11 May 2014

By Her Side

Posted by Oblivion in Fiction | 10:27pm

He knew the moment has come, but pretended to stay strong. He took her frail hand in his. He wanted to plead, “don’t go, Mom!” but when she looked at his face, he wept. “I cannot live without you, Mom!” he said. If life has any essence, living through this moment was it. You either cross this line or you collapse, broken and devastated. It’s the moment of nakedness.

“My dearest child”, he heard her. “Mother is not a person. Mother is not a role. Mother is a presence. A mother never dies.”

“If you have loved your mother, don’t finish with it when you place the wreath”, she said lovingly. “Be a mother yourself. Toss your baby into air and let her breathe joy. Let her absorb it with her being. Walk with her on the sands. And when she has learnt to dance to the kiss of waters, retreat. Sit quiet on the sands and watch your footsteps run into the sea. And when the waves return and bathe her feet, feel your caress.”

“And when you know it’s time, walk away with the grace of a falling leaf.”

Her eyes closed, and the lone breeze that tiptoed through the window ruffled his hair.

11 May 2014

One Night in Moscow

Posted by Oblivion in Poetry | 10:26pm

Her infirm hands held the revolver
She played, but trigger left loose
Oh! but what an aim it was
The speeding bullet
Ran through my daughter’s head

Enraged, my daughter’s father
Shot at the woman, his mother
The frail woman felt the metal
Pierce and split her heart
In twos, threes and pieces

On seeing his wife in blood
He, my father, pulled his
On his son, with an aim sharp
Into the brains it went
One thought it was the last

But when fate could play
A roulette so messy
It had one more round
The last one, for the little one
My daughter, at my father

We never lived together
But die together, we did
Or so I thought, as we
Lay, in blood, on the floor
The muzzles still fuming

I wanted to see, I remember
The spire in Moscow
That my mother told about
To her fond son, who
Shot her tonight dead

Four shots, one by accident, pull
Curtains on four lives -
Two fathers; one mother;
One husband; one wife;
One son; one little daughter

Is this cruel or is this funny
I wonder, as I gasp for breath
My eyes close; the Sun has set
And then a miracle…….

11 May 2014

Tagore @ 153

Posted by Oblivion in Poetry & Design | 10:24pm


11 May 2014

Freud @ 158

Posted by Oblivion in Poetry | 10:24pm

With an Austrian so grim
How do I celebrate, I wonder
He has issues with my Mom
So, oh, I can’t even call her!

Kevin Pietersen’s favorite score
I gather; “What an association”,
Dad would remark. And add,
“Get over with your fixation!”

He will smile for no cam
While flipping his cigar swish
Before I slip from couch,
“Happy birthday, Dad!” I wish

- Psychoanalysis / Diary, May 6, 2014

11 May 2014

Beckett ett 108

Posted by Oblivion in Design | 10:22pm