Preeti Sali

“Seated across is a silent affair looking into my eyes; blurring the loud scenery.
An incapable dream, an unimagined union-I whisper.
Then you close your eyes and your soul yells my name.
I cradle your peace back-with a sigh and kiss your thought away.

Because we are an incomplete pair of Romeo and Juliet left alive by the Montagues and the Capulets; killed by the distance of the sun and the moon.”
― Ranjani Ramachandran

“Everyday, in the afternoon,
When the sun and the clouds are in equipoise,
I look up, with shrunken eyes and shadowed forehead,
To see whether you hide in them,
If those shapes could make some sense,
And I find you walking your dog, laughing aloud,
Driving your car and Dancing in the bar,
Working very hard and playing retard,
Hurting my eyes, head and heart;
I look upon the ground,
Tossing a stone as cold as your soul,
Realisation is a fantasy,
Omnipresence is not your genre, but Obsession is mine.”
― Ranjani Ramachandran

“I am a Dancer; rehearsing the steps of our unheard song with utmost perfection.
Never will you tap your feet consciously.

I am a Singer; singing the tune of the song I always wanted you to hear.
Never will the melody bring back our memories to you.

I am an Orator; emphasizing and emoting what I feel for you.
Never will you hear your name throughout.

I am a Writer; penning all the unsaid intentions with sincerity.
Never will you see your name at the top.

Because at the end of it all I am Actor;
Nevertheless you taught me how well to pretend!”
― Ranjani Ramachandran

“Heart; I named my lass sweetly;
She danced to the mundane tunes of daftness;
By nature she was midsummer madness;
Or rather a reckless, careless, devil-may-care colleen.

I pampered all her hefty desires;
Brain; my friend said treat her with caution;
For she is a child; doesn’t ruminate her action;
You are mother, with deep devotion.

And one fine day came the tempest darling;
She named him love, besotted and infatuated;
Enchanted by his charms, smelled the roses;
Failed to see the thorns that pricked.

And drip-drip-drip, the blood it dripped;
When her beloved tossed and crushed her core;
She knew not how to stand up straight;
I opened my eyes and the driblets fell.

Don’t nurse her; said my friend; my brain;
For she is a demented lass not worth the pain;
She will go away when her wounds are dried;
To her unmoved brutal hero, Love.

A mother cannot be unmoved, I cried;
For all this time, I held her high;
I knocked at your door, you flinty villain;
Not to hear, all that you said.

Call me a demon or a dragon;
For all I will say is don’t nurse the brat;
Let her bleed and cry for some more time;
She will get up; for she is your child.

All he said was unerred truth;
She bled and nursed her own wounds;
She drove me to her hero’s place; And said,

“This is where my poem stays.”
― Ranjani Ramachandran