Silver Mud

Silver Mud

Sleek silver smiles scream

At the end of dusty street corners;

A naked girl shields her eyes

Against the smug, yellow dust–

Impartial at first,

It seems to target her;

And settles comfortably,

Wherever it can:

Her eyes, her hair, her nails;

Her feet, her hands, her mouth,

Till she is suffused,

Till she feels no more

Than gravel around her, on her;

In her.

Dusty hands on

tear-streaked dusty cheeks

Create more of the same

The faintest blink of kohl-lined eyes:

The betrayers of beautiful silver smiles.

© Geetakshi Arora,

August 27, 2013

Lost Tides

Scared sounds bounce off
deaf years,
As dead desire rises again,
to engulf in smoke,
Long forgotten suffocating fears
Of whispered screams perhaps,
And a few trivial smothered dreams;
'Tis nothing, to anyone but a delirious sleep
A compulsive dreamer, a destitute one at that;
There is a poet who lies by a dirty river,
Singing broken songs for each drop that flows past,
Awash with the crimson of strangled love

Geetakshi Arora
August 24, 2013

Silent Progression

It was one of those nights,

Those bland, ordinary nights,

Of no fresh beginnings and no happy endings;

It was one of those absolutely mundane nights,

When a gray fog snaked through sleepy, tired streets.

Somewhere, a cat mewed,

And a dog snored nearby,

The garbage dump smelled as bad

as it had on last year’s December night.

That dawn was not far away,

Consoled a nervous, cowardly chap,

Who’d go on to become,

The best in some job he never liked.

And somewhere,

A couple lay dreaming under the stars,

Unmindful of hazy clouds;

Amidst dreamy eyes and half-whispered promises

There was a bright moon that dimly shined.

Smoke sneaked through an open window,

Into a room filled with friends and strangers alike,

All were having a great time,

Except for that recluse who was universally considered nice.

An old lady was walking back home,

Tired after a long day at work

Her eyes were weak, her knees weaker:

Both collapsed, under a twinkling streetlight

A few other such scenes,

Need not be carefully described,

It was after all an ordinary, silent night:

Silent but for a hushed, progressing sound–

Indifferent to the pulse and throb

That orchestrate ordinary life

© Geetakshi Arora

 August 6, 2013

An End

Once upon a time,

A fairy tale came undone,

as gradually as the seasons change,

as surely as life ends.

That was the beginning.

Like a rope knotted

together from strands of wispy threads

becomes frayed

at the beginning and the end,

the neat middle being stretched taut,

Only to be torn apart–

Like some clichéd couple

Beloved in separation,

Faithful in their fragile deceptions;

Or like watching an old film,

Repeated with increasing wariness,

(Deception leads to faith)

And an incomplete darkness waits.

 © Geetakshi Arora , July 21, 2013

Presence

There it is again:

Creeping along the driveway,

Through the waiting dust,

Amidst the fallen Neem leaves:

A bizarre concreteness enveloped

By dark green:

A world of miniscule effects.

A lady waits,

Shining with her new dress:

Deep purple, like a rare twilight kiss;

And there is that trusted friend,

An umbrella, broken and black

Hides in a corner;

Inconspicuous,

Ignored till the next rain–

A silent companion

To the lonely wall,

With repainted cracks:

A welcome to be remembered,

Yes, it seeps through the cracks,

Like a trusted friend,

Without invitation.

An accepted betrayal,

Goes a long way

© Geetakshi Arora

July 18, 2013

White Wind

Flying sprays of wispy white


Kiss gently the brown tanned trunk; 


Dull eyes,


An extinguishing smile


a painted sky;


Stroke upon stroke


On an empty canvas;


A single leaf,


Sometimes saves a dying life


Loveless, the misery ends, 


Taking with itself


That final smile. 


A final fall, 


On a blanket white


A whirlwind of tears


Followed by a smile


A triumphant laugh,


Of death that strikes


When a painted life, 


Torn, blows by

© Geetakshi Arora

 July 15, 2013