The Bouganvillea Sang While I Waited For You

It started as a balmy, every day Sri Lankan day when the araliya flowers in my gardens were in bloom. The days were hot and the nights were hotter, the muslin curtained windows were thrown open to coax in the slowest of breezes. The balmy days of a Sri Lankan spring slowly turned into the characteristic humid summer. My parents were cutting mangoes, and the golden juices pooled lazily at the bottom of the plates almost beautifully as we watched a sneaky fly or two trying to get into it. 

Who would have thought that you'd come along? 

My days were slow, sad. Only paced up with those days at the Barefoot Cafe where my friends and I spent hour upon hour reflecting on the shallowest vagaries of life and drinking liter upon liter of beer and in my case, iced tea. The balmy Sri Lankan spring turned into a humid Sri Lankan summer. The beat was slow, temporal. Out of sync, out of place. Summer hardly felt like summer, but it's always summer in our little island paradise. The birds were too tired to sing, it was far too warm. The butterflies couldn't step out, the sun would have burnt their wings into fairy dust. 

Who would have thought you'd come along?

The bright pink Bougainvillea in my garden, violent shades of magenta and orange; they blossmed in full stilt in the harsh sunlight, sining out their colours like an all too eager show choir. They were my mother's pride and joy. I'd spend the days fanning myself in the verandah with a battered copy of the Hi magazine dated three years back and my dogs would be at my feet, so lethargic in the warmth to even raise their heads up from their paws. The spring dragged on into the heat of the summer. My days were punctuated by cold faludas from Bombay Sweet, ice cold Cokes from the college cafeteria and cold milk chugged out of the carton at midnight. 

Who would have thought you'd come along? 

Ice creams melted just outside college as we walked out of the kade that sold Jumbo Jolly. Just when we though the heat wouldn't end, the first drops of the seasonal rain began to hit. A little to early in the year, it was true. No complaints, the heat was unbearable. Warm, cozy Sundays cuddled up in bed, a cold pillow to keep me happy, watching the plant world through a rain streaked window and drink ginger until it almost ran in my veins. The days were cool and beautiful, the streets were rain streaked and full of utter senesless joy. The nights were cold and blankets were soft. The fresh smell of the Earth from my garden as the summer-browned grass drank up the water was intoxicating. The Earth was rejoicing, as was I.

Who would have thought you'd come along?

The Indian Ocean frothed in front of us. The lights on Marine Drive were iridiscent blobs of the prettiest colours, blinking along the coastline of our beautiful Colombo. Back to the summer days of the hot days and hotter nights, with occasional patches of rain to keep us happy. The waves broke on the rocks like crystal breaking into little shards of diamonds, a million glittering points of utter wonder. We watched as the sky is a shade of mostly royal blue with a traitorous patch of tangerine, pink, purple velvet, Barium green or red, showing that the sun isn't totally gone. The lights of Colombo blinked merrily, and seated near the rail tracks of the beach down Marine Drive, we kissed just as a train passed behind us, our bodies shuddering at the thundering noise and impact, your grip only getting tighter.

We kissed.

I was waiting for you to come along.

All through these beautiful summer days.

All my life. 

Rain and Ramblings

Everytime it rains, it brings back so many memories. I wish I knew why, but I get a deep sense of nostalgia.

I normally sit out side in the verandah and I watch the rain come down.

It's amazing how these little drops of water bring the whole universe to life. The greens of the leaves become greener and the shades of yellow become brighter. It's almost like the rain breathes life into everything that surrounds us.

When I look upto the sky, I wonder where the infinite drops of rain come from. Oh sure, I know the scientific explanation but that's boring. I like to make up my own theory. Maybe there is someone up there, crying? Maybe, just maybe, these crying people are angels? Who knows. A little bit of imagination never goes amiss.

The rain is falling in a steady stream and I love the sound it makes when it splatters the leaves. It's almost like the rain is talking, singing and serenading the world with it's stories. Pools of water form all over the grass and when the wind joins in, the soft chilly breeze that hums around me is so inviting. The world smells so fresh and seems to peaceful.

When it rains, my father likes to sit outside in the verandah and watch the rain, just like I do. I wonder what he thinks of the rain. The dog snoozes on a warm patch of terra cotta and the day passes so, with us watching the rain.

The rain reminds me of my childhood, of my sister whom I miss very much. It reminds me of stories I have read. They say people don't remember things will, but they will always recall how they felt about something. I don't quite remember the stories but I remember how it felt, cuddled in my mother's embrace, making jokes while we watched the rain from the safe harbour of her bed.        

The leaves glisten with the rain water as it washes their faces, dripping off the ends beautifully like little drops of liquid diamond. The dog yawns and I watch the little stones swimming in the pools of water. The gentle pitter patter of the falling water, the smell of fresh soil, the memories, it all overwhelms the senses. It is comforting to retire to bed with a warm mug of coffee but I don't like wasting rain. I love to sit outside on this verandah with my cup of ginger tea and read a good book. Some of the books I enjoyed the most have been read while it was raining. Maybe the continous pound snd thrum of the falling water had something to do with it? Who knows.

When the rain clears up and the world goes back to being it's dry place, I will miss it. I miss the rain, I always do. But maybe it's the ocassional occurrence of the rain that makes it so beautiful in my eyes. Something common would get boring, wouldn't it?

The rain might go away and the world will be dry again, but one will always find the little drops of water clinging to the very tips of leaves, catching the sunllight with proud defiance and throwing their colours to the world; the evidence of a recent rain-fall. I like to think that rain is life. How can it not be when you see the flowers and trees drink up the water so joyfully?

There is not much sunshine during the rain.. but there is always some. And sometimes, even through the rain, the sun shines's brightly, letting the world bask in it's golden, waterly glow. That sight, I think, is the best gift nature can give us.

Rain is beautiful.

The Golden Balloon

She dragged her feet as she walked

She left skid marks on the ground

She slumped her shoulders, away she went

She walked with hardly a sound

The street was full of colourful balloons

It made her black and white

Her monochrome countenance swayed

Dull and out of sight

And then a golden balloon said " Hello Miss

How may I make you smile?" 

She raised her head and said very softly

"I haven't shed a smile in a while"

The golden balloon, his round face shining

Bobbed against the summer air

"Well then, just hold tightly to my string

I promise thee, it shant tear" 

She closed her eyes, she held the string

And then she thought no more

The golden balloon began to rise

Until she began to soar

Up and away they rose from the Earth

The balloon and the girl were gone

Fading forever to the vast blue expanse

Into the summer sunshine's song

:)

A/N: Sal o thys shael tia kylael shalyl :)

I hate love.

I know I know, such an oxymoron eh? Yeah, it is a highly ironic thing to say, but I am not talking of platonic love. So, in my view, non-platonic love is one of the most disgusting things. It makes one a fool. 

So, you build walls right? You have your armour, your guard and they are all ready for battle. No one is going to break those walls, no one will go past them and reach out to that soul deep inside you and the best part is that you won't let them. Of course not! That, is highly ridicilous! Horse-feathers! You will never entertain such a notion. All this undying, unconditional and un-whatever love crap is good for the pigeons. And no pigeon, chicken or ostrich will crack YOUR defense! You are super awesome and you like to keep it that way. You go on with life being the cool, nonchalant, super deatched, uber cool person you always were and you feel great. You feel awesome. You ARE awesome. 

And then some idiot/fucker/asshole comes along and fucks you up effortlessly. 

Maybe it's the way he grinned or the way she tossed her hair. Maybe it was a hug, a kiss, a dance, a bite or even a random slap on the wrist. Maybe it's their stupid adorable curls, their buck teeth, puppy eyes or beard stubble. Maybe it's the way they fell on their ass or the way they tripped over their own laces. Whatever it is, one thing is evident: You Are Buttfucked. All your defenses fall down like crumbled Marie biscuit crumbs. You want to sing corny, crappy love songs, you want to be all cutesy and possesive. 

And then comes the second snag: You Are Butffucked AGAIN. Why? Because the intial source of Buttfucking, you know the one that made you listen to love songs? It goes away. That person moves away and your are Buttfucked beyond your wildest imaginations.  And really, it's not pleasant. Hardly. 

So now, you feel naked and vulnerable. You let down your guard for this person. Or, in all honesty, that person wormed their way through your best defenses and rendered said defenses utterly useless, incapacitating them. You are left feeling vulnerable and exposed, like going commando on a cold day. 

Then you realise you are alone. You have no one but yourself to help you to dust off and pick yourself up. All the silly clichés kick. "Time will heal all wounds" or "It's better to have loved and lost". I mean, what the hell? Some smartarse comes along and quotes the Greatest Quotes They Think Helps You When You Are Heartbroken. You then feeling like throwing something heavy at the head of the idiot who tries to comfort you but instead you smile and say nothing while your insides seethe away in raw anger and annoyance.

You.are.alone. 

You have no one but yourself to hate, blame and hurt so you numb yourself emotionally and forget everything, distracting yourself with work and stressing yourself out on a daily basis just to avoid spending time alone with your own goddamned thoughts. 

Fuck that. Fuck all of it. Go tell your parents, sibling[s] or best friend that you love them. The above three parties are the least likely to dump you, butffuck your mind and break your heart. Out of the three parties, your parents would never really do any of the above highly offensive things. So seriously, kiss your mum goodnight and tell her she's fly. Because in all honesty, she really is. 

One last thing before I end this: Always keep in mind that when someone sweeps you off your feet... they are in a perfect position to dump you on your ass. :)

Death, and The Man

The deep cerulean shadows of the night

Fades over yonder in the line of sight

A stranded tree, blackened with dead

A dead pale moon hangs in the sky overhead

A lonely figure,with his rust locked gait

Lonesome not for the syndicate

Of death and despair, it shrouds The Man

Blood and lust, of evil planned

Intoxication it steals his brain, oh slow

The ghostly night with the waves at shore

Crashing and breaking like a child's dream

O'er the horizon, a stone cold scream

Lightning branches on the  blackened tree

Death greets The Man to set him free

And Death and The Man find a common loath

And walk together, travelling forth

A/N: Thank you Amrish. :) 

The Lady and The Reaper

Beautiful stranger, black in the night

Wavering from my line of sight

Blackened branches under pale moonlight

Casting shadows; delight delight

Weaving through the pale blue mist

Thy grace and majesty a wonderful twist

Walk behind thee, I could not resist

Thy hand in my hair; sweet lips kissed.

Casting thy spell, thou lure me slow

Basking in thy red afterglow

The noise in the branches shout, bellow

Weeping stories, Weeping Willow

Amongst the tree, the shrub and creeper

I saw that thou art a soul keeper

Yet my vain love grew deeper and deeper

I fell in love with the feared Grim Reaper

Beautiful stranger, black in the night

Wavering from my line of sight

Blackened branches under pale moonlight

Death is but of relieved delight.

A Craving For Love

Love comes is all shapes and size sand in so many various forms right?

But.. Tell me why the love we have is not the love we pay heed to?

Why do we have a hell-bent need for a different type of love?

We crave for the love that is like wildfire

With the bright, red flames that consumes us whole

And before we know, we lose ourselves

And in most cases we can't find our way back

We lose ourselves. So.. Why do we crave it?

Is it because that a love like fire is rare and doesn't happen often?

Or is it because we're hormone junkies? Riding on guilt trips and sorrow?

When a lover breaks our hearts we claim to have "lost the ability to love"

We claim to be "unloved by anyone".

Screw that. Open your eyes. See how many friends have pulled you to safety

Remember all the times your mother held you to her

If you have a younger sibling, you'll see in their eyes how they look up to in complete adoration and love

Think about the nights you were drunk and happy in the company of people you'd take a bullet for

So screw all the "I am unloved by anyone" stuff.

Crave the love you have. Not the love you don't. A love like a fire is still a fire. It will burn out someday.

But a love like magic, like the one you seen in the smallest things around you...

... it remains intact and unbroken, because the universe is built on magic. And the universe never ends.

Crave the love you have.

It's all around.

You just have to know where to look.

The Boy

He sings to me; that boy that man

He sits outside my window pane

Every night without fault I see him smiling

Sitting through the dreary rain

He sings his songs, so soft so beautiful

Heart breaking, a soft lullaby

His voice it tilts me over soft yonder

When the moon smiles in the sky

His long lean body shakes in the cold

And it calls out for my embrace

I see him through my window glass

Through curtains and trails of lace

Caged I am within these walls 

For I cannot speak out to that boy

His eyes smile like the Evening Star

It brims with unbridled joy

I long to hold him for I am falling in love

But I cannot bring down these walls

So I sit and listen as he sings to me

As his voice to my soul it calls

The need for me to sooth his hurt

Grows to drive me insane

But I cannot go so I sit and watch

The boy outside my window pane. 

Amazing

The world is a bucket of technicolour paint

You are the blues, the colours of depth, and I am the yellows bright

We paint the world wherever we go

We're painters, skillful painters.

The ink that flows in the pen never ends

Because imagination has no end, it knows no limits nor bounds

We write what we see, than of what we know

We're chroniclers, travelling chroniclers. 

Maybe it be the sea and the crashing waves

Like how the water pounds on the rocks in a mystic mantra forever

Something about it is amazing

Just like we're amazing, amazing. 

Be it colour, be it black and white

There is something about the two of us, we are amazing, we are amazing

We shed light wherever we go

We are amazing, so amazing. 

The Bear

There was a bear that I once saw

Who loved green tea and ate eggs raw

He was really a cuddly bear

In his mouth was a golden pear

But he had a thorn on his paw

So he carried his hand in a neat mansling

He had cool shades with amazing bling

In his other hand was a mug

From which he did always chug

He would sing, oh he did sing!

He walks with the mug held tight in hand

His hair was bleached to the colour of sand

He his little chug mug was green

He enjoyed Lebanese cuisine

He liked his bear-girls sun tanned

On days if you were to pass his cave

And if in the air you feel a shockwave

Do not worry, he's just having fun

It's his party music, it's not a gun

He loves to smoke weed and rave

So if you happen to walk by past

The home of the bear with the hand in the cast

Stop and ask for the little green mug

He'll let you have hearty chug

Of honey-laced strawberry blast

A/N: This one is for Oshi, Naveen, Anaz, Najitha, Gava, Chanuk, Chathu, Thanuri, Ramith, Olly and Gyles; the jokers who put the "fun" back in funeral ;) <3

Heaven Can Wait

You throw pebbles at my window in the middle of the night.

I squint out to the darkness and flick on my light

With the skill of a monkey you scale the apple tree

'Cause I know you're there to set me free

The sky is vast, does it mean we're lost?

If ice is pounded, do we call it frost?

You like the bed hair, the frumpled clothes; I smile

Before I sleep again, it will be a while

We sneak out in the dark and into your car

You whisper to me "Baby it isn't far"

I see that the knots on the rope have come undone

Tonight let's misbehave because we know that it is fun.

We sit on the hood of your car and it's dawn

I giggle and wink when you stifle your yawn

I stand up and when I start to sing our song

The sun comes up and it's hot and strong

What will be if we lie face down on the sand?

What the hell now, we've already been eternally damned!

Our mothers find out that we snuck out at night

They shock us as they smile at us without any fight

Then you grab me tightly and hold me by the waist

And say "Baby, you know, heaven can wait"

As we kiss we know that we're going to be late

We don't give a damn 'cause heaven can wait. 

Suck Your Lollipops Slow

"Love hurts, but sometimes it's a good hurt,

and it feels like I'm alive"

- Incubus

We all know love hurts. It hurts like a bitch. It hurts before you fall in love, while you're falling in love, when you are in love and even after you have fallen out of love. It chases you, like a cheetah chasing a gazelle, rushing at you like a sperm after an elusive ovum. Does it make you feel like you're alive then? I suppose in a way, it does. See, after you've fallen out of love, you go through that period when you feel nothing but hurt right? I suppose in that context, the hurt of love makes you feel alive because you can actually feel the hurt while you can't feel any other emotions. It's like the only active emotion in a ring of dead emotions in your heart, and feeling that one emotion makes you go on with life. 

"Shot through the heart, and you're to blame.

darlin' you give love a bad name"

- Bon Jovi

We all know this. It starts with a glance, maybe a word, a casual conversation or even commenting on someone's status on Facebook. Time passes on and things move and you claim to have you heart stolen by that special someone and that Cupid's arrow went through the heart and all those nonsense allegories for love that modern culture have made up. Well if someone has the potential to steal your heart, look after if a little better. A heart stolen too many won't one day be worth a penny. Yeah, I just made that up. And you can't always blame the other person. You consented to a relationship, you consented to having him or her whisper sweet nothings in your ear. They sure as hell didn't force it on you. You can't blame them fully. One needs to take the blame half-way if you end up breaking up with someone. 

"When you're dreaming with a broken heart,

waking up is the hardest part" 

- John Mayer

I couldn't agree more. Because when you're dreaming, you don't have to think. The worse that could happen is that you'll have a nightmare about falling into a lake full of hungry mouthed crocodiles. You don't have to force yourself to be distracted so as to avoid all conscious thought. When you're asleep, you're asleep, and that's that. 

"It's almost always never you,

never you"

- Lissie

You wait for the calls, the text messages. Maybe, she had some work. Maybe, he must be out of the house tonight. You stare at the screen of your mobile so often every minute, it's like you have a twitch. Everytime the damn phone rings, you jump at it like a starved lion on an innocent deer. You're riding a wavelength of which the peaks are made of hope and the troughs are made of disappointment. Up and down on it, you go, convincing yourself that it's going to be okay. Guess what? Until you stop doing what you're doing, it'll never be okay. 

"Time was all we had,

until the day we said goodbye"

- Richard Marx

Somewhere during the "I'm So Over that Jerk" and "She was a Bitch Anyway, I've Moved On" stages of a post-relationship life, you have the moments of bittersweets. Moments of confusion and regret. "Did I do the right thing, letting him/her go?" you ask yourself. To be honest, there really is no point in regretting something that you thought over and made a decision about. It's during this period that your skies are the colour of a TV on static. The exact shades of gray. Never blue, pink nor red. Never. It seems to you like that things would never change. 

"It's a long way down,

when all the knots we've tied have come undone"

- Gin Blossoms

You have moved on, and now your interest is elsewhere. Some else is in your eyes and yet this time, you're more  relaxed. As terrible as it sounds, you're taking things less seriously and to your surprise, you find this other person is the same. You get on like the egg and the oil in mayonnaise. Impossible to mix at first, but with a little whirring of the egg in the correct ways coupled with the right doses of oil.. et voíla! We have the yummiest mayonnaise. You find your grip on reality to be strong and steadfast while you lose yourself with this new person. Maybe because you learned something from your past experience. The growth of feelings now, is slower and more cautious. And yet, it's still cherished. There are loose ends, walls shattering and bonds breaking, but at a slower pace. A more relaxed pace.

"I came to dance dance dance dance.."

- Taio Cruz

Dance. Do it. Life is worthwhile, and despite the crappy quality of love, there are moments worth living for. Recognise these moments. It could be moments with your friends, a day you spent bowling. It could be a a beautiful blue sky on a sunny morning or it could be how you felt when you watched the November rain fall down and how it felt when it washed your face. It could be making parippu curry with your mum for lunch or even having your dog giving you whiskery kisses when you pet him. Life is worth those little things. God, or The Force, or whatever you call it, he's playing music for you. He's DJing so you better get your rear end on the floor and groove under the million sparkles of the disco lights. Dance your way through the days, even during the lowest of times. 

"Sucking too hard on your lollipop,

and love's gonna get you down"

- Mika

Love slowly. Live with your chin up and your boobs out. 

Suck your lollipops slow.

There is no rush.

No rush at all.