As the waves of life pin me down,
I wonder if drowning would be easier
Will it set me free, will it bring peace?
But then as I sink deeper and deeper,
I get a glimpse of what I know not.
A light breaks into the water,
a sliver of silver that promises to grow.
It is blinding, it is alluring, it finds its way
into the deepest corners of a heart
that has succumbed to sorrow.
Suddenly, the waves feel lighter,
they part way for me to rise.
My feet wake to life, and I slowly
begin to swim, strides becoming faster
as the unknown light draws closer.
I break free, I rise, I breathe new air
I reach out and touch that light.
It fills my being with a new purpose.
Is this light a sign of hope?
Is it faith? Is it God? I know not.
Just a force that has made me rise,
that has nudged me out of despair,
that has whispered, my time is not yet up.
The magician looks into the blue eyes, momentarily forgetting who he is. He is being washed away by the waves in those eyes.
He is young, but he is fascinated by the old craft of magic, markets like this one being the perfect place to practice. Hyptonism is his favourite art. The swinging of a trinket, seeing people sleep with their eyes open, getting transported to their past, floating into the dark recesses of their minds.
Today is the second day of the fair and he has been hoping he would be able to practice his craft on some young uns. They are more difficult to break through, so alert and skeptical that they are.
And in walks this girl into the little tent. Soft and light, like a breeze. His heart stops for a moment, his soul stirs, his stomach flutters. Love at first sight? Nonsense, he thinks.
And then he looks at her eyes and he knows he has sunk. Deep into that ocean of blue, of indigo, of violet.
“I heard you hyptonise people,” Are you a psychic? Can you do that to me and find out what my soul is searching for?”, she says. Her voice smooth as velvet, musical as a songbird.
“I can’t hyptonise someone who has hyptonised me.” He thinks, but does not say.
“Yes, sure. I think I know who your soul has been searching for,” he says.
“I do. For maybe I have been searching for the same thing.”
“Thats nonsense,” says the girl.
“I thought so too. Till a moment ago.”
A lone cloud floating in the azure vastness,
a walking companion, it decided to be.
A step I took, and so did it,
I smiled, and it seemed to too.
I trudged along my path, lonely,
Not another soul in sight.
The amiable cloud whispered,
with you I am, walk along.
The orange blob beat down
the burdens becoming heavier
with each winding turn in the path
Burdens not seen but etched deep.
That cloud seemed to understand
and slowly it covered the sun.
Quite a distance, we both covered today,
then as my destination edged closer
I whispered a good bye, and slowly,
into the blue ocean, the cloud melted away.
So strange are the workings of the universe
that a lone cloud and a lonely me
formed a friendship , took a walk
maybe we were kindred souls, maybe not.
Respite, it did give me, and oh, a smile too.
The warm hearth of my home
the cocoon that was my mom’s hug
the small joys that made me laugh
the hearty soups,the muddy puddles,
all beckon, take me back, life.
Oh, the games we played ,
Raindrops racing against the pane,
Cricket in the front yards and
on starry nights, fingers our pen,
shimmering sky our board,
constellations we traced.
Those were the times when
the sun glowed a bit more
smiles formed easier
The heart sang more in tune
rain had more gloss.
Alas, I am now grown up,
Alas, the world has now lost its shine
A rainbow peeps through my window
scattering colour in the dark room
struggling to sneak into my being
determined, stubborn, steady.
My head and I, push back,
So accustomed to darkness,
that blinding are the slivers
Of red blue, violet and indigo.
Feel some light, some colour,
urges my heart, weak and soft.
Live, breathe, sense, caress,
the kaleidoscope of colours,
their warmth , their brightness.
I give in, I sigh, I smile.
The blinds I open, of my window,
of my heart, of my soul.
It is not a mere rainbow in my window,
it is a promise of this universe
that all is not lost, or gone.
There are still breaths left and some joy,
There are still myriad hues to colour life.
Ah time, you are closing in on me,
I hear the screech as you come closer.
The incessant ringing becomes louder,
Life has passed me by.
You, time, have won, by far.
Dream stay dreams, hopes still hopes,
I had so much to do, so much to see
Lands far, oceans across,
the world was waiting for me,
But you, time, have come for me too soon.
Don’t give up, they say,
Hope on, believe, they say.
How can I, when what I walk on
are the broken pieces of my life?
The past reel of my life constantly whirrs,
glimpses of the moments I lost prick.
When there was still time, I heeded not.
Now, when all is lost, when all is gone,
I wish, time, you take me back to start again.
The ocean whispers to me sometimes,
sweet nothings that lift my heart.
With a whoosh of the waves,
with a sea shell left behind, it says,
I will be all right, after all.
The azure sky sometimes smiles,
as a message from the heavens,
that my wishes will come true,
to that, the golden ball nods,
sending rays of hope my way.
My heart flutters on tall mountains,
but they pull me to their bosoms,
passing on their power to me.
You can do so much more, say they,
touch the skies, like we do.
At nights, as I gaze out the window,
the stars twinkle a little brighter
the moon shyly peeps outs,
and reminds me, that I too,
can shine through darkness if I try.
Oh, reassuring, soothing Nature,
you shower me with hope,
with love and with faith.
If you can be powerful, you tell me,
in my own little world, so can I.
My dad’s rickety old car I now wish to ride
The one that would break down always,
too lazy to carry its passengers
to places in one single smooth ride.
A tyre puncture, overheating, an oil change
would always punctuate a road trip.
Stranded at the side of the road,
The orange earth and the dead trees
not an oasis we would want.
We would take in unwillingly
an entirely unfetching concoction
of heat, wind and dust.
Dad would try to fix his beloved car,
As under our breaths we would pray,
He learns his lesson this time.
Alas, not a lesson he or his car learnt,
Both blindly in love with each other,
blaming the bumpy roads for breakdowns,
Cursing the rains and earth below.
Now, the roads are sleeker,
so is my car, but then, sometimes,
all I want is a ride in my dad’s car.
Those were the good ol’ nineties
when nothing was as shiny as now.
A tiny bit of extra effort for everything,
yet each moment a memory in making.
The pen pauses, the paper still blank.
A scribble, a shake of the head
a hasty tear of the page,
In the bin it goes, its resting place.
Is that you above, is that your life?
Pause, think, ponder,
are you still scribbling
and tearing away pages as the days go by?
Time, my dear friend, is passing by
the dreams have been patient,
waiting for you to make them come true.
Time, my dear friend, is sometimes a foe.
So do not hesitate, do not doubt,
start writing the story of your life.
Go on, in fine ink, with a steady hand,
pen down the best story you can tell.
I remember the exact moment I fell out of love. Squeezed by the day, I had come home and had cooked dinner-his favourite pasta. Huh, I always wanted to please him.
He gobbled up the food. Some monosyllables as conversation, a few grunts as answers. I was getting used to the silence. It was more of a companion than him. Love had been seeping out slowly anyway.
I had had no time to freshen up. He looked at me and said, “You look unkempt and ugly.”
Not because he had called me ugly. But for I knew, he had said that out of spite.
How can we love a person who chooses to spew hurt instead of kindness. How can I love a person who sees not why I am unkempt, but chooses to remind me that I am.
At that moment, pasta hanging from the fork, halfway to my mouth, I froze.
I could feel the little love draining out of me.
Can you feel empty inside, yet cleansed? I did. In that tiny turn in time, I knew that love had died but I felt at peace.
Today, I am tired. I am cooking dinner. My favourite curry. I pass the mirror in the hall and look at myself.
I am unkempt. I am beautiful.
A kite I am, stuck in a tree,
Waiting for a gust to set me free.
I wish to soar in the blue skies,
I wish to feel the whish of my wings.
The branch of the tree grips me hard. Struggling, despairing, praying,
I wriggle to set myself free.
A battle of wills we are in,
That tree and me, the flimsy kite.
Strong I am, faith I have,
For as I struggle, I know
That gust of wind is nearing.
The one that will gently free me,
nudging me out of that iron grip.
So give up, I don’t, flimsy as I am.
Stronger is my will, I am braver,
The tree that is life,
the kite that is me.
A battle of wills we are in,
a battle that is nearing its end.
For I can hear the wind become louder,
And I whisper, Life, I have won.
Life, I am free.
A day mundane as ever,
suddenly stops with a visit.
from an old love, a forgotten dream.
Closing my eyes, I let it,
Take me back in time.
To some memories buried,
of days smeared with love,
of nights dark perfumed by dreams.
of a young and restless heart.
Life, then, hadn’t taken over,
the heart was yet intact.
Long afternoons, sweet nothings,
whispered promises, that,
were not yet broken.
Now, on days like these,
when the heart rakes up memories.
Life stands still, and I rejoice,
and lament, seeing me.
Young and full of love.
Time took away everything,
it was just that love that stayed.
A buried love that still whispers,
on a day like this, mundane as ever.