I died but you’re fine,
said the tainted memory
of the long lost child.
I bought a new concealer yesterday.
It came with promises of perfection
and swept my entire life’s savings away…
keeping hidden the marks of rejection.
I bought one a shade lighter than I am.
You see, I have dark circles and a tan,
years of neglect and treatments that were sham…
Scars that came before the CFC ban.
But it makes me look very fair and fake.
I can see the lonely scars peeping through
making me look like an over-iced cake…
the circles under my eyes a light blue.
I broke the new concealer stick today.
To hide scars there must be another way.
I recently asked a colleague,
What that extra compass-like thing
You see, when the purpose is unknown,
the name doesn’t really matter.
She told me that the name said it all.
The Divider, helps divide.
By measuring small distances
leaving tiny scars on immaculate papers.
For me it has been a multipurpose device.
When I was eleven,
I used it to pierce papers after an exam.
When I was fifteen,
I used it to engrave my name on a tree.
When I was seventeen,
I carried it with me while commuting
to and from college.
To hurt groping hands.
I don’t carry it anymore.
I just avoid public transport.
You see, I live in a world where
I need to be more concerned about safety…
more than I ever can be about geometry.
Hoping, falling, breaking;
Desperation, Melancholy, Love, Solace.
Knowing, rebuilding, living;
I look for Magic
Between the heavens but it
hides in the mundane.
The journey is long so is the night.
I desperately hope to reach home quick.
The aftereffects of a delayed flight
seem beautiful as the city lights blink.
That orange light from a distant building
could have been from the room of a child.
And that dim blue light from a porch shining
might have filled a lonely mind with thoughts mild.
City lights never fail to amaze me
with their nearness…attainability.
The stars never fail to disappoint me
with their shine…unattainability.
The colourful city lights fade away.
But the glimmering stars decide to stay.
poetry inspiring and
of the unextraordinary story
and its panicked end.
[Creative writing session]
Me: Now, use this text as reference and write your own ad for an imaginary island. You’ll have to plan your ad. First decide what you’re going to name your island and what its specialties are.
[Five minutes of loud murmurs and brainstorming for names]
Studious Kid: Ma’am, what would be the size of one twelfth of India?
Me: Approximately the size of two states, I guess…
Studious Kid: So, how many square kilometres would that be?
Me (smiling sarcastically): My dear, have you ever wondered why I’m an English teacher and not a Math teacher?
Studious Kid: Because you’re really really reeeeeally good at English?
Me: No…it’s because I’m really really reeeeeally bad at Math.
[A brief spell of silence]
Studious Kid: But, this has nothing to do with Math. It’s more of general knowledge…
The Usually Silent Kid: If it is general knowledge how come you don’t know the answer?
[I try not to laugh but end up doing exactly that]
Forget the scattered colours
Fearlessly break through…
-Yesterday, during lunch break-
Student: Why are you eating rice with a fork?
Me: There are no spoons.
Student: Why don’t you use your fingers then?
Me: Didn’t have time to wash my hands. Rushed here immediately after the class.
The same student hands me this:
Me: Why would anyone push a pin into a chalk?
Student: Now your hands won’t get dirty.
Being a teacher has its own perks, I guess.