Sometimes…

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You needn’t always
be raring to go
Some days you may just want to
stare out of the window

You needn’t always
turn out right
You can have mornings too
that may not be so bright

You needn’t always
be the sun
Be there every day
for everyone

You needn’t always
want to think
Some days it could be
an effort just to blink

It needn’t always
be about them
Sometimes it can be
about you before them

 

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The Soliloquy

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Its eight already. Sigh… guess it’s too late now. I mean it isn’t like I am desperate. I have stayed in before on Saturday nights. I like being by myself. No…really. I mean I have Netflix and Winnie my cat…its not so bad. But…but he could have at least called. Well, he hasn’t until now, so I guess he isn’t so much into me after all or maybe he likes someone else. Sigh… whatever. Continue reading “The Soliloquy”

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It wasn’t his birth flower.

He was perplexed, the first time one had appeared, a lone speck of white with a yellow centre, like an unwanted weed in a garden. It seemed to have blended into his skin, like it was one of his own. A few days later, he had noticed another one and by the end of the month, the weeds had spread like buttons across the back of his hand. Continue reading

The Bonding

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On most mornings, when the sky is clear, he can see them from his side of the fence. She, hanging the laundry, humming “Sometimes when we touch” by Dan Hill, her soothing tune gently floating with the soft breeze in their combined backyards. The Amaltas, a bit jaded by its lone existence, pleased by her presence, appears mesmerised, the melody sending an involuntary shudder down its spine, triggering the unsuspecting leaves into a frenzy.   Continue reading “The Bonding”

An Enchanting Afternoon

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The December air on the narrow freshly tarred lane in Jew town, Kochi, is thick with the heady fragrance of pungent spices – ginger, cloves, cardamom, pepper.

On either side of the road stand identical two storied structures with thatched roofs, their windows opening into the streets; some are painted in vibrant colours, others left dilapidated. Once the animated homes of Jewish families, are now bustling shops bursting at their seams with antiques, mirrors, wall hangings, paintings, lamps, Chinese urns, door frames, old brass locks, and glass and porcelain ware for sale; items that were once a part of churches or homesteads of Jewish families before their exodus in the first half of 20th century. Continue reading “An Enchanting Afternoon”

The Alchemist

 

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It is Saturday morning; they are in her kitchen.

He watches her play with dough, eggs, vanilla, cinnamon, chocolate; her fingers delicately plotting, plucking, kneading, pounding; her expression displaying intense concentration, face powdered with dough.

Sensing his eyes on her, she looks up. Pushing back a tuft of hair from her face with the back of her dough laden hand, she smiles. The smile reminds him of Wispy, the cat next door, and her contended purr after a meal of fish and rice, the light of life smouldering in its eyes. Continue reading “The Alchemist”