Friday, November 18, 2011

A Recipe for a Broken Heart

2 beating hearts, one warm, one cold
1 more cruel word
1 unspoken apology
2 weeks of waiting
10 days of bitterness
1 week of insecurity
1 day of longing
1 day of self-pity (could be substituted by complaints)
1 day of anger
1 day of recrimination (this can continue over the next two days)
1 day of indecision
1 day of hardened resolve
1 day of silence
Love and pride in equal measures

Keep the hearts side by side. Add love and pride in equal measures. (Keep adding love and pride after each stirring to keep the hearts fresh.) Add the cruel word and keep aside for 2 weeks of waiting. Keep the unspoken apology in mind. After 4 days, add the bitterness. Wait for another 3 days and add insecurity. Stir in the longing, self-pity, anger, recrimination, indecision, resolve and top it up with silence. Serve elegantly on a purple plate with the unspoken apology as a side dish.

Alternative methods:
For two broken hearts, replace the cold heart with another warm one. The rest of the method holds.
Use three hearts instead of two for more interesting results.
If you are using a single heart, replace the cruel words with distant dreams. This method does not guarantee as exquisite a broken heart as the previous methods, and there is a greater risk that the heart will heal.

Make sure the apology does not mix with the rest of the ingredients before serving. Premature addition of apologies might – though not necessarily – ruin the recipe for a broken heart.
Healing can start at any point of time from weeks to years depending on the hearts used. Guarantee expires after one month.

Note: This method works for both male and female hearts in various combinations.
Tried and tested over centuries.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Two Haikus

I –
Wing across clouds.
Red swing, green earth, whirling leaves.
You –
Song on my lips.

I –
Wind in the rain.
Dirt-flecks, dead leaves, leaking roof.
You –
Flame in my heart.

How can I smear

How can I smear
The rippling-water, soaring-bird, boy-laughter colour
Of your eyes with the dark clouds
Of my smudged eyeliner?

You smoke your cigarette, I mine.
Thus I won’t smear
Your cool-glass lips
With my sweat-sticky strawberry lip-gloss.

Matchstick lit

Matchstick lit,
That night you leaned
Your head against hers
And inhaled.

His gaze on my cheek,
I dangled my feet
Above grey water
And exhaled.

You snip at the hem
Of our patchwork house
With your brutal blade
Of honesty.

I sweep up the dust
Of darkness and deceit
And flush it down the chute
Of my silence.