The Romantic Mr. Remarkable


— Dedicated to a friend

(Inspired from the lives of a few real people)

An amorphous rain stifled the city, wetting us with pixie dust of an otherworldly romance. A few cars slid past in the wake of an earlier torrent. The streets were mottled with the vestiges of withdrawing umbrellas and blurred neon lights. The dying notes of Für Elise closed behind us. She smiled one last time, started to say again that it was nobody’s fault, but stopped when the departing bus caught up. Then a flash of light signaled another impending downpour and I was left alone on the kerb for a long time.

I remember sitting at Mr. Remarkable’s oblong dinner table as a child, my legs swinging like twin pendulums under the wooden tabletop. Not long after, Maa had whispered to me that I needed to stop that annoying habit, and everybody had whispered to one another that it was not okay for Mr. Remarkable to marry someone at his age.

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The Lark and The Nightingale


A grassy knoll awoke on the forest floor,
On whose soft form the sun each day would rise
And fall again with the ebbing light of day —
Quite like the dreamy games our children play
With yarns of sunny wonders. One small tree
Stood bluntly on the very crest of noon
And cast its shadows on daisies which bloom
All year round; I was there in twilit hours
Of twilit days, when all through the town, it rained.
 It rained that day like it had never rained.
The skies fell apart in thunderous blaze and spark
And I was there when Fate concealed the stars —
There, where the nightingale first met the lark;
I watched the knoll, the tree, in twilit hours.

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The Flight


I was sewing together some words one day, marvelling at how unimaginative I could be when it came to words which would describe a scene. Suddenly, someone came in with a poem and said it was not perfect, said it was not meant to be read by the world.

I looked at the words and kept looking at them till I could watch each one just the way they were meant to be seen.

So I agreed to what she said: it was not meant to be read by the world, it was meant to be SEEN. I took my pen then, and proceeded to show the world what I saw.

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In Apology


If apologies were butterflies
Fluttering into a sunny haze, lost
Under burning trees, reflected from skies
On mirroring rivulets — and thus cost
Nothing, save your lovely smile, shimmering
Over a lovely smile — mirrored again.
When, thus down on my knees I sit, wishing
That you smile on my faults — perhaps then
Am I absolved of my wrongs, forgiven
As the butterflies hide in the flames.

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Negative Space


Many a full moon fell from the murky skies
Frequently accompanied by the fleeting stars;
Here, as my vain feathers screeched on mellowing lines,
A few wayward teardrops blurred their receding marks,
And lightly, through dusty hourglasses Time ran out
Obscuring words- words that would never again count.

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Mirror


There is someone else in the mirror, doc!’

‘What’s more to understand here? I have already narrated this story, like, a million times now.’

‘I told you already. I do not remember what made me come home early that day. I guess it is one of those things you just do not recall, like what you had after dinner two nights ago; or the colour of some shirt you happen to wear on a regular day.’

‘Yes. I did meet her on the way back.’

‘Yes, sometimes I do wake up to eat. How is that relevant anyway? How is anything before the incident relevant?’

‘Damn right I realize you are fucking supposed to know me entirely to judge me, you asshole- but I have repeated this enough times already.

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