Monday, April 23, 2012

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.






Saturday, April 21, 2012

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.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

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.

Friday, April 13, 2012

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.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

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.