Apart

                                                                                  

I touched the blazing red End button on my touch screen, and a part of me went out into the wilder darkness spreading out, amidst a dazzle of street lights.  I stepped into the terrace, wishing a second pair of feet, walking just there besides me, a little to the back. Looking after me.

The clock was ticking, the wind blew on its own, the stars positioned peacefully, the moon was ready to crown the sky, cradled by the clouds. I stood with heart beats racing , feet numb on the stone cold floor. The chill of December creeping through my ears, fingers, hurting my eyes a bit.

I had told him how much he meant to me. I had told him how much I loved him. I had also told him how big a mistake I felt it was.

There was silence on the phone line for those paddles of time, which weighed my words across space to him. I had thought of a speech, of emotions, of feelings, of vulnerability. But there were just a few words out of his mouth, that erased the creases of detail, and brought out the word of heart within me.

“Just calm down, I am listening.”

How rested I felt, how the weight just vanished.

I spoke the word of love, followed by the word of negation, that crushed us both. “ Mistake”.

I spoke of love, and lost my heart. I spoke of love to him, who meant the most to me at that moment of time. That moment , which will sparkle throughout my life, amidst the other grey’s.

The moment ,I sent away the love of my life, for a lifetime.

He would leave for a war across the border, within the next few days, as we would part ways. Life called us the other ways. It was time to turn a back to each other, and face emptiness of a presence.

Had we not turned around right now, our whole lives we would be pulled away from each other, looking into the pain in the other’s eyes, the pain of parting. Pain, that I could never give him, after tonight though.

So I turned around, with a lie, that saved us both the stare of Truth, that both of us had chosen ourselves, sometime earlier maybe,  the goals of our lives .

Here I stand on the stone cold floor, amidst the shattered pieces of me, that would never mould into me again.

All I wish is for him to have found his love for me, before his love for the tricolor.

All I wish is for me to have found nothing but a love for this person, who lives within my eyes.

Eyes awake to him all the time, whether open or closed.

I am still standing there, right where we parted ways,

I am staring at the floor, that bid you farewell, when I could’nt,

I am standing under one such dark cold night,

I am standing alone, awaiting the sunrise.

One Fine Life

I woke up with a breeze knocking at my window,
I woke up to the sun, sending a ray of hay aglow,

My feet crawled me to the open hands of the clouds,
Where the morning stood smiling, with the chirping sounds,

A breeze came along yet again to brush my hair,
While the rose perched proudly, upon the stem of a leafy pair,

The dew was lying on the velvety red petal,
The soft earth, waiting its return to the warm natal,

I finally took myself into my own senses,
and drifted to a life that was unlike the morning, cribbed with stenches,

But life this beautiful should not hold you back,
to take a step ahead, and finally unhook fate's rigid backpack,

Life is about those feathery white clouds,
Life is about earths' scented mounds,
Life is about the crawling of dew drops,
Life is about those smiling golden crops.

I Dream

The violins string in my ears each night,
As I meet you under a star studded night,
when I seamlessly fall into dreams,
Where the small piece of moon is flowing like streams,

You meet me there every night,
As I meet you only in my dreams every night,
You hold my hand, you hold me in your sight,
You walk ahead my path, you take me away into the flowing light,

I have heard you speak your heart out,
I have heard you walk towards me, like love splashing from a pout,
I have felt your words through the winds flight,
I have felt your warmth, when you hold me with love's might,

But I have felt you leave my side every night,
I have felt my dreams fade into reality every single night,
I have heard my heart beat alone with a solitary plight,
I have woken up every morning rushing into reality with a fight,

And I still wish to love you more by each passing day,
I still promise my heart to dream of you each passing day,
I still wish you all the happiness, even though u stand on someone else's side,
I still promise just dreaming you, without any quests to abide.

Jab Tak Hai Jaan- Rewrite

The zest of your starlit eyes,
The sound of your mischievous laughter,
The twists of your black strands past the breeze,
I shall breathe, I shall dream,

That splash of raindrops on your lips, your hands,
That impatient tear, sliding past your dimpled cheek,
Those fake fits of anger,
Those blunt threats of fists and fights,
Shall beat within my heart,
until the my veins throb,
 until my words tremble,

The sliding of your  hand out of mine,
The parting of your shadow, and sliding apart with the light,
The aimless wait for your back to turn,
The constant urge for your feet to stop before the next turn,
I shall remember, I shall blame,

For all those lies and broken promises,
For all those dreams that burned into ash,
For all those half heartened prayers,
I shall bereave,
 till my chest heaves,
till my eyes gaze,
 till my nights dream,
till my soul begs.....

One Such Sunset

You stormed out,
But you're words willfully held back,
you took away all your promises and leaped out of 'us',
While I stood in silence as your eyes no more looked into  mine;
As your words struck deeper ,

One morning I woke up and found an empty space,
It was within me, and it throbbed with excruciating pain,

Without you, within me,
It felt like I was screaming, loud and shrill,
It felt like I was bleeding tears,
It felt like the world had abandoned me,
All the feelings locked within my cold trembling hands,
hollow eyes, and crisp dry lips,

I was rushing past places.... people....... myself
like an abandoned piece of paper flying down the road,

I was no more mine, I had been your's once,
I was no more living, I was a scattered hope of existence,

I am still standing there, right where you abandoned me,
I am staring at the floor that bid you farewell when I couldn't,
I am standing under one such sun splattered evening,
I am standing alone, looking at one such sunset.

A Traveler's Confession

Your rails, my ways,
Your wheels, my speeds,
Your trees, my greens,
Your wind,my sting,
Your rain, my gain,
Your drops, my crops,
Your clouds, my shadows,
Your lanes, my cranes,
Your field ,my scenes,
Your farms, my charms,
Your ponds ,my swans,
Your streams, my dreams,
These lives, are strides,
My life, confides,
Without your's, mines' lost,
Mines' alive, on your's cost

Who do I trust, and whom should I pry?

Who do I trust, and  whom should I pry?

Who should be my call, when my lips tremble dry?

Who should I rely upon,for the saddest day of my life?

Who should be by my side, when  life’s the pinpoint of a knife?

Who should hold me with strength ?

Who should walk along my life’s length?

Who should cry on my stiffened body, and cold blood?

Who should remember me , from the scent of soil, and a mystifying bud?

I know the one who should; but I know he wont ,

I know just,the bliss of dreams , desires just my own,

I know the brittle mirror of reality, where he resides,

I know I walk the ray of sunlight, when I should follow the cosmic tides.

Guru: The Tatva of Living

A giver, a story-teller, someone with bags full of  wisdom to pass along batches of generations, someone with a soft pleasing dialect, and a firm and steady hand, to guide , to deliver, to bring all that is good and worth within the pupils. Having completed my schooling in a Catholic instituion, where any language other than english was forbidden, where menhdi and jewelery were prohibited as were tattoos,long nails,and muddy shoes; uptil seventeen years of age, the image of a Teacher in my mind was the description mentioned above.

It was this teacher who led us through the scolding, thumping system of Indian education.

Up until seventeen years of my existence I was merely acquainted with the Indian concept of a teacher, but time never took me further. This concept, on further bonding, changed the whole ideology, which I had rubbed and ironed regularly in my mind. The Indian concept of Guru. 

The concept which sows the seeds of teaching, first in your heart and lets it branch itself further in your mind. Which embraces, the nuances of the human thoughts, emotions, the whole cycle of functioning in a manner, unique with its results.

The Indian concept allows, not only a Guru to choose his Shishya, but also provides the pupil himself to look after his Guru, with his own pace. A guru is allowed to follow his own way through the herd, to lead each one of them upto their rightful destinations. A Guru is a preacher, a mother,a father,is everyone who brightens the light within each person that shall in any way connect with him . He is not a friend, but a companion. He is the hand that approaches, every time you fall. He is the heart that you trust, he is the sight that you adore. 

The fact that intrests me most in this philosophy was the expansive nature of ways in which this ideology is approached. A Guru, was seen in a preacher, a scholar, a parent, a philosopher, a guide, an artist , a translator, or sometimes merely an idol. The Indian approach, to the overall values of teaching, absorbed all the strata of evolution of mind, heart, body and soul, in a very rational sense.

One was asked to leave his forebonding of family, for a major part of childhood and reside in the Guru's ashram, to learn the art of living. While doing so, not only religious, but social , political , economical, and patriarchal values were induced in the child. 

A Guru was placed, above the placid levels of social bonding, because a Guru was the one who showed the way through the material lodgings, till the horizon of conscience. The western term-teacher, though used exclusively in India in every household, should be bound to our very own stem of the Guru-Shishya parampara.

For those who look down on such a lineage, as a mere tradition, succumb to the ignorant bliss of enveloping once own rich culture, in the brackets of religion.The Guru-Shishya PArampara, was an answer to all the anxieties , troubles, questions that life presented . The lineage was not for a span of those few countable years, it was but, a relation treasured for a lifetime. A person was judged, accredited by the name of his Guru, and not merely by the aspects of name, cast, social status or wealth. 
The philosophers who, desiged this system have imbibed all the characters of, a godfather, a leader, a soulmate, all in this one stature of Guru. 
 But the question arises , as to what effect would such an ideology prescribe in today’s changed pace of living, and the answer still lies in the same frame work. Unless an individual has a real quest for learning , unless he selflessly trusts that one master, unless the social upbringing he has been born into, provides him to the freedom required to give away their blood and heart to an outsider, the results of this ideology will fail . Although the present India, seems to build a reluctant stance to this philosophy, I have come across many like me, who still are drawn to this structure of learning. Especially , wherein knowledge about the Indian Classical artforms ,or  primarily any form of knowledge, rooted in Indian is taken into consideration.

Having know my Guru, for the past few years, I have come closer to finding answers that arise within me , that press upon me from time to time. This parampara, stands by me, and I stand by it whenever, wherever and however required, albe
it for a lifetime, or even more.

Life

Life, beaming in a drop, hanging down a leaf,

Life, that surpasses the shackles of belief,

Life, flowing upon the rigid bed of rocks,

Life, like a standing pile of balancing blocks,

Life, always walks a path along the valley steep,

Life, a warrior against the darkness deep,

Life,  breathing the hearts’ tiny beat,

Life, like the fading impressions of the feet,

Life, that rhymes with the known, and a few unknown,

Life, stands atop the brittle heights of heartless clones,

Life,  to live the worth of each body and soul,

Life, to rest upon after an accomplished goal.

Blue

I span out right above all,

I draw the rainbow, as colorful, as tall,

I look beneath, at the vacant water, and turn it blue,

Wherever you go , I shall not leave you,

I bring down the shadow when my stars twinkle awake,

I face towards the crowning moon, when the sun shuts the drape,

I may change from orange to black,

For I am a father, to the clouds stack,


I am home for the fleeting wings,
I am the lover of the moist earth, one that clings,

I lie awake, watching all sleep,

I am the heaven, towards which the shoots grow, and the grains reap.

Pilgrim

He sits atop the baggage, snuggled within the shreaking train,

He hums his tune, with the smokey breeze and the passing crane.

He looks beyond the cracking roof, and the patches of green,

He looks beyond his struggling moods, scratching across his battered screen,

He’s crossing states, roads and signs,

He is laying off his spent off times,

He has been called for one such ride,

By his heart, ruffled apart in his tiresome stride,

He walks on the path for the quest of his soul,

He walks on the traces of the glowing flint stone,

He walks the rhythm of an unwinding scroll,

He walks with memories the wind has blown,

Like a bird looking for a twig, that shall build his nest,

Like a warrior afoot to conquer his quest,

Like a bee above the nectar’s chest,

Like a ray towards the shimmering crest,

His mind has lead him so far,

To the answers etched beneath a scar,

His soul has wandered this far,

In search of peace, locked in a sparkling jar,

Where hands cease to reach , so does the tangled heart,

He will reach his wishfull place,

That shall give him back his pace,

He shall emerge by the end of the maze,

With all the answers , twinkling in his gaze.

Travel

The idle flock of clouds unfolding softy in the breeze,

The crumbling pebbles beneath, crowding with tiny beats,

The painted, flaking colors on concrete start to cease,

As nature unveils its colorful fleets,

The more heavier mountains and rocks start passing by ,

 more wilder the landscape pecks,

The more shafts of air go running past you ,

 more burning and feisty are the sunsets,

The fewer men u meet across the roads,

The deeper the pathways begin to unfold,

The heart starts speaking louder wearing feathery coats,

The grazing mind lowers his pretence in the hearts court,

So far you travel, so far u unravel the secrets within,

As deep as you feel your presence amongst nature, it’s beauty looks more stunning.

To Mum, with Love.

You are the one who brightens all the dark damp traces,

You are the stick that burns to ashes,

Just to enlighten the tender bud of the lamp,

Leading me with a mere finger, while giving away your heart to clamp,

Every ounce of your life, you fed me for my gain,

You cradled me within, bearing me with all the pain ,

Every little cry you could hear, every single time,

My smile, my laughter, would twinkle upon you like a chime,

You let me ride the wheels on my own one day,

You let me splash my own colors, with the clouds drizzling gray,

You let me fall once, even if it broke your heart,

For my lessons, were far more dearer to you, than your own heart,

You have walked with me to where I stand today,

Across every curve of fear and dismay,

You have held me and taken away all my fears

You have sent me ahead, hiding all you tears,

They say giving birth is a miracle,

But when I look at you, I look at God’s own miracle, who brushes past every debacle.

I look at you at times when you are asleep,

And I still feel the same love, the same care, past your silence steep,

How much more, than I say, you mean to me,

How much more I could love you, I just cannot see,

So much more I love you every passing day,

So much more I could speak, but you already know it all, as it’s in your heart that I stay.

Tulip

In the prime of her life,

She lies awake all night,

With a humming bee singing her plight,

In the darkness of the distant stars,

She grants the swift mild breeze,

The scent of her beauty , just to please,

As the tides gush towards the guiding moon,

She ploughs the deep blue treasures with her tangling key,

Her roots kiss the mud, for her soul’s plea,

In the soft glow of twilight,

She blooms into grace, with her enchanted self,

Whether in a garden, or in a clay pot over the shelf,

In the life that she lives selflessly,

She grows from a bud to a flower, giving endlessly,

She dries towards death, but never weeps, although upon someone’s shrine ,

She honor’s with her presence, even while withering like a pine.

Walking the Dawn

Roamed a while amidst the lush green, rumbling trees,

I Looked across the piling heap of crushed leaves,

Strolled within the crowning bulge of the sun,

Smelled the warm scent of the baking bun,

Poured a coffee, steaming over the headlines,

Shivered  in the crisp chill ,playing around nearby pines,

Smiled at a wrinkled face, wandering aloof with his own pace,

Smiled also at a  flower, who smiled back with its fresh face,

Walking mornings, is a healthy habit I was told,

Healthier, once you fill yourself with the vibrant cold,

But then the sun finally wakes up to our side of the world,

And all of us have to unwind the blankets curled,

While you breathe into the sweat and smoke of the day,

Spill out the freshness, the smile, the breeze on those brazen figures of clay.

Paulo Coelho: My story teller

After having turned a few hundred pages, and a few thousand paragraphs of the stories by Paulo Coelho, repetitively, I found a new outlook of my own life within those stories from far off lands. A different aspect, of the whole game of thoughts that the mind wins and looses,  lies hidden amongst those words.

My aim behind reading those books, was merely to find an answer for the questions I faced, earlier, and those which still continue to borrow my sleep some nights. Having the habit of over thinking an action ten times before doing it, and later a hundred times rethinking , after actually having accomplished new levels of embarrassment and awkwardness. I turned to a few books by Paulo caulho, these were not mere lessons from the wise , spiritual sages, who speak of finding peace by trusting in one god, but not the other. These were stories, which took me with them to distances which my mind and heart had never crossed before, to such heights from where I could look upon my life, like a  lamp lit view of city from up the hill. These are lessons, given through each character, each story, every change of scene and every turn of events.

 It does not give you a mere diversification of the right and wrongs of life, to cross check against your own assumptions of deeds and sins. It rather takes you a place from where problems and their solution live back to back facing side along streets. Somehow, going through the stories again and again, a map was created within my mind, amongst all that it had contained within so far, bridging the subconscious and the conscious sides altogether. The map linked my past and present destinations in life, showed unknown alternate routes to the same destination, which I had foreseen in a rush to be the first one to reach, where no one else could.

 It showed some dead ends, which had been avoided, just because I had someone, who had already faced the peril, sitting right beside me to lead . Although all this while I never realized how important that person was, for where ever I had reached today. An entire scenario of my whole life drew itself in front of me, of what went wrong, although all the turns seemed correct.

Which stops should have been stayed longer, which routes should have been altered, which turn should have been followed a little longer, before the very next .

With every story that I read, the map kept on growing more and more intricate, and precise. Some roads which I had forgotten long back , registered back in their respectful places, some turns which had lead me into the most horrible traffic ,  stood as reminders of how what lies across the next turn should never be presumed.

The surprising thing was that, the more intricate and detailed this map got, the more complications were resolved, and the more accurate pathways could be traced.

I found a lot of answers all this while, with which I could grab my sleep back, and by the time you are reading this, maybe I was bestowed with few more. Questions and answers both. But there is one answer that we ought to remember for a life time. Sometimes, all the turns we follow are right, it’s just that the route we’re following is wrong, although it may seem right for all those passing by in a crowd. All we have to do is search the one that is right, for us.

My Angel

As a child I was a fond admirer of the night,

Who bought silence with its tides,

Drowned the noise, within its twinkling light,

Some days the night brought along the moon,

Because he swept his wand over our shadowed cocoons,

To tell stories of twinkling stars and the packed constellations,

To drown into grandma’s random compilations,

To draw amongst them  bows, arrows, squares and hearts ,

With fairy’s and queens and horse driven carts,

The thumping of her hand over my head,

Her bangles  twinkled and clapped, against my senses to shed,

And, there I slept within her wrinkled hand,

Who wipped my tears everytime I failed to stand,

Hands of my angel, who taught me how to dream,

Who held me while she crossed her life’s final stream,

When I left her hand and started walking on my own I did not realize,

But she was still there, to silent my tantrum of cries,

I still am a fond admirer of the night,

As night brings me back my angel , from far off, a star twinkling bright.

Eyes

The ones that speak my heart aloud,

The ones that search within the clouds,

The ones who rage without a shout,

The ones who trace a grin, a pout,

My eyes are the ones who steal,

A glance at the stranger across the street,

My eyes that give away my try,

To hide, beneath my faithful lie,

Eyes, who cry my heart’s  ordeal,

My smile without them is bleak,

Eyes dream within the darkness steep,

Eyes that drown, but never cheat,

Eyes that weep, but sure defeat,

The windmill of time, conquered like a fleet,

With the memories, that my eyes reap.

Web

Emotions sometimes seem so unnecessary to the human mind. The thoughts, the fears, the assumtions, the prepositions, the questions which play in our thought process, create an unnecessary noise, distraction for the silent and constantly busy brain of ours. Not to forget  the need the for ‘dramatisations’, that a normal person is taught from his childhood.

When a person is hurt , his first reaction should be a cry of pain or a cry for help. Instead,  it is an expression of anger, disgust, or mere vulnerability. When  one hears a happy news he had been expecting since long, his obvious reaction should be a display of delight, or an outburst of joy , however mostly his first reaction, is pulling somebody close to himself, to assure he has someone to appreciate whatever good has occurred to him.

These are what I assume the curtains, a need for appreciation, a fear of embarrassment, or a habit of comparison is what complicates our lives the most. Why aren’t we taught to live our life as simple as possible, instead of being given lessons on how to un-complicate it. As a child, why are we made to believe in the fear of the dark, instead of the glorious miracle of light.

There are people who live their entire life from across the curtain, never trying to find what lies across it,  just because they think its normal that way, and no one wants to be called abnormal. Actually they are mistaken, its not normal its just very common, and hence easily accepted , when it comes to just making a choice, over making a difference.

We are taught, to first make a choice between whats harder and whats easier , above the choice of what is right and what is not. Drinking a half empty glass of water is a  common choice we make, even though we thirst for a glassful. Just because, the half filled glass stands right near your hand on the table, and the jug lies all across the room.

There are  second type of people amongst us, who are intrigued by what lies across the curtain, because they have tried to hear the voice, from within, although not very clearly, as a result of the chorus of common men besides them, swarming like a family of bees, gathered to fulfill their righteous duty. But they never had the passion or peace of mind, out of the material world, ever to look further, or just hard enough.

Then there come those, who truly deserve to be called human, tagged the wisest creatures on earth, others choose merely to play their roles as men and women, the classical sexes created by the universe. Who follow its rules, and pace the planet, as monotonously as are the rotations of our mother earth.

These humans, are those who have looked into the search of not only, what lies on the other side but also , behind the very existence of this curtain, that separates the wise from the common. When you find the reason for the existence of that curtain, is when you truly discover the realization of why its superficial existence isn’t even remotely essential for our matter of living.

It is only when you remove the ring on your finger, do you realize the shade it has created on your skin. As long as it remains concealed, everything looks as normal, as equal ,as sparkling as it ever may.

Gesture Of Influence

Every night before closing the drapes, I ask myself the same question ,” How was the day?”. There being no one to ask that to me around, I guess it’s a ritual that I follow for myself, and the answer varies each day. Some nights, I lay awake figuring the answer, with the clock beeping every sixty minutes, telling me how much of time has passed and how less is remaining for me to live that very question of mine all over again.

Answering that question over and over again, I have realized how many influences surround me every day, that keep on flipping my answer with a new spice each day. So many small, and so few vivid aspects, crawl around , round the clock.

Faces, colours, structures, words, gestures, actions, expressions, and so many more factors weave my moods, my reactions, my thoughts, my decisions into me, with extensive, expansive, and a variety of patterns. A huge building which is  abandoned amidst of its construction that I pass each day, does secure some thought for itself in  my mind, an unknown woman, sitting on the bench, bearing a child within, glanced at me today, and that did leave an impression, a thought of itself within me. The list of messages left for me in my inbox, figures and news pouring out of the headings of a newspaper, the ruffle of the wind , that the traffic gushes at me , even the distant clouds, that dominate over me , all  leave their own spaces in the subconscious space that my mind reserves.

These, apart from the influences I choose to inflict willingly. However the effects of all these have always been positive, None of these influences have ever lead me into feeling worse than I already felt, or doing someone any bad which I had never even thought about before. Does this mean that everything that surrounds me wants nothing else but good to come out of it ,or does it imply that I am a very positive person indeed, anyone who knows me, would highly doubt that, and the list includes me.

I guess the only thing it implies is that everything results in order , if the way in which it is being perceived is true and correct. Not only the way in which it is looked upon, but also the reason, for which it is being looked into.

If u look at a rose a day before it withers, merely for the sake of its beauty, you wouldn’t be satisfied, but if you choose to  hold it in your hand and inhale the distinct fragrance of the soft petals, it would lead you to the pleasures that it still withholds.

The same goes for the people around you, the work you do, the body u live in , and the spirit that rules within.

Loss - That He Spoke Of

A rose I had bought before,

A pair of doves that she adores,

A story I had for her in store,

A pebble she had grabed ashore,

A crumpled paper, she once tore,

A picture we had clicked before,

Her smile I craved for some more,

The tree that shadowed our talks galore,

The breeze in which her hair cajoled,

The rain one night on her bestowed,

Her words have stayed within me hallowed,

Although while she has left ,

Only these memories for me she had kept,

I walk through these all day all night,

Through her words, her laughs, her eyes I sight,

Her  loss for me is still remote,

When I don’t find myself without her anymore.

SUMMER

Summer

A season of holidays, of travel to places far off,

Away from the golden hay fields,
 away from withered branches of a single leaf,

A reminder of the swift cool breeze , and soft green moss,

Barren, cracked, dry ,earth, the thirst is its grief,

Summer…….

A reminder of rosy cheeks, and freezing toes,

Of befriending the cold,
 that once was unbearable, as are foes,

Reminder of what was once too close to bother,

Of what is now too distant to gather,

Season of the tempting shadows,

A warmer black , and a brighter white,

The sweating hot day, a fond dreamer of the night.

A Prayer to Thee

The drizzling black clouds,

Befall endlessly , like pearls twisting in a chain,

As I chant your name,

Like those infinite ripples , still waters tame,

The splash of each drop,

Echo’s within me, with the rhythm of the wind,

Eyes that open, when closed,

To your gates, beyond which lies happiness  for me to cling,

Amidst all these lives, of each,

When mine sits strangled alone amidst all,

I sense you with every vacant wind,

That  lifts my heart so tall, from where troubles look so small,

Those still waters go deep into the dark,

Breaking those rigid hearts of the secure rocks,

Your pure and sublime message of peace,

Evokes the better half of me , even when destiny mocks’,

The waves wear colours, blue, brown, and green in a swirl,

Of what embodies its soul, shows itself to the world,

You dwell within the life I posses,

Without the boundaries, of colour, race, or creed,

 you preach me, and many more ,

 simply, through our very own deeds. 

Walking Down Life

Since years I have woken up, when sun was shining by my side,

Watched myself in the mirror, dressed, bathed, looked better everyday,

Selecting colours to put on, pinning my hair , that my work would abide,

Drove across the hush and rush of lives, flying past me with the clock’s play,

Against the volatile nature of heart, my mind always waged a war,

Cutting through the veins of pain and sorrow, anger had a place to gain,

When neither the drizzle, nor the shivering cold could disturb my mind at par,

I kept raging upon expectations, that craved for me , I was their righteous claim,

Even my sleep wont cradle me anymore, as I had shunned her with the burning lamp,

The morning came with ringing alarms, for all that had to be done while the sun burned upon,

When the throbbing nerves, and heaving of chest seems like a chaos within eyes damp,

Someone slow me down, before I realize that with time my life has gone…

Questions

So many questions  I ask myself every day,

 About right and wrong,

 On how to decide what right is, and what is wrong,

 Since the moment the alarm strikes a chord,

 Till the moment my senses don’t drop,

 Questions of ‘how’s and ‘when’s,

 Of how to answer with a ‘no’ ?

 Or spilling the ugly truth, u shouldn’t know?

 Whether red looks good or not?

or, when to give in to a temptation without another thought? 

So many questions,  I ask myself everyday,

 About feelings, for me and from me,

 Give away the trust, should I or should I not?

Or whether  to tie my anger with a knot?

At times when the mind races faster than the clock,

 And the questions are unwilling to stop,

To yourself, it is hard to deceive,

But to answer one self, it is a further difficulty to achieve.

DRAMA ON-STAGE

When the lights flood the dust and space on-stage, above a wooden platform,
the darkness beyond its length, from where applause comes as a storm,
the boundaries of lines and curves, within which an art unfolds on-stage,
as the colors of make-up, volumes of wigs
 and costumes define a
character's cage,
the aesthetics of art, rubbed upon each artist and polished to shine,
a web of dialogues, movements, expressions, to entangle minds, and also incline,
music elevating moods, tranforming acts,
 into stories, which have a life and soul,
lessons, taught by the abstract forms of bodies and emotions,
 sclupted from life's mould,
the shades of life, are etched in your mind,
after the fountain of drama sprinkels upon you,
a way out of the mundane, within the depth of consience,
has a door on-stage, showing itself only with righteous queue.

Rhythms Of Life

The beat of drums, leads the thumping of my heart,

The clouds bursting against one another; their sounds awaken the heart with a start,

The flute pumps waves of melody seamlessly into the air,

Peacocks dance in the rhythmic rains, as the love pours down, along with care,

The strings of violins, invoke memories of love and sorrow,

The bends of the rivers, gush over the rocks, telling stories of paths wide and narrow,

The claps of hands and taps of feet can tell a story of their own,

Wind clapping over leaves, speaks of wishes with which he was blown,

The sound of each drop, jumping down a cloud, into the pond,

The humming of breaths, in the silent nights where sleep twists its wand,

The slow moving of sand beneath your feet,

The mild dance of dreams, over the soft tune, in which thoughts and emotions meet.

It Starts At The End

To every tender shoot, will grow a green stem,
Which shall wither into brown one day,
Every flower will be sucked through its tendons,
and will turn crisp some day,

Every pebble was conceived by a strong rock,
Every raindrop seeped within the earth,
was once craddled amongst the clouds' flock,

The tiny feet that twisted within a womb,
grow old to wrinkle and tremble,
The heart that softens wildest rage,
turns fragile when its soul crumples,

The earth dancing before the mighty sun,
grows old wth every turn,
The bubbling waves will someday
be breathed in by the sun's burn,

The sour drops of failure,
mature into sweetness with the ticking clock,
The brisk grey ashes,
could once melt the rock strong ice with a mock,

The waves strung from a violin ,
shall never vibrate within its cords again,
The words that bridged hearts once,
flow away like a breeze flowing away the grain,

The bubble blown out of a straw,
gifts you a smile before bursting over your fingers,
The way sunrise settles into your eyes,
then seeps into your heart , before sunset lingers,

The black and whites of life start at each others end,
Let your soul enlighten into divinity,
before He stretches His hand over the next bend......

Blackout With The Darkness

Within a moment the sparkling bulbs and street lamps beeped into darkness,
As I sat alone in the shadowed room,watching silhouettes, staring into nothingness,

As my brain clicked the panic button,
I clutched my mobile in reflex,
From it a flashlight chained out rays,
as I heaved a sigh, while my heart beats grew complex,

The creek of the bed, the click of the buttons, the tiny vowels of my walking feet,
Sounded clear in the numb silence, with my eyes searching for wisps and flashes to greet,

The flashlight scanned a wax wrinkled candle in the corner of a window,
Old that it was, I handed it a match stick , to walk it across the shadow,

However dumb the fear sounded in my mind,
it silenced my sanity and drew it away,
And I walked holding a candle in my hand,
searching rooms for ghosts while trying to pray,

The walls werent welcoming as always,
nor were the curtains and closets,
So I opened the door;
today hearing the neighbours was unlike their usual croaking like crickets,

I stepped out into the verandah,
where the moonlight rained upon me,
Overhead the darkness was bejeweled with innumerable stars ,
like the bubbling waves of sea,

So many of them I had never seen before;
rocking his boat amongst them was the moon,
This darkness outside was friendly with me,
he calmed me using his sparkling drape as a boon,

He cajoled my sanity and brough her back to rest within me,
Then before saying goodbye, he engulfed himself around me,
And in a flash he was gone, leaving the light to welcome me.

While I Wait

The wings of wind, flying lightly past me as though whispering something,
Words withered at the corners,
while flying from across your side of the ocean uptil mine,

How ever carefully I try to listen , it drowns into noise , the way bells ring,
I turn around to find the broken shards of your words,
but there are none, even to whine;

While we were together , we smiled watching our hearts dance in the frenzy of rain,
But across the curtains of land and sea,
they now wander through the damp clouds of pain,

Have we lost each other, or has the fear of loneliness scared us into believing this,
Do you still love me the same,
or has my touch lost its warmth, that u nomore miss,

Does the moon you look at , still shines upon your memories of me,
Does the soft silence of sleep , crackle with my voice,
or do the dreams take you on a spree ,

The silence in these winds, the stilness of these trees,
The moonless nights, the empty hand that you once held ,
all cry in silent weeps,

All those memories flood my dreams, across timetables of sun and stars,
While a hope, unites lips with smiles,
eyes with hopes, promises with faith, locked across bars,

And I decide to wait, for the wind to bring me your words,
For your hand to fill mine, for our hearts to dance again,
like a rain-washed waltz of the birds.
All While I wait...........
I'll wait...