TSWS - 2

She called him. His wife answered.

The Six Word Story - 1

His last goal. They lost 1-0.

Lost in translation - 1

Agini Kunju

I came across a fledgling fire
and placed it in a hollow
It blazed across the forest land
leaving nothing but ashes
In its passion
and consuming valor ,
what is just a fledgling fire
and what is one that has seen all?

The Muse ( Enge enadhu kavidhai Ver 2.0 )

Poetry has always meant rhymes
Wordsworth and Shelly
Byron and Keats
This bunch of words
How is this a poem?

But today my anger decides
To break my thought and sentence
Into pieces that don’t rhyme
Or fit the grammar of prose
Muddled thoughts in a rush to be heard
Without waiting to be polished
Do I pretend I am a poet?

My lips quiver
and the eyes fill up
The drops spill out
as ink on blank paper
White turns to black
on an empty page that no longer is
The fury scrotches ahead
and leaves behind
a trail of fuming footprints

The folks often wonder
why the eternal rage
why not some cheer
the smell of roses so sweet
the smile of kids and rainbow colours
the patter of rain
or kittens on the ledge?

How can they know
that when anger cools down
the words have long dried up
silence reigns supreme
Peace hardly inspires

I smile to vent my joy
I write to liberate my anger

Red

I wandered through the streets,
searching for the meaning
of life and such,
a never ending journey.

All the education,
hours of learning,
just to earn a paper,
to earn more paper.
I burned it up in smoke,
drained it down in spirit,
threw it at the world,
that I crushed with my feet.
I wandered through my life
searching for the meaning.

I bristled at the insults,
preened at the praise,
laughed at your failures
and cried over mine.
I wandered through my life
searching for the meaning.

I raced through my life
till the pain hit my head,
the crowds gathered around
and the road splashed with red.
I wander through the streets
searching for the meaning,
of the life I had lived
and also of my death.

2 - Cheating

I did promise to run nonstop for the entire duration that my favourite song from Delhi-6 played. Do you know that my loyalties have suddenly shifted from Arziyan to Genda phool?

1 - Cheating

The taste of today’s tea is awful, I agree. The bloody milkman must have secured a new client. I hope he at least adds filtered water, you fume as you rush to work. My cup of steaming hot filter coffee tastes sweeter without your accompanying lecture on caffeine content. I silently seek the milkman’s forgiveness.

Enge enadhu kavidhai?

Poetry has always meant rhymes
This bunch of words
How is this a poem?
But today my anger decides
To break my thought and sentence
Into pieces that don’t rhyme
Or fit into the grammar of prose
Muddled thoughts in a rush to be heard
Without waiting to be polished
Do I pretend I am a poet?