Wrathopath

When I turn scarlet
The heart palpitates,
The blood sears through the veins
Tears wells up as they sting through the whiteness,
Quivering lips try to form words of justification
For actions ruthless, capriciousthose that cannot be undone,
All done to scathe
Wish impulse would not engulf
When thoughts stricken with despondency
Fail to tread the judicious path

Oil@midnight

In school I was an above average student. Not a class topper, but I could squeeze in high marks in a subject or two. Some of my favourite subjects included Maths, English, History and Geography, Science and those declined languages in the name of Marathi, Hindi were definitely not my area expertise. However, I was no dud in those either. But hoping to top score was like hoping to net ten fishes in a day by a city dweller. It always irked me when my Gujarati classmates always scored well in those languages. They seemed to have a knack for them. The bubbles of green were gurgling within me. Effortless ease, that's what enchanted me always. Be it playing a sport or studying. Hard work was not a virtue that had yet intercepted my routine. But as I gave exams after exams and saw myslef creditably accomplished in certain subjects it lend some thought to further toil. A little effort would definitle flatter my scores and pamper my self-esteem.
That's when I decided to burn the midnight oil!

ingenuous proposal

Catching the signal from one of her friends, she took a deep breath, brushed her skirt and walked towards him. She waited, watched his causerie with friends. Could she pluck his attention. Or would she have to go up to him and ask. That would be a tad blatant.
She waited, unable to decide. Her friends coaxed her on. While she still mulled on her course of action, she saw him heading towards her. Anxiety was writ large on the face.
Hi, he said.
She looked at him. He looked cheerful enough. He had cut short his black crop of hair. He was wearing a light pink shirt with white vertical stripes. His dark, brown eyes brigthened at her sight. And those dimpled cheeks looked ready to break into a smile.
So have you decided?” she asked, sheepishly.
Yes, he said, a sly smile playing on his lips.
So? . She looked at him. Eyebrows furrowed, eyes stealing occasional glances at her friends.
“I think no.” His lips trembled slightly, gullets going up-down.
“Why?”
“Not the best of time. I am just out of something that was really serious. Now I would rather concentrate on my music. I am sorry. Please, no hard feelings. It’s not her. I am too preoccupied with other things. Sorry, really sorry. “We can still be good friends,” he said, helpless and stole a glance at the group.
Ok, she said. Was it a bit flagrant of me, she wondered? Nope, she convinced herself. But if at all you change your mind, do let me know. She is crazy about you" she said before they parted.
Sure, he said, flushed.
She rushed back to her friends. So what did he say, they chorused. She filled them on the conversation, that had just occurred. However, at the end of it she looked apologetic. She rested her hands on her shoulders and lifted up her chin. Her downcast eyes glistened. Blobs of salty wetness rolled down her cheeks. It's ok, she said. My fault. I take the responsibility.
Suddenly a rhythmic clank pierced the air. It was time for some edification.