Someone I Met While Walking

 

 

Someone I Met While Walking
(Chalte chalte, yuhin koi mil gaya tha) – Kaifi Azmi
“Walking along aimlessly, I
Met a stranger, while on my journey
Walking along aimlessly
And my night stopped, where I met him
My night stopped in a heart beat, where I
Met a stranger, while on my journey

The things I could not say were
Shouted at us, by all of society
Shouted at us, by who could see
My story had become a fable
My story had become a fantasy
Just walking along aimlessly

But the eve draws to a close
It will end, I know it will
The length of time it spans
Is slowly becoming still
-These lamps are burning, are extinguished
Those lamps are burning, are extinguished
All the lights are going out, do you see?
They are burning in step with me
Walking along aimlessly

I met a stranger, while on my journey
Walking along aimlessly
Walking along aimlessly”

 

 

Day 30! Last day of NaPoWriMo, and I thought to close it this year with a Bollywood themed bang. The prompt today was to translate a poem to English. I picked a poem by the Indian Urdu poet, lyricist, and philosopher Kaifi Azmi. This particular poem is a song in a well known Bollywood movie as well (from 1972, but hey, classics are classics).

So the story is this- A young girl sold into prostitution meets a stranger on a train. The stranger does not know that she is a prostitute, and the encounter changes her life forever.

If you like the song, check out a dubbed or subtitled version of the movie as well. It’s full of subtle and nuanced performances. After all, you never know, you could meet a stranger who changes your life forever too. :p

 

 

NA! PO! WRI! MO! – OUT! ūüėÄ

 

 

 

 

Invisible

Invisible

 

What about the paths that tears take?
What about the furrows blood makes?
What about the roads lazy fingers take down spines
What of the goosebumps that soft whispers raised?

And the spaces between fingers, that were filled?
Glances that caressed, lips that swilled?
Quakes of pure adrenaline, and aftershocks
That undiminished, each encounter instilled?

No, you can still feel invisible stains
Some things seep deeper than cloth and flesh
And marks fade, but impressions remain
That with a perfunctory glance, refreshed
Some lessons are learnt with naught gained
Some pills you swallow to no relief
Sometimes you smile, and laugh, and work,
And you grieve, and you grieve, and you grieve

Some hurt, some bruises go all the way in
Not all scars show on skin

 

 

©CM
29.04.2016

 

 

Almost at the end of NaPoWriMo, one day to go.

Chin up, and Cheerio chin chin!

 

His Kitchen Window

 

IMG_1032

 

 

His Kitchen Window

 

 

 

His kitchen window always held the strangest appeal
Probably a bit because it was the only place
In his house where we could smoke
And not worry about
his aunt smelling us, it went right out
The view of the alley and the squashed vegetables
Where that crazy girl would screech back at that
Other girl with Down’s
It was the oddest, loudest, quiet place I’ve been
The boys would be in the bedroom, debating
Pros and cons of gaming strategy
Often, we’d skip class and head straight there, just to be free
Of any authority for a little while
And that kitchen window made a good perch
We’d look into the trash can and know exactly
How many beers he was running on, or
If he was running low
There was beer practically in arm’s reach anyway, you
Could see the shop from the window
It was a bubble of stasis, we’d come by even
If he’d gone out
Make ramen in the kitchen, make out
Fall in love over and over again
Discuss Liverpool’s abysmal performance,
Have existential crises
And then he moved away, our idiotic best friend
I swung by the place today, it
Was already leased
It’s funny though, how sunlight and
Smoke and love in a kitchen window
Can leave you with such
Oddly specific memories…

©CM
27.04.2016

Day 27 of Napowrimo. Just.. Missing a friend and better times today.

Cheers, you guys. ūüôā¬†

To Kill A Man

To Kill A Man

Too many ways to kill a man
Not enough ways to save him
Too much pain brought on by his own hand
How could the prognosis be anything, but grim?
Be accused of prejudice, fat shaming,
When you advise a patient to lose some weight
A society that works for weekend alcohol
Is not easily convinced to moderate
Point to sky high cholesterol on charts
And you’re looked at with sullen or unconvinced eyes
Threats of liver cirrhosis fall flat
Unlike liver enzymes, which soon upwards rise
That jaundice isn’t merely you feeling yellow, my dear
– At this stage, it could be carcinoma in disguise

But red wine’s good for you! the specialists say
And it is, so is beer Рbut a little a day
Your liquid weight in vodka might help your depression
But it’s not going to keep the doctors too far away
And what of a nice steak? Mash taters, rashers, et al?
They protest – it’s just protein, GoogleDoc said it’s okay!
-In small portions, and lean is still better protein
Not, though, if you’re going to chase it with a souffle

And don’t even get me started on these diet fads
Ketotic, acidotic, kidneys almost failing
Still pushing away no-carb or no-fat, insistent
All the while, pulse irregular, or vitals flailing
The problem’s that there is no cure for ignorance
Fragments of info will give you fractured health
Would you take your sick cat to a plumber?
No, right? – then why do we invite this stealth
This truculence, resistance. We know it’s online
And please do read up on your illness, that’s fine
But don’t self medicate a horse for a zebra
You can’t fix erectile dysfunction with Clozapine
You can’t be obese and think that you’re still fit
‘Fit’ means ‘in fitness’ – there are dimensions to it
And yes, we have sleep meds we will not prescribe
Till we know that you’re clean, that you’ve really quit

It’s not a petty thrill – we have a moral code
It’s not that we’ll throw pills at you by the boat load
That’ll fix all your problems- no, we are looking out
For what’s best for you, it’s part of our oath
There’s too many ways to kill a man, and
Not nearly enough to save him
But with a little luck, and a little cooperation
The prognosis doesn’t really have to be grim

 

©CM
17.04.2016

 
Day 17. Maybe I cheated a little on this one, because I write from the medical dictionary pretty often (Broken Heart Syndrome, anyone?). This prompt was still fun to write, though. And made for a terrific break from studying.

And now *grand flourish* coffee time. Hope y’all are having an amazing day!

Cheers,
Cookie

Blitzkrieg

storm sky

 

Who do I hold responsible, for this summer’s sky’s rage
A fortress of clouds, imprisoned storms in a cage, of
Trapped vortices of fury, pinpoint pillars of shame
Teetering columns sway, against lights aglo, inflamed
By the whims of the sun, dropping groundwards in repose
The clockwork mechanisms undone by this sudden, grandiose
Bellicose display of temper, the winds mutinous, belligerent
Contentiously buffeting the trees, threatening, wild, truculent
While the thunderclouds swell ominously, pushing to burst in their bondage
Who do I hold responsible, then, for this summer’s sky’s rage?

Blitzkrieg

©CM
15.04.2016

Written for the Doubles prompt, Day 15 of NaPoWriMo. 
Here’s to riding out the storm. Cheers. ūüôā

Lotsa wuvs,
Cookie

Bedside Manner

  
Bedside Manner 

It’s a bit odd, is it not, 

Trying this clinical approach to thought 

Instead of guided by feel

Analyze where we stand, like

Like

Watching the oceans congeal 
The valleys fester, 

Mountains erupt and forests desiccate 

Like the whole world is being slowly, decidedly

Drowned in hate

Like bodies pile up, discarded refuse of a 

Lifetime of bad decisions, like a 

Series of broken hearts, inspissate, and 

Torn winged crows mourn from black crags 

Hidden out of reach of hand and teeth 

Burnt ground and ashen sky, and testament 

To my approach to you

Goddamned clinically 

Calculatingly 

Methodically 

-You see?

Nothing wrong at all 
I can give you the five year plan you want 

In these splashes of blood on the wall 

©CM

13.04.2016

Day Thirteen of NaPoWriMo. Not a prompt, but I’m not sure what else, either, lol. 
Horses, not zebras, Gang. 
~Cookie 

Born of Great Expectations

  

Born of Great Expectations

(384)- winding sheet- dripping on the sides of the candle, resembling a shroud 

(379)- “Fill, fill”-“fill, my friend, the flowing bowl”

(191)- a woman and a sister- am I not a man and brother?

(269)- she summed up, ‘all the finches of the Grove’
(281)- ‘once more the mists were rising’- reveal, truth 

(184)- the sweetest woman I had ever seen- a dignity 

(38)- overgrown mangle, (48)- walk in the same.. Life 

(26)- prodigal (22)- monumental 

(197)- would melt anything (320) of her fury
(67)- flighty, crazy (431)- remarkable 

(442)- I will not stir from your side, as when 

I am suffered to be near 

(443)- querulous, (442) trembled, her hand in mine

479- shadow, the shadow of no parting from her 

©CM

12.04.2016

Day Twelve- and how time sprints. Today’s prompt asked to write a poem derived from the index pages of a book. I spent a good few minutes wondering what the heck to write of gynecology or Lenin and Stalin, then dug up an old book from school. I didn’t have Great Expectations for this one, but well, now I do. ūüėú

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