Tag Archives: Life

The Little Things

Isn’t it funny
How we fight
Over and over again
About nothing?
Don’t you see
How empty this is?
Inconsequential little things.
Did you forget to close the door?
Or perhaps put down the toilet seat?
Maybe you left the milk out again?
Don’t you see
How our fights
Are slowly
Turning into battles?
And someday when you lay the table for two
But eat from a plate for one,
Or when you have enough milk for me and you
But only a glass to pour,
Or when your king sized bed
Finally seems too big.
Will you laugh then?
At how we breathed
Consequence into things
Of Inconsequence

The Meeting

PicsArt_1373797698171-1Far away from here
In a distant land
Away from the sea
There is a shore

With breeze so salty
You can taste it on your teeth
And on your tongue and lips

With salmon sunsets
Alabaster moonlight
Dipping into the orange horizon

Here, on this shore
We can stand as equals
Unbridled by our
Lack of sorrow and pain
Non-existent problems
And thoughts of loss and gain

Your flyaway hair
Golden and free
Your bright sapphire eyes
More wondrous than the sea
Wash over me
Wash over me…

You are the waves
Powerful and wild
And I, Oh I so badly
Want to play with you
Alas! I am scared of the ocean
I never did learn how to swim

So I’ll stand on my shore, this distant land
With my feet firmly planted in the sand
Golden kernels caging my toes
I’ll wait for you to hit the shore

Far away from here
In a distant land
Away from the sea
There is a shore.

And on that shore, you and I
Water and sand
Will meet.

And you, my darling
Will wash over me

Paradox

Note: Open to your interpretation. My mind is rather twisted, obviously. Still, I mean this in the most positive of ways. It may not seem like it, but honestly. Always hope for the water.

I feel my feet sink lower into the sand, as the storm blows in circles all around me. Clocks turn, people fly by- their faces blurred, scarves pulled upto their eyes.  Days turn into nights turn into days.  All around me, the sands swirl in the gusty wind, as I stand there, with my vision impaired and my senses dulled. Thick, dark hair billowing around the contours of my face. Feet sinking lower and lower into these deceptive swathes of gold. Animated and suspended, rushed and stilled, all at the same time.

If I could, I’d bottle up all these grains and fill  an hourglass with hours and minutes. If  only I could. Maybe then I’d be in control of time.
Slow things down. Observe and act. But for now, I’ll sigh as the sand slips through my fingers, and  I’ll play with the cards I’ve been dealt.

What a whirl this is. Even so, never moving, never changing. Perhaps I should keep up, I think.  Perhaps, I should move with the sand, with time, with the sands of time. Maybe I should just grip the fingers of both my hands around one thigh and pull it out of the thickness, place it a tiny step forward and then do the same with the other leg.  Repeat, repeat, repeat. Move. Just move, dammit. Move forward.

Activity is all around me. Inactivity is in (the) body. Time for a quick fix? I hope, and don’t hope at the same time. Shrink and swell with the wind, and the sand. Embrace this. (Or not.) Move forward, (or stand in comfort), waiting for the sand to blanket itself around me. Burial. Obfuscation. Soil will layer itself above your rotting flesh. Nature is so…  efficient.

Sometimes, it’s difficult to weep over death for more than eternity. Especially when you know that carbon dioxide you breath out can, and will sustain another living thing.

This too shall pass. Life always does… pass. Again, step out and move forward. Or stay. Choices, changes. Comfort (?).

Choices, changes, comfort. Step out. Now.

All around me the sands move and my coat tails dance in the wind. It’s too hot for a coat, but it serves its purpose, cloaking everything on the inside.  People move forward and backward, rushing with their scarves still clinging to their faces.

Do something, hisses my mind.
And so, I do.  Digits around left flank. And then right.
Left, right, left. Like militia, but with emotion.
Faster, till this storm is behind me.

Maybe there is, beyond all of this, a blue stream, brimming with sweet, frigid water. Gurgling and bubbling. Meandering through rocks.
No more sand and storms and heat and winds after this.
I don’t know.
But I can, and will move because that stream just might be there.

Or perhaps there’s a cliff.
Maybe I’ll fall off the edge.
Maybe I’ll grow wings.
Maybe there isn’t a cliff at all.

Uncertainty is the flavour of the month.
I hear they’re handing it out on street corners, and it’s selling out like hot cakes.

And in the meantime, Life laughs sadistically in the background. The air is tinged with irony- best served with(out) hope.

Move forward, or stand in comfort. Step out. Or stay. Choices, changes. Comfort (?).
The irony is that change is the only constant of life.

Always hope for the stream though, and if it’s the cliff, jump. Never stagnate. Maybe the fall will be light, and you’ll find yourself swimming in waist-deep azure water.

You never know what all of this leads to in the end.

fleshwounds.

When we fall in love,
I want to feel it
In the core of my being
Let it not float
On my lips
Just my lips
Like some hollow declaration
Of some plastic future

Let it echo through my insides
Bang against my bones
Tear out in short gasps of breath
Bursts of fireworks
Yes yes yes
Snatches of intense, fervent emotion
Pouring out from every opening
Every gap
Plugging all our holes with
Perfervid sensation
One string
An invisible link
Between you and me

Let it wake me up
Like coffee
Hot, Bitter and Strong
Let it shake my insides
Make me laugh and
Perhaps cry
And bleed

Let us tumble
Dive headfirst
Into a rush of butterflies
Tying stomachs into knots
Let it be everything
Potent, Over-powering and raw
Who wants a fairy tale?

Let it hit us like a ton of iron bricks
Rattle our rib cages
Break a few bones
And some hearts, maybe?

Let it be pure
And happy
Just happy
Dancing-On-Air happy

Let our knees wobble with weakness
A heady rush of blood to the head
With each beat of the heart

Let it shatter our insides
Peel our skins
Cause flesh to rot
Splinter our bones
Mark us with hidden, indelible ink
Till all we have left are our bare souls

This love we feel
Should not
Will not leave us with mere fleshwounds, darling

Wanderlust.

Thank you google images!
Thank you google images!

Let’s get wonderfully lost
Ditch the map
Forget our phones
Follow the stars
Penniless pockets
Unfamiliar tongues

Let’s catch the train
And go where it takes us
Along slopes of hills and valleys
With the smell of tea
Lingering in the air
Along the ocean
Can you feel the salt coating your lips?

Let’s eat dishes
With names we can’t pronounce
And meet people
Whose words will be etched
In our hearts forever

Let’s stop looking at the world
From our shiny tour buses
With giant binoculars in our hands
And faces pressed against tinted windows
Why not jump off the bus
And just wander?
Let’s lose the intinerary

Let’s revel
In not knowing
Where we are or
Where we’re going
Let’s get beautifully lost

Let’s fall into Wanderlust

The Funny Thing About Change

Image Courtesy- Google Images
Image Courtesy- Google Images

A few people who know me quite well will tell you that I fear change like Voldemort fears death. That I’m scared to Hell and back that something will disrupt the delicate balance that governs the present and the future. I found this idea too ridiculous to even take into consideration in the beginning, for I love spontaneity and recklessness. Unfamiliarity thrills me. I don’t like to make planned, calculated moves when it comes to many, many things, but now when I think about it properly, I guess I am afraid of change. Scared to lose whatever makes sense in a whirl of absolute unfamiliarity.

I’m not afraid of improvement, but maybe I am scared of some emotions I can’t handle too well. I can’t tell what frightens me so much, but perhaps it is the possibility that there is such a great chance of loss or rejection, and that I can’t ever be prepared to handle it. (I hate being told that I can’t do something.) It’s very visceral, yes. But such emotions always left me feeling far too lost. However, more recently I’ve grown sort-of comfortable with the idea that nothing is static and the only thing that’s constant about life is change itself. Adaptability is probably not my strongest point, but at the end of the day, maybe it’s all that counts. Because change does that. More often than not, it gives you the chance to adapt and even though I called it a ‘whirl’ before, but maybe it’s more gentle, more gradual, more like a swivel.

The thing about change, forgive my poor metaphor, is that it is like growing your hair. It happens so slowly, and you can’t make out the difference from one day to the next. You can’t feel it. It isn’t palpable enough. And day by day, it grows longer and longer, and you fail to realise it because the change is so so minute. But then, all of a sudden, someone comments on how long it has grown and you feel the full weight of the realisation that your hair has progressed from shoulder-length to mid-back and you haven’t ever felt it happening. Similarly, change happens little by little, so slowly that you sometimes mistake it for stagnancy. But it will happen and the understanding that something is different will probably only strike you once it is too late, unless you’ve paid attention to the signs.

In many ways, it’s like evolution, which is a constituted of a series of smaller mutations.  Life did not jump directly from the single-celled organism to human being. There were several stops along the way, signs that something else; something much more complex was ahead. It’s the same with degeneration as well. You will see it coming. Still, it’s funny how we sit and wait for the smaller changes to multiply, or maybe accumulate in the patterns of geometrical progression (?), before we are completely ready to open our eyes and see that it has compounded into so much more than it should have ideally been. Do we always need to sit idle till the storm strikes?

I’m not going to make sweeping generalisations and give you certainties, but there’s a great chance that change will leave breadcrumbs along the route, little signs and blinkers that it is on its way; and when it does hit, it may hit you with a pat before a blow, giving you ample time to be mentally prepared and to adapt to it. Maybe waiting for the full after-effects isn’t the wisest way of telling if something has already happened.

So, I think I do seek some amusement in how this works, because if you look at it from the ‘micro’ lens, not much has changed from yesterday to today. And not much will change from today to tomorrow, or from tomorrow to the day after. But when we look back, years from now, everything has happened. 

Find My Presence

Look for me in the trees
Midst the lush green foliage
I promise you will find more memories than one
Of times when we would go there, and sit in nature’s lap
Or pretend to be lost adventurers, seeking concealed muddy paths

Look for me in the fall
When the leaves have turned amber
They drop like the rain, covering your path
See these leaves, and think of love
Think of sunshine, and happiness
And of the months gone by, devoid.

Look for me in the trails that we once left behind
On those sandy lands, lined with cobbled webs
They are worn out and dusty, but here, answers you will find
Hidden under those golden grains
Lie the solutions to all your darkest troubles
Hear them in my silenced voice

Look for me where the ocean clears
Where blue meets white, and white meets yellow
Build your sandcastles
But forget me not, for the stories we have made on these salty shores
Are the ones you will remember forever more

Look for me when the snowflakes fall
As you shovel this white beautiful mess
In these intricate designs, you will feel my call
Reminding you of heart-breaking has-beens
Think of me, each time you see this shimmering sheet
And shed those silent tears for those Christmases gone by,
With no presents from me.

Look for me in the pages of an old diary
Cry, as you feel my fingertips, brush across the paper
For a mere second, let go of what is lost
And hold me in your embrace as if I were there
In flesh and blood

Look for me in the years gone by
You have aged, as time has worked on you
But I, rest as I always was
Kept alive by your memory
Still young, and fresh. Smiling.
In those dog-eared photographs

Look for me in every corner
Of this ghostly land
Green and gray, stones everywhere
And corpses lie below your feet, rotting.
Run your fingers over those letters and say them out loud
Let the wind catch your words and float them my way
For nostalgia will strike even those who wish to forget

Look for me, and you will find
My lingering presence.