Look at the moon,I'm dead

Said my friend,so burnt out from the consumption of a neon culture we didn’t necessarily create for ourselves,but perpetuate,nonetheless.The moon looked huge from where we sat.We sat on some rocks,with a vantage view of the rows of shingle roofed houses we’ve lived among for a few years now.All of them aligned,identical,except for the different number plates behind the white picket fences guarding the well  manicured gardens.Paths for people to take evening walks on,but ones not meant for dogs to “dirty”.Are any of us human beings or just parts of a well oiled machine? Stepford wives and Complan children.

We munch on green apples dipped in peanut butter,sip on Caprisun,snack we think we’re consuming.In earnest,it’s the market consuming us.

It is a dog eat dog world,they say.

I dream of forests and wake up wondering why I only visit shopping malls instead of these seas of green I see only in a state of semi-consciousness.

Shadow Of An Almost

Faiz wrote,
and I echo,
When the scars that missing you has left behind, begin to heal,
I begin to find reasons to miss you again.
I let you go,
because that's what loving means,right?
Every word of small talk
I say to you ,silently screams,
of wanting something I never had,
but dreamt of every night when I fell sleep,
every time you said goodnight to me.
I keep waiting for you to say goodnight
again.
What hurts,
is not that you've found somebody else.
What hurts is that you took half
of my hope away with you,too.
I used to tell you,
of how I've always wanted to know
what being loved without asking
for it,feels like,
but you forgot,
forgot to see the pain I'd let you into
the realities of my most horrific dreams.

Colour schemes

My sister always told me

She disliked photographs

In black and white,

colour looks better,she said.

I arrive home at midnight,

From the flight,I watched the city

Scattered like purple pixie dust,

Mocking the stars,mirroring them.

Woke father up,he looked haggard

In his royal blue kurta,

creased with fatigue,worry lines.

He enveloped me,sealed a kiss on my forehead.

I’ve been trying to find home

In the off white drapes

And aquamarine couches in the old age home,

Pastel has always seemed inviting to me.

I search for home,cling to the idea of it

In the soft silver hair of Nanna,

In the moist banana loaf she cuts up carefully

For us, the mellow lamp lit beside her.

I speak in fragments,it’s all there’s left

Of home,some term this post modern,

I call it mere poetry,when we watch yellow 

leaves fall for the summer,nature’s confetti.

 We laugh,as we savour our bubblegum jelly

Ice lollies,losing colour to our tongues,

turning blue.Colour looks better,she said,

I look for hope in colour schemes.