Shooting Star

You live a life of a shooting star

Invoking prayers and wishes

With a spark of light following you

Flying alone in the thick black skies

Hitting straight on the ground

Plunging into an ocean of permanent darkness for... forever

Not even leaving a trail behind

Dying as if you never lived.

Or, could we live backwards?

Foot Prints

I am erasing my foot prints

From the journeys I couldn't complete.

I am starting again

To see if I can make new mistakes. 

Marriage

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. 


Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. 


Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

~ Khalil Gibran 

Same smoke

Same smoke

Is sticking around

The horizon

Is the fire without heat this time...

Yesterdays of the past

So many lessons learnt

So many stories to write about

So many yesterdays spent waiting for a tomorrow

And not a single 'today' to live?

A Man on my bed

The white bedsheet lies crumbled on the bed. The quilt placed unfolded on the corner.
The air-conditioner set at 22 degrees. The window pains are steamy and the fog outside blurs the vision​ outside. The ships sailing in the water look like locusts. 

​Black bodily hair lie scattered on the white bedsheet. The rectangular bed is placed in the middle of the room. 

And I m sitting on the floor. In the extreme corner of the room. Staring. Glancing. Wondering at the sight.  

I see a giant body lying upturned on my bed. A hairy brown big body....A body of a man.

A man with frizzy hair and unshaved cheeks. Drooling. Snoring. His curly eye lashes placed softly on the roughly folded pillow. His lower body wrapped in a thick cotton robe. His bare back fighting with the light falling from the windows. The cold air tip-toeing on his broad shoulders. The bed spread barely covering his folded leg.

A man is sleeping on my bed. And I am on this corner. Escaping the thoughts flocking around. 

How two worlds are created in an instance. One, when we create it instantly, without being a part of it.... and second, when we uproot it and still choose to be a part of it forever.

You are None

Probably the best part that Life rewards you with is when after putting you through various tests, it leaves you in a Timeline to give a pause and realize that….

‘You are none’

When it shows you that you’d not always be the current that sails in the middle of the sea nor the dying wave… as you are on the shore already.

When it picks you from plateaus and drops you in the deserts while crossing the rain forests.. it points out that you belong to not just one place.

When it makes you a child, a friend, a madman, a father, a creator, a failure, a predecessor and a successor simultaneously.. then suddenly a stranger one day. It indicates that you would not be under one label forever.  

‘You are, none. 
But, just You.
There is no You in this lifetime other than you.
And you have, only one lifetime, to be You.'

Freedom to Love

I see myself knit dreams 
Of You
Without You

I am illusioned 
With the presence 
Of Your absence  

I have presumed
To have the freedom to love You
Without seeking Your permission...

Was it You..

I question myself...

Was it me who loved you

or was it Love that loved me?

The Door unopened

Two windows

And a door

I had in the prison

I had slipped out of the window at night several times

when none was watching.

I came back in from the window I left unlocked before mornings

And slept back in the blankets woven.

The doorman has summoned

"It is Time to break open the Door" he says. 

Your Name

Your name is

Like an unexplainable pleasure  

How will I explain what I feel

When I rub nothing between my middle finger and thumb

Your name is

The battle of time

How will I explain

The pleasure of waiting to meet you in this lifetime

Do I love you or your name...

I am in love

Getting you
Is losing you

To be one with you
I have to separate from you

Falling in love with you
Has liberated me...

Sapna's diary

A piece of note from Sapna's diary - 

"Finally, I took off that ring from my finger today. Cant believe it took me five years to realise that I should.

My ring finger looks pale, and non- beautiful. A white mark encircles the skin where the ring tightly held it for 6.5 years. It doesn't pain, though. A harder skin of the other fingers touches this new soft white part.

There is an unusual feeling in the hand. A little scratchy though. Of course it will remain. It is natural.

 My middle finger is feeling sort of blank. A feeling that something is missing, that it continued to play with unconsciously.

There is a little silence too. No metals banging. The ring in the middle finger is not beating against its usual partner.

I switched off the light and tried to sleep. No diamonds to twinkle in the dark. I wonder how darkness was trapped  inside the little pieces of light for so long."

Sometimes Darkness frees us from the prisons of the shadows that Light confines us to... 

May be...

  

May be

I am just a story teller

May be

I am just a bubble of your imagination

May be

I am the last word you want to hear

May be

I am the beginning or the end of your world, or both

May be

I am a dream locked inside your eyes

May be

I am No one

Or, may be

I am You

The Physics of Quest

― Elizabeth Gilbert ( Eat, Pray, Love)

“I've come to believe that there exists in the universe something I call "The Physics of The Quest"- a force of nature governed by laws as real as the laws gravity or momentum. And the rule of Quest Physics maybe goes like this:

 "If you are brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting (which can be anything from your house to your bitter old resentments)

and set out on a truth-seeking journey(either externally or internally),

and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue, 

and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher, 

and if you are prepared - most of all -to face (and forgive) some very difficult realities about yourself....

then truth will not be withheld from you." 

I know You

Draped inside

the staggering faith

Floating over

the uneven surface of dying hopes

I know You exist... 

The Mirror

Each time I stood in front of  the mirror

A stranger peeped from behind

Gesturing some odd signs

Unused symbols

Strange sounds

Unusual shadows

Warning me of the twisted silences

Cautioning me of blank expressions

Filled in my eyes, blurring my vision

When I closed my eyes

It whispered in my ears

"White fields in the black clouds await you on the paths untravelled..."

Sketches of Words

From the sharpened pencils

To my used up refills

I have been sketching your words

All night

And now when I have confessed all

I feel like starting it up all again...

Last Breath

I am sinking down

In the middle of this ocean

Of questions.

The saline water

Slowly choking up my lungs.

I have salvaged

this last breath

to say "I knew you'd come..."

Castle of Destiny

Is it the silence

Or the loneliness

That bangs my door
At nights 

Why do I not think of fleeing

From this castle of destiny 

Let's have some Romance

And today, I really wanted to write something romantic.

I think romance shows a part in you which is always blossomed, just that we ignore and close the doors of the gardens in Spring. A song in the car, a couple holding hands in the garden, teenagers kissing on the road probably pulls us back to it.

We relate romance with someone we love/ loved. We have our peculiar things attributing to this feeling- our favorite movie, place, dress, restaurant, incident and all. Lovers come and leave. Sometimes they take your share of romance with them.

I saw a dear friend yesterday with beer in one hand and a cigarette in another, enjoying his evening by himself. It was such a simple of having a toast of romance with yourself.

I asked myself if I could really make love to myself this way- by offering myself something I loved. Food, shopping and music..! Naah..Enough! Ok, so, meditation? Ammm ... Hard to say no, but not now. Dressing hot and going seaside by myself and forgetting my phone at home? Amm, can be considered.... What about calling someone who had a crush on you and feeling important... Oops... na na! Anichya Anichya!

I closed my eyes, for the answer to float ultimately in the pool of thoughts. And, it did. The answer brought a smile in eyes. Writing. Yes, writing. My love. No second thoughts on it. I knew I'd write boring/ useless poetries that none understood or was interested in, in those 'romantic moments with self' but it was all for myself, for the me of I.

It is 5 in the morning, I haven't slept all night and I am having this romantic time with myself.

Just imagine, this is beyond the generic "I love you" as there is no "you" in my love..just me. No fear of betrayal, no probability of non- attraction, no ambiguity about the future and no nagging insecurities and the trauma of remembering anniversaries and birthdays! Wow!! 

The Irony

When it is full

It feels like..

An empty vessel

A blank paper

A voiceless whisper

A destinationless voyage

A ruined dome

An injured dove

An endless wait

A meaningless strife  

What an irony..

When we feel we have accomplished

It only deepens the loss..

The Graveyard Flower

Don't know if I am waiting for death 

Or if it has passed..

I just lie here on this grave

Gazing at the immaculate skies..

From here, my last life appears quite familiar..

Your body

The smell of your shoulders

The light of your eyes

The tranquility of your presence

Then why do religions say that body is mortal.

The Old Woman

The old woman

turns and pauses

She ogles at my pricey booties

Smiles with her toothless jaw

Spits blood on the pavement

She rings the bell before moving back

And gets lost in the smoke containing the broken pieces of the last decades