Withered

Fractured drops of light
trying to hide the pain
broken shards of shadow
piercing through the rain
that falls within her eyes
trying hard to explain
things from long ago
memories flitting through the trees
afraid of letting go
winding through the autumn leaves
putting up a show
holding on to random bits
keeping her afloat
withered mind trying hard
to decipher what he wrote
slowly dawns a hint of smile
wondering if he said hello
unknowing, withered hands
clutch a withered farewell note

-Amit

The Photograph

Matt-finish, black and white
young man, child astride,
trousers flared, collar wide,
a grin adorned by pencil-line

The old man's favorite photograph
not for his child's memories
nor for youth he left behind
yet he stares and stares and cries
to see that faded photograph
the only one he misses most
the one who's missing in that pose
the one who cracked that silly joke
just before the flash and smoke
the one who clicked the photograph
the one who passed on to the ghosts

-Amit

Death of a Liar

He closes his eyes
and stares at a familiar scene
his 6 year old self, squeaky clean,
waving back to his mom and dad
entering school, first tie he had

Scenes rush by
the young child is child no more
a boy aged 13 sitting in at his proud father's store
lady-shoppers fussing over the winsome lad
as he shyly scribbles out their bills on a pad

The years fast-forward now
the boy has grown,
hot job in tow,
all of 43, suave CEO
on a magazine,
a loving wife, 3 kids
complete the scene

He opens his tired eyes
a life lived full, he smiles

and then laughs at the truth
a wasted youth,
born an orphaned lad
always making up his parents,
and the tie he never had
working as a coolie all his life at a store
always pining to move up to the pad
He'd hated his wife and cheated on her,
and guilt-laden, drunk away the little he had
an outstanding loan and a debt he'd incurred
had since broken his spirit and driven him mad

As he lay now thinking of his time gone by
a life of regret and happiness denied
he blocks out the life that was supposed to flash by
for the last time the old man dreams up his lie

-Amit

The Sale

I stand in line
at the ticket window
and as my turn arrives
I'm greeted with a smile

"Hi" I say
to the ticket vendor
and check out the list on display

"Is DEATH a stage one jumps off?
Is HAPPINESS a loud applause?
Is LONELINESS an audience refusing to stay?
And is SADNESS a temporary blackout caused
by defunct showlights at the play?"

"I really wouldn't know, Sir"
says he
"I only sell the tickets here.
Though i hear,
Some are happy when the lights go out
Some would kill themselves for applause
Others would jump off just to be alone, Sir
and some would be sad without cause"

"Oh" I say

and turn back to where you stand,
in your red dress, chewing gum,
pop-corn in hand
"What do you want to watch, honey?"
And you reply "We don't have the money
for Happiness, luv.
What's more, the show's at three.
You have a meeting then, remember?"
and i say "Yeah, there goes the matinee"

The man at the window lowers his voice
"You can try SIN, Sir
It is cheap, and fast
and quite a rage these days.
They always clap at the start
and the lights never descend
and though it leaves some broken hearts
and some jump off at the end,
it's not a bad deal, see,"
he winks, "I can even offer you
a buy-one-get-one-free"

"Aha" my interest rises
and i see you're smiling too
"Can't argue with that price" you say
and i say "Sure. Gimme Sin, for two"

Jaagte Raho!

He wakes with a start
and makes half a salute
and takes in the scene
did anybody notice he'd been
gone again
taking the first flight out
out like a light

He wipes clean his mouth
these breaks now becoming regular bouts
He rubs his eyes, and scratches his belly,
kicks off his shoes to make way for smelly
toes and soles that can make a blind man blink
solely based on their obnoxious stink

An owl hoots in the distance
the moon is high up in the sky
the watchman argues for the n'th time that night
the world is sleeping
why shouldn't I
and having won that round
he proceeds to act on his logic;
the air fills with his sleeping sounds

a silent figure standing poised to strike
lowers his weapon to the ground

-Amit

The Wait

The old woman waits in her wooden chair
whiling time, much to spare,
fingers moving, beads of prayer
belie an ardent, eager stare

A door bell rings not so far
the woman smiles, it is the hour,
rushes to her window sill
and lovingly waves out to her star

The neighbour's six year old waves back
red water bottle, purple bag
a word or two, he goes indoors
she does the same, to where she sat

-Amit

Child Arrives

A med report
Couple despairs
Dream is lost
Unanswered prayers

For

Dimpled smile
Two bright eyes
Tiny hands
Cherubic cries

Then

Hope renewed
A children's home
Couple rejoices
Mercy shown

Comes the big day
Anxious dawn
Child arrives
Mother is born

-Amit