Bittersweet the memories are
A cup of coffee
can mean so much
and so little
A nodding acquaintance,
a lover who could not give more
a parent left behind
The joy in the deep brown always endures
You can immerse yourself in the aroma
Learning how to live
Is a coffee moment.....
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Bittersweet the memories are
The Queen walked down the path
It bristled green
The insects scrunched under her feet as she walked
She was tipsy – the gin had been a bit too much for her
She swayed a bit – the afternoon sunshine was gentle on her face
The path seemed to wind on forever
But it had been a blissful morning
Full of bright laughter and happiness radiating from all the faces
Well she knew they would not be happy forever
The gin had contributed to that slightly giddy feeling
The gate was almost upon her…
Saturday, February 20, 2010
The day had begun innocently enough. He was 15. His Dad had done the runner ages ago. His Mom didn't care a piss about him. The slapper was sitting cozy in Scotland with that wanker! And of course his bro, cuzz me, the half-brother...the dirty filthy copper, what a tosser he was!
He opened the fridge and there sat the lagers waiting for him. 3 perfect lagers - cold and the taste just the right hint of bitter. He didn't think too much about it- just grabbed them off the shelf and ran off to meet Jimmy. Jimmy was his best mate- always ready for taking the piss.
Jimmy met him near the corner store run by the currywalahs. The smell permeated the whole street. Every time, he entered the shop, he tried to nick something. They always knew he stole things but were afraid of him - the blue eyes always glittered in contempt . The brown eyes didn't have the strength to match the sneer etched permanently on the chicken pockmarked face.
Jimmy saw the lagers in his hand and knew that today would be a good day. They both ran towards their favourite hangout - the parapet near Mrs Brown's house- where they sat and stared at all the posh girls from the private schools. Taunting remarks from the parapet were always met with studied silence from the girls.
They started on the first of the cans, gulping it down with relish. 20 minutes was all it took. The cans lying abandoned on the road - not even an attempt to place them in the garbage bin near Mrs Brown's house.
They were walking down the street - happy- the lager lay warm in their stomachs- when they heard the first of the sirens wailing....
This not-so-good story was inspired by a true life story which be read here. Some of the slang which I had forgotten comes from here.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
His smoking hot whisky eyes
That was the first thing she had noticed and the quick grin of course
The rain was pouring down in sheets and she thought,
‘What a quirk of fate, I seem to meet my destiny every time it rains!’
Her car had stalled – something or the other had given up its life
She was sitting all alone – feeling the loneliness coming off in waves
She heard a quick tap
And fate she smiled her wicked grin
Irene rolled down the window pane
40 years blurred in her gaze
Looking into Iyer’s eyes
And his story well now that makes a separate rhyme….
Friday, February 05, 2010
Irene blazed her wordy guns at Iyer’s accent
Iyer disdained to reply
He looked away and sniffed at the air
Asked, ‘Where is my thair sadam?’
The smile that lit Irene’s face
Equivalent to a thousand candles it was
She stopped, looked at him and
Decided to end the battle as it were
‘That my love, you’ll have to make
For yourself’, said she.
‘I intend to have my whisky first’
In married life continues Iyer and Irene's saga
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Her footsteps echoed eerily in the vast cavern of the corridor. Her silver jumpsuit glittered- it was meant to accentuate every inch of her figure. The victim would be a willing one.
She stopped at the anointed one's door and knocked. A screen fell across her face - charming smile, blue eyes heightened by the tension. She waited. The door opened. An abyss stared back at her. Her head spun. Her reflection looked at her and asked, 'So you have come finally?' Then without a trace of irony, 'It does feel like I have been waiting for millennia.'
The Nazgoid-277 slipped from her hand in slow motion. It hit the carpeted floor with barely a thud. The bullets seemed to discharge of their own volition destroying the perfect face in the mirror. The reflection wavered for a minute or two before vanishing. Its purpose had been served.