Harmless Rhyme

Wrestling the taps spout,

To answer gravity’s call,

A drop escapes a steel ring,

And commences free fall,

Speeding up to maximum,

It splatters on the floor,

And a clucking noise echoes,

As I am heading for the door,

Halting stride I turn around,

Scrutinize my surrounding,

The question in my mind being ,

Have I forgotten something?

Another splat convinces me,

A leaking tap's to blame,

I’ve all I need, Spectacles,

testicles, wallet, key chain,

But the drops fall in an eerie rhythm,

And silences in between bloat,

Like a slowing cascade of Chopin’s nocturne,

Keeps me hanging on every note,

Frantically I search for the,

Source of this furore,

Cause now the drops sound to me,

Like Psycho’s screeching score,

Finally tightening the threads,

I shut the plumbing percussion,

Then a vessel in the kitchen falls,

Giving me auditory concussion,

CaPoWriMo 2.05: Haiku

Faded denim guard
lets go last hanging threads
now, my skin will peel

Quarantine

Join me, wind of Freon,
To watch a tinted terrain turn,
Green from Brown,
Let's travel the world in a 14 inch screen,
Jamming papers in printing machines...

An LED flickers, a beep and I exist?
Electrons in a LAN cable clash in my conflicts,
Magnetic tapes spin my hypothesis,
As I smile in a colon and parenthesis.

Join me, in my conversations,
With a grey box having circular perforations,
And let me build a montage for you,
Alt-Tabbing through Deja Vu.

Run the mill all day long,
Until Asthalin finds us a swansong,
Tonight, we share an escape plan,
With a tubelight and a ceiling fan.

Probability

It keeps happening again,
A rock falls on a moving train,
Cigarette put out,
By a drop of rain,
Chocolate smudged on a coffee stain,

A flag, over an
Avalanche, fluttering,
A vase, after an air raid,
Glistening.

One cloud in the sky
Blotting out the sun,
One hunch breaking
128 bit encryption,

A lone palm tree spared
By the tsunami,
A baby floating from
Cuba to Miami,

One exception for a rule’s demise
Maybe, God does play dice.

Flashback

Scorched from a placid reservoir of memory,
Blown to sky by a gusty present,
Candy-flossed to clouds in distant nostalgia,
Come crashing down the drops
on my block of concrete ...

I hold my palms out in this rain
like a priest holds fire,
Collecting fragments
as the drops splatter in and out,
Images like random pages
from a torn flicker book,
Lighting up, dimming out ....

I splash my face with this water,
It adheres around my face,
Seeps within my skin,
Back into that reservoir it came from

Stationary Running

I’m running on a treadmill,
Miles eaten up by a growling belt,
Slipping off my shoes into oblivion.
I never left to reach anywhere.
A sweat-soaked T-shirt,
An LED displaying energies burnt,


I could have run laps on concrete ovals,
Reach the same place every time
…. Faster or slower than others.

I could run a marathon across this city,
Reach another place at a time
…. Faster or slower than others.


But I run the equator every day,
Reach a time on a different day,
And run the treadmill all over again
…. Faster or slower than others.

Up-Down

Dragged on a highway dividing lanes,
A traveling chalk, I,
diminish connecting dots,
Every curve, hugged and slid across,
Every tunnel, echoed with engine shots.

Every trip, tightening the light
yarn wound around street lamps,
Every change in season, a reason
the terrain makes faces at me,
I am switched between demarcated speed channels,
routed like data packets which are never lost

What can the chalk draw anymore?
Does it have any calculus?
An LHS equals to RHS?
Or will it, merely,
retrace its path along the lane divider?
Looking for spaces in its length ...
To fill in the blanks