I think --NOT

I think therefore
I am, So
I really am not
All there
The grey cells
Flew off long ago
Along with all
My hair.

Reminder

I must clean my fridge today.
It still has
Your beer pack
And a frozen stack
Of old desires
Thawing...
Slow....
In agony.

Advait: A short play (on my sanity)

Dedicated to anyone driving two-year olds home from school.

-------------------------------------------------------------
"Amma….."
"Yes?"
"Whats that?"
"Whats what beta?"
"That"
"Whats that beta?"
"I don no Amma."
Silence.
"Amma!"
"What?"
"Umbrella."
"Where? Oh that’s not an umbrella. It’s a palm tree."
"WHY?"
He's deep.
"Becaaaaausseee….it is …a palm tree."
"I’m not kicking you Amma."
I’ve got to admit. It’s a good counter move.
Me: "Yes. That’s true."
"NOOOOOOOO don’t SAY that."
Me (little shocked): "Why?"
"Becaaaaause doon yell at me."
"I am not yelling at you."
"WHY?"
"BECAUSE I AM NOT."
Pause
Advait: "Are you happy?"
"No"
"Are you happy?"
"No"
"Are you happy?"
"YES"
"Why?"
I am about to explode. Perhaps he senses that?
"Say cheese Amma."
"What?"
"I take pictures. Look heeere. Say cheese."
"I can’t. I’m driving."
"WHY?"
"Becausssee….."
He’s heard it before. He cuts me short:"DRIVE PRAAAPERLY."
I'm spluttering incoherently. Thankfully home is near. I relax. Too soon.
"Amma….."
"Hmmmm...?"
"Poopy coming."
The rest is a separate story all by itself.

Thank you

Thank you chairs
And you table for two
You bring to life
My hopes anew

I touch you
And its good to see
At least you can
Be moved by me.

Untidy Quest

I 'm searching high
I 'm searcing low
To find a quest
For this rigmarole

I see a comma
A full stop, a hyphen
I even spot errrors
But no noted questions

Do you believe me
When I tell you this time
I did have a question
I hid in a rhyme?

Now I can't find it
I'm trying my best
I 'll find it and send it
When you ask for it next.

Once upon a chance....

Once upon a yellow noon
In hot hot burning summer bright
I chanced upon a lazing moon
Wrapped inside a tuft of white.
Welcome memory! Warm delight!
So sudden in this lonely night.

Naked Writer

Trembling hands
Writing slow
Burning cheeks
Crimson glow
Strip the skin
All nerves show
Done at last
Take a bow.

Little Savior

Milky breath
Gentle snores
Open hand
Peaceful toes
Rest knowing he is here
Yours alone, your brother's care.

Pointless

Who filled the eyes
Of my helpless mite
With gritty sand
Unblinking fright
He can't close them to
Sleep at night.

oh!leave my son to sleep in peace
Soon life will tear him piece by piece.

Amma

A trusting call
Expectant hush
The pleading
Of my two-year son

Guard that door
Fight all night
Lions, monsters,trolls of fright

Breasts swollen
Leaking love
I stand guard
Tireless love.

Interrim....

There are very few in this world who can clang open the serenity of your bedroom, flash an unrepentant smile and disappear in that blurred second of chaos. My sister is one of them. Clearly she is.

The Beginning....

So, here I am. On the brink of suburban anonymity. Two kids, one husband and a minivan. Probably the dog is what would push me over. And you really cannot expect to leave your print on the world if you have sunk down way below it already. But don’t mistake me. The suburban world is not a dead one. It is a teeming, heaving underworld of groceries, carpools, alarm clocks, and dishwashers. It’s the strong breath of life that curls up and carries those select few to fame.

I was to be on this air-borne express. I was bound for the stratosphere where I would shine down with fierce genius. So what happened? I probably became too heavy. Contentment can add some serious weight. The warm languor of motherhood can also cause considerable inertia. Throw in that minivan with the DVD feature that keeps the kids happy, and you have sunk almost rock bottom.

But this morning the scales said I was lighter. Something stirs. Suddenly there is a struggle. My hand and head are not submerged. My heart is still beating. I can still write, I can still think, I can still feel. And maybe—make my mark?

So, here I am at the beginning. When I close my eyes so many tales dance in front of me. Like colorful snakes waiting to come alive. Which one shall I bring to life first? I know. Lets start with my beginning. My mother.