sigh!!!

Sing a song of sixpence,
A POCKETFUL OF RYE,
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened,
the birds began to sing.
Oh, wasn't that a dainty dish
To set before a king?
The king was in his counting-house
Counting out his {money;}
The queen was in the parlour
Eating bread and honey.
The maid was in the garden
hanging out the clothes,
When down came a blackbird
And pecked off her nose.

Of late I have been reading only Agatha Christie s and I guess its not a good enough thing to say when I (an M.A graduate) am asked “so what are you reading nowadays”, I feel I cant possibly say ‘five little pigs’ and get away with anything. But I love toh! I have finished all the Christie s at Walden and now don’t know what to do, where to go and buy?

Of course have read all Miss Marple s and it’s not fair that they are so few. My mom and I devour the books like ….. I would mayonnaise… heh heh. And my room is completely filled with these perfect looking books,

Where Poirot is written in raised letters, and they smell great, with awesome covers pics, and cost only 150 bucks (of course a year ago it was only 125…so quickly hoarding before it becomes 175)

I love that so many of her titles have a nursery rhyme in them. Some that I can think of right now are:

McGinty’s dead

Pocket Full Of Rye

Five little pigs

Hickory dickory dock

One two buckle my shoe

Crooked house

And then there were none (play).

Three blind mice

Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they run, see how they run,
They all ran after the farmer's wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did you ever see such a thing in your life,
As three blind mice?

The origins of the lyrics to this nursery rhyme are in English history. The 'farmer's wife' refers to Queen Mary I, otherwise known as 'Bloody Mary', the reference to 'farmer's wife' alludes to the massive farming estates which she possessed and those of her husband, Philip of Spain. The 'three blind mice' were three noblemen who were plotting against the Queen - she did not have them dismembered and blinded as inferred in the rhyme - but she did have them burnt at the stake! Agatha Christie too used nursery rhymes to wave horribly sinister plots. In ‘pocket full of rye’ the killer is after her own heart as he uses the rhyme to plan out a murder.

I wish I had not read them ever cos now I have read them all.

my lil pukki

mom and steve irwin

It’s been a month exactly since I have blogged. And it was quite therapeutic I claim. Not having to blog, not feeling the pressure to share one’s life with the ‘others’. But blogging is such a good way of being in touch that I actually feel I have no friends now that I have not blogged for ages (1 month). Ok so have made same point twice already. Going to call this post “Mom and Steve Irwin”. Steve Irwin died last week. He was 40 something. Left behind a daughter, a son, a wife, a dad. Mom and dog had pre-deceased him. Mom died in car crash, and dog had cancer in the nose. How do I know?

I know cos mom has been watching animal planet a little more than usual. Animal planet is my mom’s fave channel. My sis, my mom and I have watched animal planet many a(an?) afternoons, and cried our hearts out cos the dog, the camel or the polar bear died, or was loved and happy. My mom cannot get over the extremely untimely and tragic death of the crocodile hunter. I don’t like reptiles but remember having watched him anyway. He had named his daughter ‘bindi’ after his fave croc. How can you not cry for such a man?

Having lived a successful life as a nature conservationist, he died an apt death, trying to research for his daughter (my sister tears up at this thought).

Here’s to Steve for being passionate about animals, and finding beauty in all of them

Here’s to mom for being gentle and sensitive enough to shed tears for Steve and his dog.

calculating.

We have a short life,

with all my ailments,

I wont live beyond 66,

and already I've wasted,

2 years behind that man,

a few months behind that girl,

and may be a total of an year,

behind those men and women,

so now i have 3 and a half years left,

have lived 24 alreday.

24+3.5=27.5-66=38.5

hmmmm...

ok I was wrong.

life stretches looooooooooong.

goodbye.

rebound

let me

lie on that piece of your skin tonight,
the rest of the world seem so bright.
dark skin, dark hair.
let me lie with you tonight.

will you refuse,
if i let my mouth linger
on your breasts.
will you pull at my hair,
will you urge me on,
or will you push me away?

will you cringe?
if my ungainly broken heart
calls your name out.
will you reply.
will you shut the door.
will you.....will you..
lie with me tonight?

let me seek refuge tonight.
in your hard soft mouth,
lover be mine
once tonight
and morning we can breathe again.

let me seek refuge in your
cold warm island tonight.
shelter be mine.
once tonight.
and morning we can be friends again.

when you hurt me

fat little raindrops fall from my soul,
and collect somewhere
in the the crevices
of your skin and flesh.

and you hit me last night,
hard and surreptitious
and i watched with awe
the cold silent fist
making contact with my virgin lips.

the puddle of my sadness
creeps through the floor i sit on.
and you sit closeby.
just as wet
just as hard
and i watch with awe.

The happy girl,
Bounces up and down.
The word is a blue ball.
The world is a red balloon.
The happy girl clowns around.
The world is a stage,
And the happy happy girl is a clown.

Happy girl has scars,
Old and new.
When she fell of her little clown bike,
When someone pulled her little clown nose.
But she doesn’t seem to mind.
And she bounces up and down.
Wearing her heart on her sleeve.
Picking herself up every time.
Saying, “That dint hurt”.

of little things

of little things i speak tonight
little delays on the rained road
traffic stops unexpected.
but life goes on in the city
so what if my heart refuses to.
this poem is not going to be about little heart aches.
its about other little things i speak of.
not death of trust,
a little less.
not heartbreak
a little less.
not of great deeds
or the underhanded ones,
not of love outside a marriage.
of friendships outside love
or of me outside the limits of faithfulness.
we will not talk of one night stands
or some such
but of smaller things,
of littler things.
and wait at the roadside
next to a busy junction and
watch the world go by,
little by little.

of old buildings and me

and slowly bitterness seeps with

like salt water within the walls of an old building,

its in shambles

so am i.

and bitterness seeps in

into my soul,

and contaminates everything,

and now all sweet memories

are mixed with whats not,

and i sit with pencil in hand

trying to get some of the salt water

spill

away away away away

from me.