Cotton Tales

The ability of a piece of cotton fabric
regular, inconspicuous, devoid of pride or ego
to soak volumes of water
is amazing!
It reminds me of skins
with ancient tales of pain and despair written upon,
punctuated by wrinkles,
soggy, tired yet never giving up.
It reminds me of crows’ feet
around eyes that have endured
bruises of history,
yet never letting go of the sparkle.
It reminds me of
talkative, chirpy mouths
that have been silenced
by hurt, piling up without notice,
bogging the corners down with so much weight
that they twitched in pain
even at the slightest effort to smile.
Yet I saw them huddle closely,
determined to explode in vehement protest
someday.
Then I realised
that all our lives have been just like
a torn piece of
cotton.

Time Zone

You were probably running
when I called last night. When
you called back, I was asleep.
That was three days ago.
We haven’t spoken since.

I was finishing a report
that was due next morning.
When your skype calls
couldn’t break through the
silent mode of my cellphone.
You thought I was partying.
I thought you were ignoring me.

As time flies its only long-haul flight
to disappear mid way into oblivion,
we keep living together
our lonely lives
remembering now and then
our favourite Kipling quote:
‘It’s not time passing by,
it’s you and I’.