Quiet Resignation

Is that Quiet Resignation I see?

On the face of the forsaken old man.

But he isn't quite alone, is he?

We are all in the same wretched can.

Men stuck in jobs they hate,

Women pining over unrequited love,

Share an identical fate,

With Orphans fending for bed and dough.

Having sought love from this world,

They've learnt a bitter lesson untold.

Oh! We are so incapable of love!

Tragedy, our amiable foe!

Really, we are all loveless scum,

Death is a much-awaited horror.

The Quiet Resignation I see in them,

Stares back at me in the mirror.

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The Vial

I pulled myself out of the bed with great difficulty. My head hurt like hell. What was I thinking — drinking all that wine last night! Thankfully, there are still a couple of hours left for the wedding. Mike and I have known each other forever. If it weren’t for him, I would never pull my act together. He stood by me during the thickest of times. I remember, in detail, the evening he proposed to me. -—- “Let’s get married, Peggy!” I choked on the whiskey I was sipping. “You must be out of your mind. You’ll end up with an alcoholic.” “I don’t mind. That’s settled then. Finish your drink,” he giggled. And that’s all it took. I put up a mock protest and quickly gave in. In my heart, I was grateful that he was calling the shots. He knew me better than I ever could. -—- I left Mike a text — Up and about. Gotta rush. Pick me up at 12. In the shower, I kept thinking ahead. In just a couple of hours, I’d be Mrs. Mike Anderson! We decided that a civil union was the way to go — Just me, Mike, ...

Avva

The old woman lived in a house made from clay. I never really had the opportunity to admire the interiors of the house as I was always limited to the verandah — the Indian equivalent of porch. The verandah was where Avva — the universal title of endearment for grandmothers in South India — conducted her business. It was a simple business. Avva sold Idlis and Dosas on most mornings. I remember her doing that ever since I have been a little child. Idlis and dosas — scrumptious fermented rice preparations — that always left you craving for more. Despite being a grown man, my childhood love affair with these simple delicacies never quite passed. So that morning when I woke, I forbid my mother from entering the kitchen and, on my modest scooter, drove to Avva’s humble hotel. “Idlis for 50 rupees Avva!” I announced as I arrived, still struggling to park my heavy scooter. Avva smiled in response. She was always happy to see a customer. The transaction barely felt like business. The Idlis were...

Death That Year

Death that Year was done being distraught With dreadful personifications, the poets had wrought. The cloak and the scythe, why must it carry? When those at its mercy, trot around unwary. A sickly skeleton in its stead they parade. And reduce its fierce thud to a sneaky charade. It’s time to retaliate, to rightfully deface Those that wronged it had consequences to face. Scythe nor a mace, nor a twisted lasso, A whiff of its breath sufficed, verily it was so. Scattered like rats, each found his burrow; And left the needy and dying, drowning in sorrow. Those that marred it had now been defaced; Real ugliness from their shallow facades surfaced. And lest they credit the passing year with disgrace, Death, in its mercy, snuffed out its very trace.

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