Road

On a slippery
Road
Lined with
Aged Rose wood
With colors borrowed
From
Moon
And
Sun
In a wink of an eye
Fragile lives
Touched
Leaving
A Mark
No moon
or Sun
Can Touch.

The Thesis: The cycle of recycled crumbs of Mercy and Justice

The little minions in their well ironed black coat

Pristine white shirt breaking the black hues

The strong wind blew the black ties flew

The little minions scurried in the gleaning arches

Of Law School blues.

The little minions scurried, each one protecting

A black book with glistering gold

Forgetting the prices of the blinking gold

Pasted in the thin black book

To passed or perished the book must go

The little minions scurried with blinking gold

To feed justice and mercy with pieces of gold.

The little minions flees

With their fancy booming beast

Fueled with silver and gold.

Ruins

The pieces are scattered….

In an organized fashion……

The viewing crowds …are in awe….

"Oohs",  "Wows" resonated in the room

A bit deafening maybe 

Is that You or Me

Who is voluntarily sitting in the viewing gallery?

All dressed up, covered with silk

The diamonds and rubies are all in placed

The ruins are all in placed

You and I are scattered ruins,   

In an organized fashion…..

  

Slowly the sun sets
Sipping our teas
Between conversations
Mirroring the past
How much of the past

Created the present?
Will the past and present
Be a bridge for future
Sipping our teas
Slowly the sun sets

Embracing Solitude

In Soundless lullabies,

And Formless, shapeless cradle

Let me rest my head.

In Vast, limitless

Boundaries of thoughts

Let a Companion born

And in differing shades,

And intensity of solitude

Let me open my heart

To reorganize, reshape, redefine

My inner world.

There is No Monochrome

 The saleslady was tall.

 Red lipstick was pasted on her lips.

“Now little girl, choose pink, yellow or green” she said.

“None” the little girl replied. “I want a blue shorts” the little girl demanded.

“But girls wear pink” the red lips quipped.

 Mama said “No lady, no! Let her have her favourite blue”

The girl starts chanting “I want orange, yellow, red and blue. Pink, green and purple and the varying hues”.

And the girl said “There is no monochrome”

Different voices were heard, in varying timbre and tone.

Different stories were told.

Some stories were retold.

Some stories were rebuked.

And all stories were heard.

And different dreams were pursued.

Both girls and boys running the path they chose,

Some divergent, sometimes straight.

An elder brother an entrepreneur, the other one an engineer

An elder sister a communist, the other one a capitalist and the younger one

A Christian doc, that’s me!

Brothers and sisters chanting “We want grey suite, pristine white lab coat and a red running suite.   We want orange, purple, green and all the varying hues”

The chanting voices drowned the room.

Orange, yellow, red and blue. Pink, green and purple and the varying hues starts to colour the room.

 Mom and Dad speak in unison, “There is no monochrome.”

I traveled far.

“Namaste” she greeted me.

She is enveloped with a tapestry of colours

From red vermillion on her head, to her colourful saree.

“You traveled alone?” “Your parents allowed you?”, “You’re not married”

Questions, questions and more questions

Confronted Me.

She started chanting “Red vermilion on your head, red bangles in your arms and red on your feet”

And she said “There is a monochrome”

“Life is a monochrome”

“No” I said. “There is no monochrome”.

And “life is not a monochrome”

The parallel worlds do exist,

Of varying hues, going in divergent roads

And a single colour going in a linear road

Does a part of your world and mine exist in a monochrome?

Which parts of our worlds are in monochrome?

Which parts of our worlds are in varying hues?

And proclaiming “There is no monochrome.”

Echoes continued in my mind

Which parts of our worlds exist in monochrome?

Which parts of our worlds are in varying hues?

And proclaiming “There is no monochrome.”

The day of I do’s came.

We were happy.

We were sure.

The reality of Genesis 1:27-28 start to unfold.

Can we both proclaim “There is no monochrome.”

The first breakfast,

Omelette was served.

“Where is the coriander and green chilies?” he asked.

I said “None, at home, we do not put coriander and green chilies”.

The first breakfast the bubble burst!

Can we in unison proclaim “There is no monochrome.”

Can we deny the existence of omelette stuffed with onions?

“No!” we agreed in unison.

Can we deny the existence of omelette stuffed with coriander and chilies?

“No!” we agreed in unison.

So a bit of his cultural mono chrome and my own monochrome

Meets and blends

And starts to colour the room with our own varying hues.

And in unison we proclaim,

“There is no monochrome.”

Donuts are not always Sweet

           

Morning messages either left me high or low sometimes in between.
Today's message left me sad and low
With heavy heart
No time to mourn
We have to go
Doctor's appointment is in
Another reminder of the finite roles and responsibilities I hold.
Doctor's visit was uneventful.
Walking back
My little Girl wants a donut or two
As I sip my coffee
The memories, clouding my mind..
Speaks...
"Bavarian Cream was Chito's favourite "
Unconsciously uttering it to my daughter
Who gave me a bewildered look.
"Chito who" she asked with knitted eyebrows
Meeting my glance.
Chito was a batch mate and a friend.
And he passed away yesterday.
Bavarian cream will now give bittersweet memories
RIP Luis Antonio Abad .

July 9, 2015