Thought (n) - mail drafts you never want to send for the sheer incompleteness and privateness.

Self Talk (Ignore)

Damnit. Why didn't I think Doppler's? Vis-a-vis the previous post. But, that would mean disinterestedness playing a part somewhere.

Comfort

How else can I be
with you in troubling times
but with bosom
consorting the same dissonance
and a face thusly placid
with vacuous mutters
to keep up the faked ignorances.

How else can I?
Unless you allow free speech,
bring yourself out,
and let us devise.

Different kinds of Respect

It should be liberating to have a Godfather.
At least, stifling responses wouldn't be of much concern
and yes, did I say liberating?
It has to be relieving as well.

Who wants ties with this mad connection made of people, and inanimate things.



--

Nothing more stimulating than a discussion that has accommodating people who aren't bothered about who gets the lead, or what has to be scrutinised and what not.

It's difficult being a woman.

And you < have to > think, the man has it easier.

--

Pirandello,
for an instant.
married to something,
for an instant,
Slipping away,
irritatedly.

Whiling away,
for what seemed like
an eternity,
Straightening ties with your wife,
for an eternity.
Cycling away
circularly.

Real trips

I'm suddenly taken back to the high-walled buildings I had been to. Even imagining sipping green tea near the venetian blinds of one of those floors as the evening sky rains. Dusk in all its wrung romanticism. A silent overwhelm.

Happened recently.

How would empathy for oneself seem?

-Like being able to astutely (remember and) feel the taste of medicated blood soaked cotton blobs around the gums, while the dentist was working on a root canal surgery drilling such that nano teeth particles and the  saline solution, hit the roof of the mouth and gave their own distinct taste and presence.

Good Lord, I am empathetic of myself?

A life between Mumbai and Delhi, simmering shoes that always wore a strut, impudence for all the vanity.

One night, of the many, saw her returning to her single apartment a little beyond twelve.
And the feeling of being a slut cringed in her. She wasn't one for real, though. But the late nights, her outrageous clothing, insolence, and many such apocalyptica prescribed by society for a woman, caught her off guard. I think she felt nauseous about herself.

Of course she didn't have the balls to confront herself with that or even pull herself and say, "I care two hoots." Neither did she want to tell anyone she felt morally screwed.

Oh, man.
 (incomplete)

--

Another Just:
 Do you want me to step down?
run far away
and hurt myself?

:D

Daybreak,

it's no more than shambles.

The thing about beating around a social occasion is that you find yourself giving excuses worse than the actual.

(Let's call this fiction?)

A sip of infidelity

Eloquent speech,
well-built frame,
man of many tournaments,
smart-dresser,

sat across me at the conference table.
Minting astute thoughts,
and languid glances.
It was before I could surrender, that,
I was reminded that I have a family.

< wish the ones below were removed >

And, so, my slow posture retired
knowing it would lean towards this man
in other conferences;
and the family would fade to
a passive impotent remembrance.