Universal Algorithms!

“I haven’t seen such a phenomenon before…EVER…” he bawled.
They walked past the waiting bay en route to the 11th floor and stood waiting for the lift. “I mean…mood swings like an ever oscillating pendulum…which, by the way, has no fixed trajectory…or timing…or direction…absolute, complete unpredictability and you don’t know when it’s gonna all come down on you without reason…though ‘apparently’ its meant to have some method somewhere…!”
He pressed the ‘Up’ button again in anguish. “You stand waiting and waiting…” he went on, “and she shows up with her own rules…have you heard of any such thing before?...I mean in this life or the last? Ever???” he was wailing now.
She looked collectedly at his unkempt, frizzy hair, lowering her glance onto his forehead, trying to see through its calm dimensions.
“I guess I have”, she said thoughtfully, pointing her palms at the wall before them, “Elevator Mechanics!” she chuckled causing him to chuckle back! :)

Touch...

...breeze...
cheeks sticking out,
from lowered panes of the locomotive,
intense background score playing,
sucking in life,
absorbing each ounce of breath,
in each shakespearean ounce of flesh,
from you and me
and
scattering it all around like stars from cinematic magic wands
that appear
then disappear
between u and me
and me and you...

...boundary-less-ness...
engulfing all the day's fatigue,
from air that comes into air that goes
as we appear
then disappear
between earth and dream,
touch and feel...

...being...
in mere gazes
in lowered eyelids
in gleamy smiles
and simple steady levitating silence! :)

PS:
Kahin se kahin ko bhi aao bewajah chale,
Poochhe bina kisi se, hum milen,
Bandishen na rahi, koi baaki, tum ho...
Tum ho paas mere, saath mere ho
Tum yoooooon... :)

An interview...

I run on wheels,
I claimed, cheerfully,
running thoughts in my head running faster than ever

but they looked at my 10-toed feet and seemed disappointed!

Togetherness?

I touch you like I would touch water,
sitting calm on hardened sand,
and you slither away
from me in expanding ripples, one after one after one...

you engulf me
quietly, into you,
silently retreating from yourself,
and I become you, retreating
away
with you!

Whoosh!

I whisked past the starry night
a whimsical cat, I was
scurrying watchfully, eyes wide open,
all jaws and claws,
I made music outa whine,
an endless song from whistle,
my voice sprung up and sizzled,
whipping peaceful air into
a whirlpool of wobbly words that stuck to each other so firm,
they lost term,

they became vegetation -
whistling weeds -
from trance they came into trance they went

whisking me along,
silently, carefully, closed eyes, closed palms,
praying in the silence of my whistle, so long...

I swayed, I chiselled
Wide winged in winglessness, I sprung,

Weesh, Washhh, Whoosh -
I think I wish-elled!

Gravity!

It’s a small world,
I was taught.
I took that thought
and filled each crack in my muscles –
those breaks from
Tall buildings
Tall claims
Tall charges
Tall order –
so small in call,
jump off to fall

through seamless space
down from the very same lofty heights
in the same old tiny transparent world

driven by gravity!

Sound...

Trickling drops of rain,
from roofless identities
dropping like chunky fruits,
onto roofs above intense conversations,
make sound.

Wailings of four legged animals
on poor human roads
through poor inhuman actions
resonating like echoes around deep valleys,
make sound.

Smiles across faces,
when eyes reach eyes, catch, drop and swing again,
amid crowds of high pitched talk,
shaving noise from human faces,
make sound.

Lectures around
what should be
destroying
what could be,
lining onto thought like growing cracks in glass,
make sound.

Anticipation of days ahead,
juggle thoughts like Richard Feynmann's 'jiggling atoms',
whipping batters of thick concentration
before meeting the heat of the pan,
makes sound.

Death,
that makes news,
and condenses past rounds of serious music,
synopsizing a lifetime into few songs
of fame and shame,
kills sound!

PS - Resounding lines:
apne jazbaat mein naghmaat rachaane ke liye
maine dhadkan ki tarah dil mein basaaya hai tujhe
main tasavvur bhi judaai ka bhala kaise karoon
maine kismat ki lakeeron se churaaya hai tujhe!

Small talk!

The watch flashed "9 pm" as she wiggled past intercepted lines of men staring at her. She assumed the obvious but they found intrigue in her haste. Hurriedly, she climbed into the rugged bus that stood lazily in the corner with its eyes closed.

He found her entry inside very very noisy. From seat number 2, he looked back swiftly, then turned to his immediate right. That was the only empty seat of the bus.

She parked herself there, very carefully, leaving some two inches of space between him and her, struggling with getting her whole somewhat fully inside. He shifted and made more space for her to come in, adjusted his bag, placed his ware on it and continued with what he was doing.

He read and she read.

She examined the book he had on his lap; there were math equations, some blanks hungry for completion and some smudged white spaces angry with tough scribbling. He looked at her palms. They housed an 18th century novel from where words travelled in linear paths through her spectacles, through those brown tinted, blinking eyes into shapeless veins that stretched and strained, throbbing rhythmically.

What are you studying so intently? The right slant in the letters you've scribbled, does that show the neatness of your thoughts? Why do those letters cling on to one another? Those nails, a gentle shade of yellow - why have you cut them so deep, so angrily? Isn't the shaky bus disturbing your concentration? Do you need more space to sit comfortably? Did I unnecessarily disturb you?

Why were you in such a rush when you came in? Where are you travelling to? Isnt it too late to travel alone? Are you comfortably seated? How easy is it reading font that size? How do you manage that speed, 2 pages per minute? Seems like an engaging book, how is it?

Vrooom vroom, the bus was speeding now; clock! The lights were suddenly turned off!

He shut the book angrily, whimpered in his seat, annoyed, and looked straight at the driver as if waiting for some action. Through the edge of his eye he saw her look away, out of the window, as gentle breeze forced her eyes abruptly shut. He sank back into his area and closed his eyes. She waited for a minute to confirm absolute inaction, slipped the book back into her bag and brought out a plastic bag that housed an aloo bun.

She opened it gently and ate softly.

Restlessness...

grows deformed
from mirthless sharp gazes
to
errands of unpredictable blinks
as if waiting secretly
like a bear for prey
to unsettle
perplexity in a harmless man.

Restlessness rests quietly in some remote pit of the tummy
but jumps in mutiny when you've swallowed too much too soon
without chewing hard enough!

Music & Lyrics!

"Five", she shrieked, her eyebrows swiftly raised as if to clear even traces of any obstructions the eyes might encounter in flashing their light bulb like presence.
"Just?" he smirked. "You jest?"
"No-o", she sang in some melody-tone. Her voice was his favourite music and its up-down intonations - not always in perfect sur but always appealing in its unique imperfect throw - were a manifestation of some clamber that perfectly planted strings in her, made. They were loose when she was lazy, tight when she was high-spirited, rugged when she expressed frustration and sharp enough to cut when she was angry.
"Five's a good number na...it gives you two, gives me two and gives us both the room to fight over the last one", she sang again, this time more convincingly than her usual times; victoriously, coz she managed to voice some logic despite possessing zilch reasoning capabilities.
He was stronger at thinking, or so he thought. "Well", he looked up at the empty ceiling conjuring up thoughts of how it might be if the roof was the floor and the floor was the roof. Would we be lying down next to a fan? Maybe yearning for the bed above? He abandoned the thought murkily. "Why not three?" he asked "That would give us one each and one for everything else!"
"Nah...too much time to spare", she sang again, all low notes this time around. "We've got what, another 30 years? Thats like 30/3...10 years per unit?...Too much micro-management ho jayega...Five, I like."
"Arre, count in my time too...I'll take away enough of it..." he ran his fingers over her thick, black hair "you've gotta factor me in no?...no choice" he smiled.
"Hmmm...okay...", she turned around and faced him, her palms, one over the other on his chest and her chin resting on the little hillock, the joints of her fingers made. " But still...I like five" she stopped reasoning. Why say why when you know and I know?
"Lets change the topic no...you've lost your wit abhi", he quipped lazily. "Chalo, actually lets take a nap."
Something agitated her. "Nahi, five kids...thats it", she sat up, looked around and got outa the bed. "I don like you", she resorted to her usual last resort.
"Hmmmmmmm!"
She walked around to the other side of the bed.
He strained his arm, caught her by her wrist - that tiny bone of a thing that she never managed to unlock from his clasp. She fought harder this time and reached the valleys of his armpit. "Ouch", he yelped and let go as she walked towards the door.
"Ayeeee", he found his tune this time and held on till she turned around. He persisted under the very same breath, in the same concoction of air that lingered around melodiously; he turned around to face her in his straight, sharp, unidirectional gaze and quaintly added the much-needed lyrics -
"Are you sure?" he winked impishly!