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memorise my number skip to main skip to sidebar memorise my number this is my first collection of poems wednesday 31 october 2007 author s note the cynic and the happy fool words inspire words inspire words and somewhere in this circuitous route that strives to take us back to where it all began we tend to lose one of two things the words may lie in corners preferring to fade into the two dimensional humility of pages or inspiration that prodigal son sucks the agony and the ecstasy out of us to leave us with nothing to return with nothing it is for the happy fool and not the cynic to take a trip to the museum for the fool will wonder and marvel at every crack and chip in every artifice worship every layer of dirt and come away speechless at perfection but the cynic will shake his head over imagined flaws grumble at destructive missiles darting about in their school uniforms glare at glass panels and come away nodding in agreement with his own dusty ideology sometimes it takes but an afternoon of introspection and a flash of humour from the calm eye of a brown dog to discover the happy fool masquerading in the suit and polished shoes of the cynic this is the story of a girl who much like her words preferred to hide in the stale shadows of corners the curious concentrics of time shifted often like quirky sands from joy to sorrow from success to failure from love to its shattered remains from trust to mistrust from innocence to betrayal to cynicism to sense and back again much like every other concentric of time in every other life in realisation of this simple fact i present memorise my number and i have only the flashes of humour from the brown dog to thank posted by anoopa anand at 03 11 3 comments the cynic posted by anoopa anand at 03 11 no comments the girl in the cubicle today you have been cancelled there are three blackheads on your nose your nail polish can t tell your fingers from your toes your hair is having a bad root day your sweater is very old your fingertips too cold the irony on your lips incredibly stupidly bold but mostly there is nothing in your eyes posted by anoopa anand at 03 10 1 comment three hands i wish this was a painting i could have changed things around his head on your shoulders your method to his madness his angst on your unfurrowed brow your logic on his lack thereof but real life is no renoir and this an impossible menage a trois so these colour images are faded here lies the sepia and grey of a lifetime of dreams my truth your cloak his dagger my heart our unfinished masterpiece posted by anoopa anand at 03 10 1 comment how to write love poetry when not in love or 9 o clock blues 9 o clock in the morning the traffic lights and speed breakers are making love to vehicular smoke one little schoolboy wails piteously like a siren at his academic plight the cows practice their fly swotting raging hormones make their way through college gates 9 o clock in the morning blue suits are already growling into their cell phones buses are already running late my day and i have already started out on the wrong foot without you posted by anoopa anand at 03 09 no comments the residue mortified amused supremely uninspired you make my poetry as cliched as the impression you left on me posted by anoopa anand at 03 09 no comments i hang on to the memory of your shoulder 6 i hang on to the memory of your shoulder each morning the shadow of your beard like breakfast in bed sits abandoned by my sanity and all the books on the shelves grow cold 5 i hold hands in a single moment of sepia cheek to cheek with your frank declaration of things i should have heard 4 i play footsie with boots too big for your logic and my penchant for sucker heroes 3 i kiss the face of reflection too young to be so old 2 i fall asleep in the heady warmth of a nightmare you left behind 1 i hang on to the memory of your shoulder posted by anoopa anand at 03 08 no comments older posts home subscribe to posts atom anoopa anand alleged writer and left arm spinster blog archive 2007 32 october 32 author s note the cynic the girl in the cubicle three hands how to write love poetry when not in love or 9 o the residue i hang on to the memory of your shoulder what i am what poetry the transition part one she walks in joan never been kissed bus no 13d pencil in the jugular it can t be suicide brochure what big teeth you have tonight she sleeps the transition part two the word slaying lady poem over lunch the random validator thoughts of whisky on a tuesday coo coo ca choo anniversary aperitif last year the happy fool about you haikus for a rainy summer tick tock we ll win i want you now shut up and kiss poem i give you my hand about me anoopa anand anoopa anand lives in bangalore india with her parents and four dogs she received her bachelor s degree from mount carmel college bangalore when she isn t writing anoopa likes to read fiction do crosswords in auto rickshaws sing jazz standards in embarrassed whispers and obsess about cricket when she grows up anoopa will write for a living sing for love and find a less commercially successful sport to follow view my complete profile ahem all content on this blog is copyrighted to anoopa anand 2005 2007 any unauthorized reproduction or usage of this matter commercial or otherwise is a violation of international copyright law and liable for prosecution