Ode To Silence

We sat opposite each other;
I saw you, you saw me.
Yet we were miles apart,
Working individually.

It was our quiet refuge from
The day's chaotic bustle,
To hear nothing but our thoughts
And our papers' soft rustle.

We sat together in silence,
At war with the world around
But at peace with each other.
There was no need for sound.

Alas! That comfort is gone now;
From our refuge was I banished.
Someone spoke into our silence
And our quiet teacups vanished.

(To Rustom, With Love)

Night Mess

The night wears on, the pile builds up
Of plates and forks and plastic cups
Filled with cigarette stubs and ashes
And broken bits of burnt out matches.
Tea cups stain the table-top's white
As we sit here long into the night.

Warm greys, cool greys, markers abound,
And your mop of curls bobs up and down
As you render cars galore
Unlike any I've seen before;
Each one detailed to perfection,-
Balancing shadow with reflection.

I sit here, watching you;
You come here everyday,
So I come here daily too.
And I sit here, watching you,
As you work on, oblivious to
The fact that i'm in love with you.

(To Rustom, with love)

Live the Facebook Life

I have long forgotten
What real love feels like.
People send me love online-
Who needs it in real life?

I'v long forgotten pictures
That turned sepia with age.
Online albums are the thing-
"Click here to see next image".

I'v long forgotten fragrances
Of fresh hand-picked flowers.
I get so many of them online-
Why strain my smelling powers?

i'v long forgotten lullabies
That Papa used to sing to me.
I get iLike dedications now-
And the sound's better quality!

I'v long forgotten embraces
Shared over steaming coffe mugs.
We chat on "facebk msngr" now-
Minus the affectionate hugs.

I'v long forgotten flavours
Of champagne and wine.
"Boozemail" is so much safer-
You can't get drunk online!

Facebook life is so much better
Than violence and strife.
Come and escape reality-
Login and forget real life!

Still Life Paintings

I watch my passing life
From a shell of my own making.
I feel like a museum curator
Evaluating old paintings.
Moments in time, separately frozen,
And sealed within their frames-
Each one is an isolated fragment
Of emotions that have no names.

Canvas textured with brushstrokes
Vivid hues spread to the hems
Are these mere still life paintings
Or is there still life in them?