Seven sketches of a scene

Lately, my 18 yr old nephew is
wearing his broken heart on
his sleeve, pathetically
mourning his being dumped.
What do I tell him?
That being discarded
runs in our genes?
That I’d been given the stiletto heel six times?
That I’ve probably got the
most articulate/literate singeing
put offs ?
How then I had wished it were as simple as in
some enlightened tribes, where the woman just
keeps his shoes outside the
house and the man gets the message.
And stays away.
No drama. No prosy stuff. Simple.
But I say nothing to him.
A lovers hurt to him/ her is, the
most painful of all in the world.
He deserves his
legitimate quota of depression.
I won’t stop him
from wanting to drown
in his toe deep sorrows.


2

Thinking of you
I can still feel the reverberations
of the crack up surging through me.
The fault lines have vanished into the horizon.
But I can never get that far
to be immune
to the after shocks.


3

Some of us ooze so much bathos,
we should have a stay away alert sign
around our necks:
“Caution, don’t throw crumbs of kindness.
Character likely to melt in gratitude.
Please move on…”


4

The ripples continue.
Long after the motion has ceased.
Defying laws of physics.


5

One mans misery is
another’s muse.


6

Blues have many hues.


7
Blues make bad news.