What is happening to us, he asked. What is? She paused. We don’t get lost any more when we go out. No, we consult. We save time, she quipped. Yes, we save time. We shred romance by looking at GPS. Ah, stop being so old-world. She was ready for a spoil. Not old-world. Just naive….
And in another city, When the lights have faded Where the stars look jaded. The couples hold hands Their wrinkled skins Clenched in unison, Together we sink. And in another city, Where the sun doesn’t keep its date The rain has a mind of its own Cupid ne’er strikes on its own. Lovers don’t fight…
Sunday The telephone rang. She hopped and skipped and jumped towards it. There was no mobile connectivity here. “What is your favourite colour?” “What if I hadn’t picked up the phone?” “I would have hung up.” “Smart.” “What is your favourite colour?” “Red. Blue. Sometimes white.” “Three. Uff.” “Why do you ask?” “Just.” “Colour therapy…
It was Sylvia Plath’s birthday on Monday. Her poems haunt me – time and again – they have healed and hurt me, at different times. Memories. Broken glass. Numb heart. Unspoken words. And this is a beautiful song version of the “Mad Girl’s Love Song” by Carol Anne McGowan. Goosebumps.
The rains have gone Making way for the sun That ball of orange is glad to be back Where it belongs. The first rays traipse in, almost Their homecoming is silent. Then she looks up once Then she looks up twice. Then she looks askance. And now there is a smile in her glance. Marigold…
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