A Tear Wish

A Tear Wish

When the night is lonely

The music sweet…and of a time when we were together

I plunge..

Into the past

Reminded of

Those long telephone conversations

Where even the long silences were so so fulfilling.

When that uncontrollable laughter used to get at us.

The little barbs that we made at each other which amused us equally.

When the possessiveness for each other got funny.

A Tear forms slowly

Ever so slowly

At the corner of my eye

And rolls down my cheek.

And I pray to God

That you

Are happy

Even

If that means

That what I remember so vividly

You do no remember at all.

I Dream Of You

I Dream Of You

Oh, my dream!

I still dream of you

Of what it would have been like

To have you by my side eternally.

Not that I am unhappy in my present

But still, I do wonder

What it would have been

To have such exquisite beauty in my life

It didn’t happen

Wasn’t our destiny

We went our separate ways

And today – are as apart as two people can be

With our own separate joys, sorrows and dreams

And yet I still dream of you,

My unattainable beauty.

Sometimes in the night.

Sometimes in the day.

To Silence

writing

I am not plain, you protested.

And the words remained with me.

The songs I played, the music I heard

The voices, the notes, the verses were all you

– echo of your voice

– facets of your being

And I had this overwhelming desire

To put pen to paper

And sketch you

With words

To immortalize you

On paper

I drew the locks…the curls that you so harshly tie up at work.

I drew the smile which illuminates your face.

I drew the willowy tall frames.

But that is as far as I got

The words seeming so facetious.

I was disappointed

And wondered why I can’t play with words any longer.

And then the realizations dawned

And I smiled to myself

Because I remember

That I

Am a silent lover.

A lover of silence.

Book Review: The Round House – Louise Erdrich

The Round HouseLouise Erdrich The Round House – Louise Erdrich

Not often you read stories set on Indian reservations. The Round House is a saga of rape, exploitation and bravery – not an unfamiliar territory for native Indians on the reservations.  A disgruntled white man connected to a powerful politician carries out a killing to hide the evidence of his own misdeeds and then compounds the crime by raping an eyewitness – and both the victims are Indian women.  The story, told by the second victim’s son, is essentially an unraveling of the mystery of what actually transpired.  The plot by itself isn’t exceptional but is told well.  The setting is unique – the modern day life on Indian reservations is captured really well.  However, what stands out is the voice of the narrator.  A genuine teenaged voice, reminiscent of Salinger.  The POV is strong, stark and deeply endearing.

Recommendation: Read

A Few Moments More

Moments

You knock on my door

And tell me to follow you

It’s time, you say

Time to leave

I realize I need a few moments more

I want to see her at least once

To touch her and feel if she is real

I need to hear her laughter once more, see her smile light up the room once more.

I need to take her small hand in mine when she is sleeping…and thank God once more

I need to kiss my girl on the corner of her lips once more, to lie snug with her once more

I need to see how the tulip bulbs I planted in the fall come out this spring

And if the leaves of the trees will be prettier this fall

I need to visit countries, continents.

I need to see all this world has got to show me.

Oh, there is so much I need to do!

Can’t we wait a bit?

Come, let’s wait a bit.

A few moments more.

A few days more.

A few months more.

A few years more.

The Sound Of Raindrops On My Roof

Raindrops

The sound of raindrops on my roof reminds me of you

The sound of raindrops on my roof is not like the sound of your voice – clear and sweet

The sound of raindrops on my roof is not like the sound of your fleeting footsteps through the corridor

The sound of raindrops on my roof is not like the sound of your infectious laughter that I’ve grown so used to.

Still

The sound of raindrops on my roof reminds me of you.

 

 

Book Review: The Luminaries – Eleanor Catton

The LuminariesEleanor Catton   The Luminaries – Eleanor Catton

The Booker Award winner for 2013 – which made Catton the youngest ever writer to win a Booker. So what’s The Luminaries all about? What makes it special? At the heart of it, the novel is a mystery. However a mystery woven with such magic and spun into an entangled web so beautifully that the eight hundred plus pages just turn themselves. It is 1866 in New Zealand. Hokitika is the latest gold rush town. After a few strange happenings in the town,  twelve men gather to discuss. Each of them has a part of the puzzle. And then the story takes off, the incidents get more and more bizarre and the mystery deeper and murkier. Catton does a great job in engaging the reader, challenging her to speculate, guess, get perplexed but continue reading. The pace is good and the interest consistent. When all is revealed at the end, in a few quick chapters on actual sequence of event, and it turns out to be a fairly simple story – you realize the masterfulness of the writer in managing to engage you for so long. So what does Catton excel in – what got her the Booker. I don’t think it’s capturing the 19th century New Zealand (though she does a decent job doing that) or that the story is extraordinary. For me, it is the way she spins the yarn and  the characterizations. She digs deep into each character (and the hook has a dozen and a half of them). Each of the characters is presented in such subtle detail that he or she comes to life  – distinguished and polished. Sample this: “For Gascoigne was extraordinarily moody. The wave of compassion that had compelled him to lie on Anna’s behalf dissipated almost as soon as the whore was freed: it darkened to despair that his help might, after all, have been a vain one – misplaced, wrong, and worst of all, self serving. Selfishness was Gascoigne’s deepest fear. He loathed all signs of it in himself, quite as a competitive man loathes all traces of weakness that might keep him from his selfish goal. This was a feature of his personality of which he was extraordinarily proud, however, and about which he loved to moralize. Whenever the irrationality of all this became too evident to ignore, he would fall into a very selfish bout of irritation.” See the fine etching of the character there.  And he is not even the primary character.  The end is a little disappointing, a couple of sequences appear too convenient and not all is explained. Don’t know if the book deserved a Booker or not but it’s a compelling read. Enjoy the journey.

Recommendation: Must read.