Polaroid heart

“What would I find if I could have a little peek into your heart?”

She asked as she took pictures of me on her Polaroid.

Half drunk, how does one answer such a question?

She was unusual, yet here I was, staring straight into her eyes as I leaned in further,

Gulped another sip of that cheap wine we picked up from the grocery store.

“I’ve got a Polaroid heart, and you’d find a million pictures of you,

From yesterday and the day before and the first time we met to right now.

Your sadness, and from the time you baked cookies for all the kids in the building,

Every memory, all the songs we’ve danced to, all the sunsets we watched together, they’re all there”

She looked at me and giggled, poured me another glass of wine.

“Isn’t this wine good?” she squeaked, as she captured my drunken smile on another Polaroid picture.wine-890371_1920


A lullaby 

Hello child,

Now you be kind, okay?
You bring that injured kitten home even if mamma says no, 
You take care of him and show him how to jump again…
Cause you jump the highest, oh yes, I’ve watched you on that trampoline.

And be hopeful,
Spring is just around the corner,
And you can wear your pink and green polka dotted stockings again. 

Now my child,

Did you know? 
That you were born, in the blackest of nights,
But with only the brightest of stars, shining In the sky.

You are made of hope, and stars,
And your heart could fill a hundred injured kittens. 
You are made of kindness and compassion,
And spring comes back, 
Only for you.

Mushy Old Love

Our love is icky and mucky,

We got our fingers all messy so we tried to be careful.

Now it’s all over our hands and face,

I tried to scratch my ear and I got some there too,

Then He tried to wipe it off with his elbows and soon enough he had the muck all over him.

Our love is messy,

And our love is sweet,

Sugar, cinnamon and rainbow frosting,

Goodnight kisses and cuddles in the morning,

Ice cream parlours and walks on the beach,

Fire works and stuck on each other like a leech.

Too much sugar sometimes makes you sick, but this was sugar that could always be sweeter

Our love is icky and mucky,

Mushy old stuff.

And still to get mushier soon enough.


“Seabiscuit (May 23, 1933 – May 17, 1947) was a champion Thoroughbred racehorse in the United States. A small horse, Seabiscuit had an inauspicious start to his racing career, but became an unlikely champion and a symbol of hope to many Americans during the Great Depression.”

“The bay colt grew up on Claiborne Farm in Paris, Kentucky, where he was trained. He was undersized, knobby-kneed, and given to sleeping and eating for long periods. Seabiscuit was relegated to a heavy schedule of smaller races. He failed to win his first 17 races, usually finishing back in the field. After that, Fitzsimmons did not spend much time on him, and the horse was sometimes the butt of stable jokes.”

“Seabiscuit was injured during a race. Woolf, who was riding him, said that he felt the horse stumble. The injury was not life-threatening, although many predicted Seabiscuit would never race again”

After many, many failures, this little horse who was just 5 feet, 2 inches went on to become America’s thoroughbred racing’s greatest legend, at a time when the sport needed it the most.

Sometimes broken things fascinate me, broken people and now this once broken animal. Seabiscuit was too small to be a racehorse, his rider was too tall to be a jockey and his owner, well he was too dumb to know the difference and maybe that’s why he went on to become a legend.

That tiny excuse for a horse perhaps didn’t know he was tiny, in his mind he was a staggering stallion, he believed that every gallop he took, struck thunder below his hoofs, cracking the earth as he probably imagined the rest of the horses falling in the ditches of his tracks.

And sometimes, I wish we were all that naïve, dumb enough to be blind to our flaws. Stupid enough to not understand our weakness and tone deaf to the world’s opinion, on what we can and cannot do.

Seabiscuit was no extraordinary horse, he just didn’t know he was too short or knobby-kneed, after his new trainer Tom Smith began training him, he probably was too pompous to think about his failures in the past, all he knew was, that he was being trained for something big, all he knew was what he could do…

Tiny little horse, unaware and oblivious.

I for one, am highly aware of what I’m capable of and of what I’m not.

Sometimes I wish, I was not.




“Pandemonium engulfed the course. Neither horse and rider, nor trainer and owner, could get through the sea of well-wishers to the winner’s enclosure for some time.”



Source: http://www.tbgreats.com/seabiscuit/bio.html



Kiara doesn’t actually know 

The girl just doesn’t know what lies ahead of tomorrow, Or what to have for breakfast.

Or what to have for breakfast.

She doesn’t know if she can hold her tears in longer,

Or her laugh in a serious situation.

She’s not sure if she remembers her own phone number better,

Or the bohemian rhapsody.

She doesn’t know if she should work hard, build a future,

Or forget everything and go backpacking and collect a bookmark from every country.

She wonders if the stars,

Look down upon the city and wish on city lights.

She wonders if the sickly old lady on the street got home safe,

And she wonders if she’ll ever grow that old.

She doesn’t know if she’s worse at public speaking,

Than she is at math.


She’s always been bad at both.

But besides that, the child just doesn’t know.



When he called me “love”, we time travelled across horizons and stopped in 1959.

And there we were, at a drive in where the movie was not the only thing that entertained us!

As I tried to brush away the popcorn crumbs that decked the floors of his 57’ Hudson Hornet, I asked him.

What do you think is the color of Jan’s eyes?

Black and white movies always gave us the freedom to paint the pictures any color we wanted.

“Love, they’d never be as blue as yours”, he whispered as we watched Pillowtalk for the 12th time.

I was called “Love”, not “bae”, nor  “boo”, and he’d remind me every day.

His “love” because we belonged to a time that was, to a time we wished to live.

The drive ins and ice cream parlours,

The time of sock hops and malt shops,

Where we imagined dancing close and driving far,

Sneaking out and falling…

In trouble, ‘cause Daddy caught him throwing pebbles at my window,

In my arms, cause I’ve always been as warm as a nightlamp,

In love and in other such fantasies.

Precious Girl




Have you seen her eyes?

Chiseled from saphire, blue.

Have you seen them glow, even at love untrue?

Have you seen her lips?

Born of roses, red.

Have you seen them blossom in monochrome autumns we dread?

Precious eyes of saphire blue,

They could sit on an emperor’s crown,

But have these eyes ever cried, have they ever drowned?

Lips so royal, of scarlet sin,

Its beauty ages old,

But have they ever spoke of love,

Have they calmed a soul?

Precious girl, what are you made of,

Or what is made of you?

Rubies and roses, silver and gold.

Is that all you’ll ever know?

Or love and kindness,

Courage and politeness,

Will there be ever more?