Haikus

The first time I ever wrote a Haiku was in the 7th standard at English class with Lalitha Vasudevan Miss. It was fun then and it still is now. Haikus are small, yet powerful doses of literature. When written well they can paint a very vivid picture. Very loosely described a haiku is a three line verse in which the first line is short, the second line long and the last line short again. I've attempted to write a few following the very rudimentary rule of:

Line 1: 5 Syllables
Line 2: 7 Syllables
Line 3: 5 Syllables

Japanese haikus (from what I've read) often have 'season' words in them, that evoke the imagery of a particular season.

Here is my attempt at one:

"Summer breeze blowing
Catches me unaware, and-
Whisks my scarf away."

And then there's the token soppy haiku:

"When I look at you
I want to hold you to me
Never let me go."

[Last line courtesy Kazuo Ishiguro! Must give credit where it is due ;)]

This one's my favourite:

"Phone in my pocket
Comforting whirr of a text
I smile- it's from you."

Fragile

If she was ever near a lit candle, she would draw it close to her. She would play with the flame as she talked to you. Having lingered a bit too long, she would quickly withdraw her finger from the searing heat. You would chide her, she might look sheepish. She would stay away for a while, but the flame would beckon again. The blue, yellow and orange would draw her in. She would then dip the pads of her fingers, starting with the index, into the molten wax pooling languidly at the base. Make fragile three dimensional fingerprints that she would then entrust to your care.

rant

I feel like cursing really loud I don’t want to be in my head right now anywhere but here is the most perfect place in this world I just want to ask everyone’s opinion on this thing but I don’t want to know either here comes a formless scream AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I hate thought I hate thinking I hate analysing things till they fill your mind space and you can’t stop thinking even though you want to stop thinking how can anything come to mean anything so quickly that it can make you feel so much it is bullshit it really is and the fact that I know this should account for something isn’t it ironic that you can be outside your head but not be able to sort out the noises inside objectivity is not my friend today it never has been I should’ve never trusted the bugger




DISCLAIMER: This is just a piece of fiction. Don't ask me what the matter is :) I'm good.

an artist

There was once an artist who painted people’s fates. When he was in a good mood, he painted happiness, joy, success and love. He painted with sunny yellows, luminous oranges and radiant greens. He painted people falling in love for the first time, people dying a happy death, people surrounded by people they love and people in blissful solitude. He painted smiles, laughter, sounds of joyous celebration and the quiet of soundless contentment.

When he was in a bad mood he didn’t paint.

iDoodle

vetti at work...

This too shall pass...

I've noticed off late that I'm constantly waiting for some point in the future. Almost like the present is too uncomfortable a place to be in. When I'm at work, I wait for the next day off. When I'm free, I'm looking forward to something I have planned later. When I'm feeling something- any emotion that even mildly ripples the surface, I'm waiting for it to pass.

In effect, I'm wishing my life away...
Minute by minute.
Event by event.
Emotion by emotion.