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the exhaustion crept
slowly up her fingers
resting in her knuckles,
turning them stubborn and brittle.
taking over her arms,
which stiffened when bidden.
quietly over weeks,
the tiredness climbed
down her legs, up her back,
and finally came to rest
in her eyes.

the fatigue of tears—
most evident
in their absence.

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the house is decorated
with small horrors.
a word by the sink,
a clenched fist on
the table, a barely
audible curse there
at the doorstep.

offset so perfectly
by small fears,
small whimpers, small tears,
small wounds.

only the silences
are large,
hanging stubbornly
on the quiet walls.

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trying to read your words

on a moving train, going

in and out of signal,

losing a line here

and a word there

 

your prosaic prose

made poetry, simply

by letting me fill the gaps.

 

 

A century

Of the sort Dravid was infamous for. The kind that is scored off something like 242 balls. This one almost coincides with a second anniversary. And with 25,000 views.

But the best thing in this week of blog milestones is that someone came here looking for ‘systeth‘!!! What more can one ask for on the occasion?

(And that’s the first time this blog has used three exclamation marks in a row).

September

September cools,
the laundry flies

Like paintings
brushed against
the skies.

The skies are seas
of azure blue,

And clouds scud
by like sailboats
do!

~

That picture and poem are part of a hand-painted calendar a friend’s friend made a few years ago. She is an artist who makes her living doing exactly this sort of whimsical and utterly delightful thing.

I have this sheet put up above my desk. Just looking at it transports me to the world of that painting. What could possibly be lovelier than lying on the grass on a breezy, sunny September evening, empty of all thought, watching the washing flying above you? Mind, it is not a complete escape. It acknowledges that the washing has to be done, but also that it will indeed get done just in time to let you lie, pleasantly exhausted from the exertion, on the cool earth and feel the wind blow your cares away.

Short leave

I’m sure you’ve noticed the lack of activity in these parts over the last couple of weeks. Work, a bad back and local travel are to entirely blame. And over the next couple of weeks, more work and long-distance travel will take over as the culprits. Will come back and make up for it with lots of pictures.

Puttandu vazhutukkal, Vishu Ashamsagal, Shubho Nabobarsha!

Second home

Varali now has another blog. Named for one of her favourite trees. Into which she’ll throw some poems and perhaps prose she doesn’t want to post here, for complex reasons.

But this new blog she wants to keep private. WordPress is a delight in many ways but doesn’t allow passworded blogs. So she won’t link to it here. But if you ask nicely (on email), she’ll give you the link. And hope you won’t share it.