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. 

The Ghost

The blue clothed sky, God's colander

From darker it grows to bland and blander

And through the holes star light seeps

Fading as the ink blue runs naught deep

And in the city,  a ghost. 

The grey walled urban filthy maze

Crones and cultured women in lace

Filth of the earth in the cracks of the road

Grime coated sky, leaden grey load

And through this mess, a ghost

Glowing women otherwise wrinkled

White red faces, frosting sprinkled

Chatoyant jewels, glistening hair

Chitter chatter in the city's fair

And amongst them, the ghost.

Muted colours of the flags flying high

He walks the Earth, the end is nigh

His face saddened, despair how grave

Bound in iron, forever a slave

And so he weepeth, the ghost. 

Upon this Earth forever to wander

Never beyond the hills o'er yonder

Cursed he is, and he payeth his price

Heart broken being, imperfect splice

He roams the crowd, the ghost.

The blue clothed sky, God's colander

From darker it grows to bland and blander

And in the sunlight, a shimmer of white

Barely seen, a speck so bright

Wandereth the lonely ghost. 

Shame On Me.

The laughters and the memories

Were made, sealed, protected.

But what of the laughter?

It will fade in to nothingness

Forever in the voice of the wind.

And what of the memories?

They will be nothing but 

Whispers of times that passed 

Frolicking in the sun

Holding hands down the busy street

Making love in the afternoon

The endless warm balmy nights

I have no regrets

Oh no I don't.

But shame on me

For holding you so lovingly.

And shame on me for kissing you

With my eyes shut so tight. 

Single and Sold

You might be a girl reading this, or you might be a boy..

So I shall write this story in both perspectives.

You wake up, the sunlight hits your eye, it's annoying. 

You blink, you check the phone.

You have some GPRS charges messages from Dialog, some Tweet mention messages,

some Facebook wallpost messages.You want to sleep.

He/she calls you. You talk about useless things for fifteen minutes. 

Call ends.

You smile, widely awake. Okay, let's start this day!

You walk around, on the road, with your friends. You are talking, texting, watching the road,

doing the uber-multitasking that youngsters are so inept at these days. 

You have your phone in your hand, you dressed in the usual college life garb;

the jeans, the causal t-shirt, the sneakers and your bag is slung over your shoulders.

There is a boy flirting with you. He notices how your hair shines in the sun, he loves the way you talk.

There is a girl faltering under your gaze. She loves the deep gravelly tone of your voice,

she likes the fact that you can play the guitar. 

Phone beeps.

A message from him, a message from her.

All thoughts of that other person who likes you...

... ah well, they lie flat, like a fallen leaf down a lonely road. 

You are having a bad day. You are frustrated, anger is creeping up on you,

work is piling up, homework is nowhere close to being finished.

You want him to call. You want her to text. 

You stare at the phone.

You are bored, you are not absorbing anything on the white board.

You are far far away from the lecture room as you can be.

Lectures finish. Your day is no better.

You send a random text. 

You come home. You are on Facebook when person from your class comes up on chat.

A boy, a good looking one, flirts with you. A really pretty girl finds you interesting.

You reply like a dead duck.

All the while, staring at your phone, willing it to ring with that name on it. 

Day is winding, you slip into bed. 2200 hours. 

Phone rings, you smile.

You talk on and on for an hour or so, ending the day talking to this person.

This person, who is not yours to have.

This person who makes you feel good,

makes you smile

This person who should clearly sort out their stupid issues

and say "Screw that "

and just be with you. 

Because you and that person, are perfect.

The two of you are so dysfunctional that the ridges fit just right. 

Two broken halves of the same cookie.

You end the call, you end the day.

You stare at the wooden slats of your ceiling,

and think of that boy who flirts with you.

You think of the pretty girl who likes you.

They'd be very happy if you gave them a chance.

Another face comes to your mind.

His spectacled face and toothy smile.

Her soft curly hair and twinkling eyes.

You sigh, knowing that this is how it will be

..for a long time to come. 

Because you are single..

.. and yet your heart is sold. 

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.

To Be Fat, To Be Proud

I hear the line.. "You aren't fat, you're just chubby". You know, in all honesty, I am sick and tired of hearing bullshit like that. I am fat, I know this and I don't want to change. It's harder than you think, living in my body. Certain events that occurred today led me to write these thoughts down and inculcate what I have been feeling into one note. 

Look, telling a fat person they are chubby won't make them feel better. Especially a girl. And you know what? We still live in such a superficial, negative society where size is hated upon. Either you are too skinny or too fat. No one really actually makes a fuss about being skinny. It's harder being large and being a girl. You see, if you are a guy and you are on the heavy side, you can still date a skinny girl. But this frame of mind does not apply to a girl. You are large and you're a girl, you'd probably feel conscious about having a crush on a skinny guy, let alone dating him. And believe me, I am talking from experience here.

I know I am talented and I know I am smart. I know I have a personality encapsulating many of the best traits, but that only goes so far in a world where appearance is everything. Sure, you get the one or two who say "Looks aren't everything" but no one really means it. Get real. Physical attraction is essential and who the HELL would be attracted to someone who's thigh is bigger than a normal person's legs put together?

You get these skinny girls screaming about how they are fat. To them I have to say.. Shut the f*ck up and live your f*cking life. You honestly have no fricking clue on how hard it is to live in a fat body. It's horrible having to see gorgeous girls with perfect bodies all over the place and look at yourself in the mirror and see how plain and ugly you are. Sometimes, you are afraid to like a boy because you are scared that you'll never be pretty enough or skinny enough. I have been feeling this, I have felt this and it's not something that will go away. Once in a while, you meet the nice guy who really adores you for you and it remains, but that's only so often.

I go partying with my friends. Am I asked to dance? No. Am I invited to the dancefloor? No. Not unless I invite myself. I go shopping for clothes. Everything is a size too small. The tops are too tight, the jeans too short. It's frustrating. You can't eat a fricking chocolate without being made to feel guilty. Everyone turns such a critical eye on you. It may sound plain on paper, but I am very sure that everyone of you who's reading this has made a fat joke at some point. Sure, the person might brush it off, but it really does cause a lot of heart ache and depression in a person who is insecure enough as it is. I have my strategy of hiding behind my mask. It's a strong, unbreakable, spirited mask. I call it my personality and it protects me from the negativity people send my way because of my size. But what of the people who are not as strong as I am? What of those girls who go home and cry everyday because some asshole made them feel ugly? And you know what, I shouldn't have to hide behind a mask in the first place!Stop and think. Us fat people, we have feelings too. When you behave so insensitively, we feel it. And it does hurt. More so than you think.

Finally, to the guys who read this, I have this to say: If you see a fat girl smiling at you, smile back. So what, her butt is twice the size of yours? If she likes you, love her back. She might have the capacity to make you happier than you might know. She might have an amazing personality. Share an ice cream with her and get to know her. Notice her shiny eyes and bouncy curly hair.

To the girls who read this: Stay beautiful. Just because you are fat, you shouldn't be made to feel ugly. Because you aren't. 

My Bubble. MINE.

I dwell in my little bubble.

It's a bubble of Green, cheese, chocolate and books. Of poetry, Johnny Depp and plain tea.

It is also a bubble of misery. 

It is a bubble of intense depression and hate.

Hate for the world and the humans and what they are. 

It's a bubble of varying emotions and thoughts.

It consists of a myriad of smiles, frowns

Oh yes, laughter and tears too.

I am happy in this bubble I dwell in. 

Is it because I am shunned from reality in my bubble?

Or is it because reality is in high definition

in my bubble?

High definition like a Sony Bravia screen.

Oh I don't know. Something about my bubble... it just amazes me.

My bubble is awesome and it's cool.

I advise you to get a bubble like mine.

That way, you can live in happy ignorance and care about things ONLY worth caring about

Like abortion, child labour and when you will become famous. 

And in your bubble, you are free to run naked for all you want.

Because it is YOUR bubble. You want to be a naked chimpanzee? Go for it. 

Your bubble will be your best friend.

A pretty pretty best friend. 

Get yourself a bubble and let me know.

We'll go bubble dancing together.

And while we're at it, don't burst my bubble.

I won't take it lightly.

Because when you break my bubble, you break me.

And no one breaks me.

No one. 

Pretty Little Monsters

The monsters that lie dormant in my head

Sleeping peacefully in their beasty beds

Lacklustre expressions, foul little smiles

Looking at thee, from eyes beguile

Pretty little monsters, they call to woo

Shades of jealousy, mockery and rue

Seductive monsters sing out thy name

Dance pretty monsters, seduce and maim

Colourful monsters, so beautiful, dance

Clearing thy head of expression askance

Drawing thee in with pretty wit, smart

Malvolent laughs at thy burning of heart

Pretty little monsters that lie in my head

Pretty no more, but deadly instead

Reveal themselves at the break of day

The pretty little monsters drove thee away

The Scar

I stand in front the mirror and smile

I stare at my self and wait for a while

Willing myself to change, to change

And I'm still me, it is so strange

I raise my shirt and study my skin

Soft and smooth, curving in

I look at the scar which marks my side

I study the scar that spreads wide

I go back to that horrible scar

Like a lightining bolt, my skin its marrs 

A part of me which I cannot hide

Acceptance raises the fallen pride

I look at the scar, and there it stays

A patch of skin that's dark and raised

I smile and the scar, I trace it's shape

I see no reason to find an escape

The heart in me with good pride swells

Thank you scar, you taught me well. 

A/N: Always nice to have a moment to accept one's self. ;)

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.

Hatred For You.

As much as I want to be sefless

I want to see you cry

The uglier side of me loves the pain

You'll feel when I someday die

As much as I am patient

I want you to weep at my grave

I might love you, but it poisons me

For it is not me you will save.

I want your heart to break and crack

Just like you did so to mine

I want you to suffocate in your head

Oh, the thought is so divine.

I want you to be crippled with grief

To fall on your knees and break

I want you to feel a lifetime of regret

For every oncoming day break

But I want you to stop crying and smile

Look back and compare me to the dawn

I hate my self for loving you

So just miss me when I'm gone.

Lies

Darling your lips are red, they're shining

What poison apple did you eat?

Your eyes bloodshot, red blood lining

Your skin oh, flushed with heat

Darling your lips are red, they beckon

Lingering kisses on your throat

Your lush skin speaks in want I reckon

Your mind struggles to stay afloat

Darling your lips are red, they glisten

Like the diamond on your hand

Close your eyes and take a listen

To the funeral march playing band

Darling your lips are red with your lies

They're crimson, they're scarlet, they shine

Darling I see the fear in your eyes

As the knife traces your jawline

Darling your lips are red, I'm taking your life

It's killing me to hear your cries

They say an eye for an eye, it's beautiful

Your lips are red with your lies.

Scaring Happiness

Happiness chased me,

pursued me for so long

But I ran away because it scared me.

Happiness stabbed me,

like a knife, in the back

But I screamed not because I was petrified.

Happiness pushed me,

off the edge of a cliff

I didn't open my eyes because I was brave

Happiness called to me,

like a mist creeping over

I sent it away with kisses and then I fled

Happiness held me,

in the arms of someone until I cried

Happiness kept coming, wave after wave

Until I stopped running.

And when I stopped running..

.. it stopped chasing.

So I chased happiness in hot pursuit.

But happiness ran because it was scared of me.