Pieces of me

A bohemia of unabashed colour, on walls, on clothes

The decadence of exotic silk, eastern, striking, brash.

The hoping-to-stop-time red shoes, forbidden red

The height of the heel, the inappropriateness of it.

Countless trysts with discipline, will power and Nike

Cut short by sloth, despair, distraction.

Love for a city, for independence, for growing up,

A big bad city for making money, for living, for loving.

A million words, good, tolerable, plain bad

Can't-stay-away-from words, not-enough-time-for words.

Kitchen creations, wholesome, soothing, happy-tiring,

Pleasurable from some deep primal inside.

The living in hope, building word castles in the air

The fear, dismissal, dissatisfaction all a part of it.

Tradition and its visible cloak

The flowers and the gold, the rituals and the roots.

All a life unaccounted, formless, everyday ordinary

Floating by in some mysterious significance, I hope.


Anonymous said…
this stuff is pretty cool - you shd do more of it!
becoming a bit typecast though - this yearning for a life less ordinary:)
but good!
UL said…
yes, you should( do more as anon points out) - to you it seems everyday ordinary, i see it as pretty exotic and daring - imagine the world i live in, i wonder what you would call it, probably boring :)
small talk said…
Thank you people. And UL, I guess everyday ordinary is what most people's lives are... and the grass is always greener on the other side, isn't it? :)

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