To The Friend In My Mobile

You piss me off, you make me laugh
You make me cry,
You make me grin
Even if at a mobile screen
The few words typed—
It means a million things.

Finally, even when we know —
We hurt the ones we love the most.

A Last Note.

Author:This is fictional. Read on.

Calm. Contemplating the afterlife was never so easy before. But I was never so close to it either. All has been done. Everything I wished to do. Ok, maybe there are still somethings left. But it's not that important.

I'm glad I never learnt to swim. I had wanted to, but never really got the chance. Now it's come in useful.

The sea looks so vast, so great, so magnificient, so cold, yet so welcoming. Every wave that laps at my feet is urging me forward. This is the time the tide is changing. The waves are slowly getting stronger.

I'm walking forward as I'm typing this. Imagine. A lone, petite figure. Loose, slightly wet hair well past the shoulders. Illuminated in the bright glow of the full moon in the night sky and the street-lights behind me. You can see my pale pink frock swaying slightly as I slowly creep forward in this windless night.

I'm pausing. Feeling. The sand between my toes. My grey and blue slippers were abandoned somewhere near a bench under a street-light. Along with my wallet. It doesn't have any money, don't worry. Just some ID cards. My driver's license and university ID. Oh, and my library cards. I broke my ATM card before leaving it all there.

So now no one has to worry about my account being ransacked by any chance. The sand is so carressing. So soft. Moving up and down my feet as the waves come and go.

I'm waist up in sea water now. Uff. A giant spray just sent saltwater and sand into my mouth. How disturbingly...peaceful. It's funny somehow. Yet so...nice.

More sprays. Soon my mobile will be under the sea with me. But I want one of you to read this.

To feel this.

The water encasing you. The sand moving away under your feet. The velvety night sky and the big fat moon. The smell of salt in the air. The sound of a single lone car as it speeds by homeward on the road. They don't realise the beauty they are missing. Or may be they do and that's why they're heading home.

Because I'm heading home too.

I'm 20years old and all I want now is "home". Someone to call my own, someone who would claim me as theirs too. Someone who won't forget me on the wayside or leave me behind without reason. I'm so homesick.

I'm so homesick that I can barely see clearly. The sea has always been there. Kadalamma. The mother sea. Ultimately, that's where life started. The cradle of life.

I'm going back to that cradle. To my mother. To where I might finally be a part of, where I might finally and truly belong.

I'm making my final step. Farewell.

He Never Came

He never came,
Even when she called,
Even if her tone changed,
He never knew.

He never came,
Even when she asked,
Because something was wrong,
But he never knew.

He never came,
Till the end when we saw
Him sitting near her grave,
When he finally knew -

All she wanted
Was a little love,
A hug, his presence to come,
So she wouldn't have drowned

In her mind, black and deep,
In the places so out of reach,
But he never came
And he never knew

That his love could have saved her,
He never knew
That he could have been the difference,
Too late now, there is nothing to do.

Fading To The Background

How can you be so blind?
Is love to be made routine?
A morning here and an evening there,
This will not solve problems mon chère.

One is not the alarm for the morning,
One is not a child to send to bed at 8,
One refuses to acknowledge this division,
But let it be, one says.

Is love a chore? It's not
Like brushing your teeth.
Is love a habit? A development
Quite new and fading to the background.

Is your love, so real, so true,
That every small thing done in fun
Might suddenly upset you?
One is confused at your anger.

One refuses to compromise every time.
One too has an ego, even if not of your size.
One has feelings that one might not show.
One might love you, then again she might stop.

You'll never know.

The Lone Mother.

She waits for the inevitable -
The loss of his love, the interest.
The newly found bulges all around
Does nothing to hide the plump tears.

Maybe his loss will be greater,
Maybe in time, revenge might sweeten
And as of yet, the suffering child,
He, she has done no ill -

Other than be conceived
In an ill-conceived fit of passion.