soon. You didn't end anything. I was amused. You started quite a few things. I still thought nothing. I believed I had it all, learnt it all. But then you being you, it was all too novel. You had me. Yours, Me.

L ost in nothingness, I look for unformed words. I nsides bursting, verses still not finding a way. V ictory, defeat, murder - everything seems uninspiring. I n the cauldron of wordlessness, the creator is killed. N umbing nerves collapse, I give up. G oing for a walk might rescue, I assume. W ithering leaves, dry roads, dusty paths - no one cares. I n a flash, a young thing gets trampled. T ruck or a carrier - I know not what. They ask me, " H ave you noted its number ?" A shrug answers it all - "I have been running away from numbers", I scream. P eople disperse, crowds gossip, ambulance arrives at last. " O ne down, millions to go", someone shouts. E vening falls, birds go home and I choose to follow. M aybe I need to check some numbers now.

Dear You, Hadn't I wished for you ? I guess you were the one I was waiting for. You have come now. I am almost with you. Then somebody asks "Is that him ?" I look at you, I ask myself "How do I know him ?" I do not. I assume you are someone I liked. You have nothing to say, all you want to do is to take me with you. I turn around and see someone crying. Someone loves me here. I stay. You leave. And I know you never loved. Yours, Me. 

"So you are still choosing ?" "What makes you think so ?" "Nothing. Just asking." "You're happy ?" "Yes. She's a great woman." "I'm sure. How's Eva ?" "She is good too. Has sent you a picture." "Oh ! This is beautiful ! She did it ?" "Yes. She loves the place you used to frequent." "Really ? Seems she's taking after me." "I'm afraid she is.  She has the same hold on me". "You won't ever forget it ?" "Maybe. Might not be."

Dear You, Do you know how it feels when something rips you apart ? The first second you realise that something hit you. The next five seconds your realise you are badly hurt. The next few hours are spent in agony. You cannot really cry. Tears form in your eyes - you need to hold them back. Till your vision blurs. A slight ache near the heart, or somewhere in between. Now, the head gives in. There is an excrutiating gash somewhere. You need not figure out where. You need to shout but you cannot. Or rather, should not. You need to pretend to be brave. The world will beat you to pulp once you let it know of your vulnerability. As the hours pass, you realise that you can live with this pain. And just walk along. Yours, Me.

In the shade of our tamarind tree, I often think about you, my baby. You would have been four by now, Maybe just started school. Your mother loves you, I want you  To know that. But then you always  question. You ask me, "Why did you  stop me ? Was I not reason enough for  Happiness ?" You were, my child, you were.  I stopped you, I did not want you to  die in the way I do. Every single day. My blood and tears are reason enough To stop you. Maybe some other world  Is ours. Where I can keep you hidden  From vile eyes, words and touch. Where I can see you smile, walk and grow. Where I can beam after watching your laughter. In the shade of our tamarind tree, I often think about you, my baby.

Didn't you realise I was hurt the other day ? Shards of glass pierced into my soles as I walked barefoot. You seemed to be aloof. I never said anything. You told someone else,"She's brave enough to handle it all alone". I wish you had come and asked me. You sleep silently all day, refusing to acknowledge my presence. I am not complaining ; I simply wait to hear your voice. I long to be looked at. Your gaze is my only desire. But you don't. Don't you realise I'm hurt by your reluctance ?

Wake me up not, For I would like to Hold on to my dreams For some more time. I know that the world ain't all pleasing, but Can't I choose to be away ? Let me dream for now. Do you realise what I Dream of ? There aren't any Heroes or magicians. A Simple tune hovers above. I wish I had this dream All my life. A life time of A dream. Of  music and silence. A casket full of  dreams.

A friend asked me this morning if I was a Maya Angelou fan.  I replied her "Kind of". I had never asked this question to myself.  Perhaps I considered her more of a feminist than a literary figure.  However it was her poem 'The Caged Bird' that startled me. Till then, I saw poems in black and white - they could induce either happiness or sorrow.  But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. We have associated songs to happiness and cheer. Without them, the world would have been too drab.  But these lines ! They shatter all romance associated with music. These 'songs' are born from intense pain. Pain of magnitude that we cannot imagine. The more the pain, the sweeter the song.  They sing as they have nothing to do except cry at their destiny. Who sings when there is a pressing need to cry ? But these 'birds' are one of its kind. Instead of...

Dear Love, Hope you have reached safely. Now that there is snowfall, you won't have to venture out for long. I have set the photograph atop the mantel. The fireplace looks deserted. As if it is missing someone. You know who that is. Emmy's cheeks turned pink today. Her cheeks look like those apples. For some reason, she doesn't smile anymore. Did you notice it while you were here ? I also see some random children walking about in the house. Emmy says they have always been here. I do not understand. Its you who has always been there, my love. I have this feeling that I am getting old. Did you notice any grey hair ? Or even worse- wrinkles ? Tell me if you have. We must be together. We are young, Emmy is a kid but she needs a sister. Or even a brother. You must come back soon. Or I shall go there with Emmy. Life has been kind to us but we can't take anything for granted. I hear someone calling me. Oh my God ! That looks like you. You're back ...