flirting with rain...

This is something I wrote right at the beginning of my initial travails of writing poetry. Funny thing about my writing poetry is about how, the poem comes to me..the actual subject of my poem would take root in my head, triggered of by some incident or the other, and it flows. I’m not trying to make it sound like I’m a literary figure to who poetry just occurs but the truth is that once I find a beginning of a poem in my head it usually just completes itself...sure I don’t always get it right the first time, I have to try various words, even look up some and try a few permutations-combinations to get exactly what I want..and then my end product..

Well..here’s one of the first couple I wrote..I kinda shocked myself actually but what the hell...and once I showed it to others to read, they were the ones who were so so shocked. I won’t give you excuses for this even before you have a chance to read what it is...so here goes..

FLIRTING WITH RAIN

There’s the growl
The roar from his throat
A sound like thunder but
Also a moan

There’s the spark
The spark of passion,
In his eyes
That’s as bright as lightning
And then, dark as dread

Then the bites,
Small and tiny,
Hands, legs, necks, legs,
Little pecks
A million of them
Like countless mosquito bites

Blowing hot, blowing cold
Drenched in sweat and feeling froze
Slow and gradual he takes you there,
Hot and humid, he’s got you there
Wanting....

There you are, thirsting,
Quenching is slow
Like flirting with rain
First inconsequential drizzles
Then the gradual build-up
Then the pelting, then the hail
Till you’re crying, till you wail !!!


Now...like I said people...its got its shock-value....

kitchen confidential

Kitchen Confidential….that’s the book I finished reading today. Its an autobiography by Antony Bourdain. I’d never heard of the guy till before I got my hands on the book.

Thing is, a couple of years ago I wouldn’t have ever considered reading an autobiography. I mean why would someone want to read something so boring??, Would have been my wonderful yet-to-be-truly-enlightened brain’s immediate response. And I might have still gone with that response of my brain if I hadn’t discovered the pleasure of baking and now, cooking. Though baking remains my forte and love, an autobiography of a man in a line parallel to my interest made me want to read it, get through it. And best of all, I enjoyed getting through the book. Once I got through the first couple of chapters, namely the appetizers, I couldn’t wait to get to each next course. And were they all good !!!!

The guy is so straight. No sweet talking, boot-licking for him. Sure, he dissed some, he praised some. He tells you about his drug-addicted, booze infested and dope years. He tells you of his love for all things that crawl, swim, creep, walk and just live (apart from homosapiens). Of his irritancy for vegetarianism. His numerous failures. Of what happens in most restaurants. Of the amounts of food recycled. Of what your brunch is made of. Of the not-so-endearing conditions in which your food is prepared.

The best part of the whole book is that Bourdain manages to bring through his love for meat, the absolutely unhygienic atrocities committed by various cooks and chefs while at the same time not annoying or upsetting ardent food-lovers who love eating out or vegetarians. But that is my view.

Everything said, Bourdain is truly refreshing, honest, humorous and gratifying.

One more time……

and so you’re waiting , once again
one more day of empty promises
is it worth it? is it not?
a question to be suppressed
for now , you think.
‘sorry sweetie ,got held up
things took a while
and couldn’t give up
i’ll make it up to you soon, you know i will’
nd things are back to normal
all’s well and good with the world
you say ‘one more time and……’
a day later comes one more time
and a call,
a friend who saw him
at your special place,
sharing a drink,
holding hands,
with another girl
stunned, speechless ,sad ,angry ,disbelieving
emotions like a flash of lightning
revenge ,you think,
but then again,
that sad pathetic idiot
isn’t worth your quiet
two hoots, you could give
but, crying over spilt milk?
That isn’t your style!!
Life will go on, that’s the course of things
But next time……..you’ll be ready
‘coz that pill ain’t going down your throat,
a second time buddy!!!!