About poetry and other things


This year started on a good note as far as my creative writing goes. August has passed and yet the summer continues to rustle under the clear blue sky. I read somewhere that September is a month of huge energetic shifts in our consciousness.  I don’t know of the global spiritual awakenings but I am able to see the changes in me.

Sometimes one needs to detach oneself to grow. One can either choose to dwell in the hurt or look beyond that and remember the good things. I have chosen to do the latter. We often give a lot of love to others and forget to do the same for ourselves. So, I have decided to change that. A little selfishness in loving oneself doesn’t harm.

September began with a makeover. A no fuss hair cut and an exercise regimen to begin with. I want to travel too. Solo, if possible. I am becoming weary of company.

I often ask myself what am I grieving about? Something that wasn’t mine in the first place? So what if he left without a word, broke me into pieces, ruined me again?  What did I lose except the mirage that was ‘Him’.

Nothing

I want to close all wounds. Seal them with forgiveness.

If a conversation does not go beyond monosyllables , it isn’t worth having. I lost a lot of self-love and self-esteem in begging and pleading for you to stay, to not walk away from me.

I often wanted to ask,

What was I to you,

for that brief time,

that we shared

in an autumn

long gone?

Breakup usually taints all the good things and then your brain is a mess. Mine was.

This needed serious introspection. Love is not love if it hurts. I needed to clear my head of all the illusions, all the dreams that would never ever get realized. So, I took a journey into my wounds, the deepest secrets, the darkest places in my mind/heart and brought things to a closure within me.  I have decided not let the things, that do not belong to me, take control over me.

I am writing more to free myself from the loops of old stories. In this process I am finding parts of me that I once thought to be unlovable. Pain often brings deeper gifts than one can imagine. It makes you more vulnerable and expands access to your creative and personal genius. The closure we seek from others should come from within. No on can close your wounds the way you can and once that happens, new stories begin to sprout.

When Amrita Paul of SheThePeople TV asked me for an interview, I agreed instantly. A new window was opening and I was grateful.

Here is an excerpt :

1. Tell us a little bit about your background. When did you start writing poetry?

I was brought up in a family of liberal educationists. I spent a major part of my life as a homemaker but now my sons are grown up and I am working as a freelance content writer and marketing communication specialist. I must have been in my teens when I started penning down short poems.  I actually began to learn the art of writing good poetry some five – six years ago… Writing poetry helped me change the old order. I find it more intimate and tender to express in the form of a poem. When I read a good poem by someone I feel it in my pulse. I see my face in their experience and that is why I write. To feel this connect is very important. Poetry flushes out a feeling, an emotion, a thought, a question that you never knew  lay buried inside you.  A little arrangement and rearrangement of words opens up a lot of possibilities.Life is a great teacher and I have a student heart. My life is too chaotic and in poetry, you can say a lot in a few lines, you can play around with words and have a finished piece in a short time. That’s what I love about poems and that’s the reason I write them.

You can read the full interview HERE

Another opportunity came when Dr. AmpatKoshi suggested I contact poet-writer Lopa Banerjee of Learning and Creativity – Silhouette Magazine to get a chance to be published there. I sent two poems and Lopa, very graciously accepted my submissions.

Here is the first one – At The Banks Of The River Ganges

The other poem will appear sometime this month.

I also attended the book launch of ‘ The Girl Who Loved A Pirate’ by Kulpreet Yadav, at the Oxford Book Store, Delhi.

The book is one of a kind crime fiction. India’s first spy thriller based on marine piracy and hijacking. It was great to meet old and new friends who were just names on Facebook till now. The interactive session between the panelists, the author and the audience was great fun.

Fast paced and intriguing, the book is set in the Arabian sea, Goa and the Malacca Strait.

As usual, after the launch I and kid1 went for a sumptuous dinner.  Simple pleasures of life.

I have blogged with wordpress for almost six years now. It feels good to see readers connecting with what I write. Recently I noticed that my blog has crossed the elusive 2,000 followers mark and the blog hits have gone up to 588,600+ .. I would like to thank everyone who visits and spends some time reading what i have to say. It is because of you I write among other things. All those who connect via comments, thank you for doing so. Your suggestions and appreciation helps me to improve.

My GooglePageRank remains constant at number 2.

Onward we go!

There is a great power in knowing that you are more than this one circumstance. That you can move beyond the pain, real or imagined.

I thank everyone who has knowingly or unknowingly helped me in my healing.

You And Me – How Can You Forget


What We Were To Each Other?

never mind. it is a rhetorical question anyway.

Rant alert. Rambling thoughts.

We had different needs, our lives were too separate. Too far away. And you kept stretching the distance like cheese from the pizza.

We were pretty much on the opposite side of everything but we met, love happened, or so I thought. So many things feel like love and we are so often and so easily fooled. I just wanted a shelter, a sustenance, while you were looking for haute cuisine and a pleasant home. ASnd then one day you fell out of whatever it was you felt, dusted off, got up and walked away. we meant different things to each other. our needs were different.

I lost myself in words and images I conjured in my mind, forever torn between the lover as you were and the lover I had created in my head and in that process somewhere I lost you. I noticed the slow decline from being everything to being no one. Saw every single act of dismissal but I stayed. I wanted to. Just as i wanted to believe everything you said.

It is what it is. You, my dear, are too much to forget.

I will turn fifty in a few years. More than half my life is over. I want to  travel before my stressed out body gives away. I want to go back to places I imagined us going to. I want your memory. I want to take you there with me. Carry you in my heart. I also want to stop being a sad, sorry fuck that I am and be what I would have been if we were together.

A time to shed what’s not me. Time to move on, move away from people who pretend to care and understand but actually wish me dead. Tough luck. I wasn’t born to be ruled by others. If some people did, it is because I allowed or because I was caught in the web of circumstances beyond my control.

While I am ranting, let me also say that natal homes are most often not the safe sanctuary one thinks they are. This thought is pressing hard on my jugular.

Gratitude too is a form of love. I am grateful for your presence , imaginary or otherwise. Grateful for love, for being the wind beneath my wings. Somewhere you changed direction and I plunged into nothingness, picked myself again and now I am drifting aimlessly. My wings are tired and I can not even fold them and rest for a while.

I rant too much. Blame it on the Hormones. Times are a changing and your memory, it comes at most impossible times. Peri-menopause does that. It screws up your mind and body. I was sure I was going crazy, unable to decipher what was causing the hot flushes, night sweats, sleeplessness, mood swings, anxiety attacks, meltdowns, palpitations and not to forget the intense desire to strip off all my clothes at any given time… Was it the aftermath of losing you or were the hormones going wacko. Jeez, it is hard to go through a heartbreak when you are dealing with midlife crisis. Cold showers, by the way, came handy in both cases but it is still too much to deal.

I would reach for anything within reach that would comfort me. Alcohol, comfort food esp sweets, books, cigarettes.. anything that would cocoon me and keep me safe from the world that had suddenly become so unbearable. But now, I am going to get my sexy mojo back by turning menopause into menopower and I will make the memories of love to make me strong. Love that I felt for you. I am going to fill that You-shaped hole in me with something good and I will wait.

My love for you was wild and reckless, strong and rebellious, painful and desperate, untamed and hungry, It was needy. I was needy. I was hungry. and for me even the less was more. You were needy too but our needs were different as i said earlier. You fed me love with your fingers and then one day you left, and now I know what it is to starve. But you know what, love stays longer, endures more. Lust doesn’t. It doesn’t give anything except a momentary high.

“Loving you was like going to war. I never came back the same.” ~ warsan shire

but I will take those wounds any day.

Seeing you in the flesh, touching you, kissing your mouth, letting you kiss my mouth, surrendering to love, to lust, to the moment that brought us together was the bravest thing I ever attempted and the weakest I ever felt and now my body is like a haunted house that is never owned. A house that is sometimes lived in but mostly abandoned. It is an archive of fingerprints and scars that throb. It is filled with a lingering odour of love, sex and spices.

I am walking through a fog but I trust my instincts and I will make it through the frenzy of emotional whirlpools I am facing now.

If you think this post is not going anywhere, it is true. It is a floe, forever drifting like me.

My boy thinks I need to “chill”, that old age crept on me long ago and I am living in denial. My foot. what does he know.

So I will put a frozen teabag in my vagina (before you get ideas, it is for medical purposes. Sorry to disappoint.), have a hot mug of coffee or  go indulge in the finest wine or anything I fancy from a brain hemorrhage shot to a manga, get a short spunky hair cut that doesn’t need too much looking after.. (going bald is still a recurring thought), eat healthy while keeping my cravings satisfied, change the wardrobe (bring in some colour), and most importantly NOT GIVE A FUCK. Till now I was only writing and not believing but I guess it is time to change that.

Hormones can rage, your ever-present missingness can run havoc, financial trickling can continue, and people can snoop and stalk my blog for whatever they are looking for(you know who you are and I know it too) because I am going to live my life as I want. I am done with naysayers and f*tards that drained me of belief in myself. Go find your entertainment elsewhere.

Of course i miss you and I love you. Trust me, you do not want to feel what I feel. It is not easy task to go from halo to a broomstick in a jiffy. Don’t even try. Just understand.

this will keep me on a roller coaster

But

I will rock the change. I will flow.

And

I hope one day

you will find yourself and in turn find me.

If only
one fingertip
of a touch
could make
you real.
If Only ….

till then….

I will just come here and vent.

Better out than in.

Good things are happening in my writing world . Will share soon. 🙂

You and Me- Stones and Pebbles


Even the coldest stone warms up to you if you hold it in your hand for some time. Stones are memory portals. Be it a beach pebble, a mighty mountain or the one watching the world from the river bed. Each one alive, content and patiently waiting. Warm and enduring like love.You can always depend on stones. They are always there no matter what.

Some lives are like stones. So are some loves. Some others, like water. Restless, curious wanderers. Always off to someplace else. Disappearing quietly, unseen, unheard.

As I gaze at evening sky, my hands rested on ancient stones I imagine myself to be my gravestone, watching over my bones since hundreds of years. The river had changed its course many a times since then. The flesh rotten and gone. Only the bones had faithfully stayed and the stones.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Deep shadows  rapidly began to  consume everything as the sky furiously bled on the bare breast of  the river. A cloud had caught fire and was slowly turning to ash. I watched till only its shadow remained in the sky and then that too merged with the deepening blue. I opened the palm and slowly dropped the stone into the river.  The calm surface of the water embraced it lovingly. I imagined it slowly embedding itself in the river bed. Finally at home.

They say the best stones are those which you gather yourself. It was under the same sun stabbed sky I had found mine almost  hidden among other bigger pebbles. Shimmering green against the light. A rare, unusual find. Legend says that you never keep the first stone you find so I offered it to you. A symbol of eternal love.

“Keep it safe. It is precious and will bind us to this place and to each other.” I had said placing it on your palm.

“A stone? We aren’t Penguins sweetheart.” You had laughed and placed it back in mine.

It was the last sunset we watched together.

You once said I have a heart of stone.

Yes, I do and it is a heart you should have trusted.

You and Me – Four Seasons


In memory of that love which was there and yet not.

I lost all the four seasons in an autumn I don’t even want to remember and now it is winter and my heart is filled with the agony of untold stories. I no longer understand their alchemy or follow their plots,  the strange portals that lead to them remain closed or obscured behind a dense fog that has settled inside my head. I have known these characters from the days of their inception and now they refuse to obey. The words sound  trite and concocted. Devoid of joy the projects choke for the lack of air. Outlines fill the pile of drafts.

I am beginning to understand my limitations, my insanities. Beginning to feel my cracks. my fragments and the dislocations in myself. My vials of love have dried in the environment filled with ache and isolation. I have lost the elixir of life from which were born my stories, my poems . The cup is empty, the papers blank. Their voices mute. The strings inside me have broken, a pearl has slipped away into the dusts of time. Soon others will scatter too unable to hold on to the flimsy thread. It doesn’t matter When.

They say I look anaemic, that I have lost blood. A ghost of my former self. A writer’s blood is the ink and her tongue the pen with which she fills the blank papers. I let myself loose on paper and spilled the stories of love, pain, joy, terror, apprehensions and all that was me. I  squeezed myself in each droplet of ink till there was nothing left. I have nothing more to give, nothing more to tell.

Till then read those words that await in their shadows for you. They may seem just lifeless markings on a plain white sheet to you but look closely and you may see my heart and soul stapled to them. You may feel a pulse, a breath, a drop of crimson and salt in some of them. They may cling to you, ride on your mind, make you think, look within. They may crackle under your feet like autumn leaves that died and fell from the trees and like parts of me. Don’t forget to remember the colours they brought. It was a grand finale to something very beautiful. Gather those scurrying leaves rustling with the breeze. Listen and they will tell you the stories. Each colour, each crack, each pattern a cascade of nostalgia. Words, mysterious and magical even in death.

Nothing burns like cold. Find the winter in those words. The melancholy of lonesome nights. The deepening silences. The snow flurries. The long hours of waiting. Words ice locked gripped with bitter cold. You will see them trembling inside some story, invisible under a curtain of thick fog.  Numb. The air burning with their Fragrance. Our fragrance and the fragile familiarity of it.

Watch them cling to the sadness of things like droplets of dew. On a sunny day you may even see a prism of our dreams and hopes in the morning dew as the sun fills their lives. Jewelled words, a verse, a tale on wires, grass, flowers and leaves. Evanescent  as love.

Of endless summers and flirting springs I shall not talk, for you will find them as you rummage through that autumn  long forgotten this winter. I lost all the four seasons to it, the words turned strangers just the way you did and the story-teller disappeared in her own story.

Video courtesy You Tube. All rights to the owner.

Monday Memories – 14 – You and I – Absence


rambling thoughts

rolling

like a pebbles

directionless

homeless

gathering dust

gathering memories

now stuck between

a rock

and hard place

it is raining incessantly

It had to pour

Something has shifted

since the time silence

fell upon us like a sword

so cold, so sharp one could cut oneself on it

A silence

that has rendered

me invisible

and

in this chaos of sadness

memories have turned green

under the

the empty aching blue

of your absence

and my heart

from this great distance

watches helplessly

nostalgia was supposed to be about

moments shared

memories created

laughter, kisses

endless conversations

songs hummed together

in different continents

pictures, poems, stories

waking up in each others arms

being silly

arguments. lovers quarrels

even silences

and

make up sex ( in whatever way it was possible)

Never Ever in my wildest moment

I believed

It would be

YOU

personified

I existed at two places

here

and

where you are

with miles and miles

of ocean between us

I drew you into my world –

 real  and imagined

painted pictures in words

but didn’t know where to draw a line

there are times even now

when I can’t decide

which one of us is missing

I don’t know which pain is

more excruciating,

the shock of what happened

or the ache of what never will be

I know it is over

as simply as it began (and I am trying to convince myself even now that THIS is a mirage not THAT )

THAT which is real

in my heart

throbbing

pulsating

a wound

which is

as much yours

as

mine

(Ah! the joy of pain we so willingly endure)

there are many words

you left unsaid

many questions

 you never asked

(maybe they were things you were afraid to know)

and many went unanswered

in your hesitation

I found all my answers (so I believed)

each of us

for all our lives

live

so bitterly

misunderstood

I listened to the friction within you

of wanting and not wanting

missing and yet not connecting

I heard it all

but my heart

it deliberately chose

selective hearing

and imagined a glimmer of hope

in the slithers of sun

that warmed like  love

and tickled me in glimpses

 between the veiled Autumnal shadows

that loomed large

closing in from all sides

nothing haunts us like the things

we never say

(sometimes also those which we so carelessly say)

I would not have left you

on that September afternoon

had I known it would be our last

 the regret pains my heart

now among other things

I dream of lost vocabularies

that may express what we no longer can

but even tough the words have turned stranger

it is alright

for I know

what we are

and what

we could not be

there wasn’t a  closure

No goodbyes

and I hope (there is still a hope)

that one day

when you  make an inventory of lost things

you will find me and remember

what I meant to you

till then

I will do what I do best

move in the rhythm

with your ebb and flow

All of  You and Me   

I collect your whispers and arranged them in tight sentences (lest they flee) try to make sense of it. In your absence sadness of things speaks for you. Your abject indifference has seeped in and taken shape of everything around me. Words have long since turned strangers. The cell phone has turned into a paper weight. No, if you think I am saying all this because I miss you you are wrong. One doesn’t miss oneself but gutters too have limits when the sky pours it’s rain .

Monday Memories 12 – You And Me


Some things are forbidden and yet we indulge.  We want to create memories.  Memories are not always made of  what happened it reality. They are also make beliefs. Things we imagined , dreamed , yearned for and with such intensity that they began to  seem more real than reality. It happens with dreamers, story tellers , poets , lovers  and people who aren’t too full of themselves. You need space to let these memories to take birth and grow. You have to endure the pain, the discomfort, the ecstasy and the constant reminder that they are not fragile and ephemeral as reality. They are amaranthine . They are powers of darkness and when these imagined memories collide with the real ones they become vehicles of destruction. It is a hypnotic drone and blur which makes nights sleepless and turns the days into a perpetual black hole.

I am entangled in those memories of you. Both real and imagined.  When people withdraw or leave they leave a gaping hole. Different people fill it with different things unable to remember what initially existed before in its place. I filled and glamorized  it with memories of time we spent together, with pain and self-pity, with tears and hurts. I called it solace, peace, solitude but it was nothing of those. It was just noise. Cacophony.  And then one day the tears dried. Just like that but pain remained. The hole remained. Gaping at me more than ever before and to make things worse It had taken a shape of you.

I was unmistakably going through lots of pain when I met you. You assured me it will go away. I had apprehensions. I had heard these words before but despite my apprehensions I believed you.   I waited. Patiently.  Days, Weeks, Months, Years. The vanilla flavor has long gone but the taste is stuck in my palate,  I am trying to wean myself off you. It is a long painful process of disengaging cell by cell, pore by pore, nerve by nerve. Sometimes I pull a wrong nerve and the scream shoots inwardly at a deafening speed leaving me convulsing with pain.

When you hand over your splintered heart to an absolute stranger you take a big risk. You are prepared for what it holds. You know if it all fails the memories of it will shred you but you still go for the forbidden.

Indifference is opposite of love , not hate and there is nothing I can fill these silences with other than memories. Nostalgia holds a lot of importance in our lives. Memories can also make you muddle-headed at times like they did to me today. They can make your adrenaline rush and bring with it bouts of immaturity and catastrophes that leave you feeling even more miserable than before. It makes you impulsive and everything done on an impulse is not good. It can go so terribly wrong that it can startle you.

I was thinking I had lost you but nothing is really lost to us as long as we remember it and today as I think of you memories are bringing me the whiffs of smells of places  that I did not pay attention to, that I didn’t really think existed. It is bringing to me songs that take me back to a  moment in time like nothing else can even if its bony fingers, sharp nails and pointed elbows hurt me no end. It is worth all the pokes and jabs and scratches.  Whatever is left unsaid , undone can be added to a memory and turned into a dream to savor till it too becomes a memory. New things take its place and the cycle continues of dreams and memories and all that it is between that. In these flickering images i find the warmth you forgot to take with you when you left.

Love Hurts. You And Me 

(song shared from You Tube. )

You And Me – Solitary Amid Silent Ruins


I am tired of building sand castles, tired of so tastefully infusing each grain with love and passion only to be swept away by tide or the strong breeze blowing across the oceans that lie between us. Nothing remains, not even ruins. Nothing but handfuls of sand slipping through my fingers into the void left by crashing waves. I love the stories written in stones and bricks, ancient, crumbling structures that once were home to lovers and kings, temples made in honor of goddesses, tombs, castles and once vibrant, thriving city states now nothing but crumbling ruins shrouded in folklore, mystery, and intrigue, blurring that thin line between myth and reality. Each brick, each stone whispering a story. Touch them, run your hand on these broken walls and they will come alive and speak to you of passion, betrayal, envy, compassion, deceit, and death, everything that love is capable of. Sometimes I feel they were built as ruins and all the grandeur was added to them only to fall off with time to reveal once gain the alluring perennial beauty like that of a  woman whose true essence lies underneath the layers and layers that cover her. Her true self emerges only when all the veils drop.

Ruins have that strong naked feminine energy running through them, holding them together in all their beauty despite the ravages of time. Tinged with melancholy there is an unsaid acceptance that these ruins are more real than the perfection we aspire to.

We ventured into this haze, arms locked together, hand in hand strange warmth radiating between us, a light squeeze of hand in the grip of another, a message, assurance of being there in that moment. We traced invisible lines on the crumbling walls, our fingers laced together as one. It was in this moment of togetherness I realized even if this meeting had an end at least it had a beginning.  Time stood still as we talked along the trodden path. The fringes of the day lingered on the arches and columns that stood like trees of life. Supporting whatever still remained of the glorious past. The stones spoke to me and I seemed to know their mute language, and they too seemed to understand what I felt.

Patches of light played hide and seek on the building facades as the sun played mysteriously sought its path among the silhouettes frozen in time. He was a tourist I a traveler  seeking something more than what lay before my eyes but somehow it was enough to just be with him even in our differences.  The unintentional occasional brush against each other sent sparks shooting up my spine like a comet. I wondered what feelings these ruins evoked in him. Between the sunset of past glory and an uncertain dawn he and I stood separated by a dark frightening night.

Today I stand solitary amid the silent ruins. We never really forget someone after we have felt their hands, their fingerprints on ancient walls, after we have engrained their body heat into our very body chemistry and the fragility of it all. Today these ruins are filled with silent murmurs of our hearts. I ran my fingers along the weather-beaten Gothic columns like prayer wheels of monastery and suddenly I felt his presence, as if he had come back to me travelling all the seven thousand five hundred miles, filling all the gaps and cracks in me, filling the emptiness, the void, for I am a ruin myself, wandering among the ruins.

I leaned against the pillars draped in twilight and felt my inner darkness merge with the lengthening shadows of these pillars. I began to walk along the familiar path, now empty and more ruinous that it was meant to be. I reached the arch from where we had looked down upon the eerily silent, dramatic, desolate vast expanses of structures with dark lonesome interiors. My own loneliness and the pain of separation began to rise from some deep dark crevice within. The walls of my heart resembled those that lay beyond the frame the door made. Piles and piles of abandoned stones once part of some structure built brick by brick with some ol’ loving hands now in ruins flung up in jealous rage by winds of change. No wonder these ruins remind me of love, of distances, of  deep sorrow that clings to the senescent walls like jungle vines eclipsing everything that comes in its way.

Strange, how darkness paints everything in its own color.  I climbed the staircase into the open, out of the darkest recesses of my being. These stairs had seen many ups and downs in the lives of those who lived and dreamed. I chased scents of those as the landscape began to dissolve into inky night.  Sometimes a sorrow greater than ours acts like a sedative and tranquilizes the emotional pain, the ruins did just that today and now It was time to leave , the company of inner storm and wind that rushed through the decaying, neglected, lonesome structures of the past.

I know why I love to linger among them. It is because they aren’t neat and safe like buildings of today too superficial and undisturbing. It is only in the broken, obscure, jumble one can find oneself. only here one can shed all that is not part of the real self and look at the naked truth. I picked a handful of sand and watched it slip slowly from between my fingers.  Just like time.

The moment that brought us together as one had ended. Each of us carried with them a part of other. He was gone for I don’t know how long and left me wrapped in a myriad of emotions. I took the bridge which he had crossed with me that day filling my world with laughter, love and an immense feeling of togetherness leaving the shadows of the past behind.

I will wait for you as these ruins wait for travelers who seek the voice of  their soul. I will wait for you to run your fingers along the contours of my body just as we ran them along the walls and columns, plinths and arches. I will wait, even though it is hard to be left behind.  I want to get used to this feeling that you are with me even though you are not by my side or may never be. Waiting isn’t about patience or even hope, it is about keeping the dream alive for sometimes it is the only thing one has. The only thing to live for. A mirage that keeps a lost and lonesome traveler alive with hope in the harsh reality of life. I know that no oasis awaits me with its bountiful gifts .. love is sometimes just a distant dream, togetherness an illusion. Sometimes one knows one’s place –  outside the periphery, just as these ruins in the desert and that is the beauty of it.

I would like to thank James Goddard  for allowing me to use these excellent photographs from his travels to Syria and Spain. The photo credit goes  to him. 

This is the last post of the  series    You and Me .. at least for now ..

Moonbeams and Sunshine – A Lost and Found Love Story


I. Like a river flowing 

“Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, but falling in love with you I had no control over.”

Summer longings and a listless heart who gets into trouble by falling in love with  strangers.

Strangers like You,  a mirage, a distant dream untouchable & beyond reach. From your dusk to my dawn I wait for the sign but the rainbow dissolves in thin air.

Staring spaces hold me captive as I sit at the edge of desire. Silent vacant spaces where your thoughts like evening shadows slowly draw close and tug at my heart.

The mind is amused. It rejoices in the heart’s agony coaxing the heart to have conversation.  Mind is a patient listener, logical, practical like you but is crafty. It wanders off ignoring the mind trap.

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain.”Neil Gaiman

“Go with the flow, don’t ask rhetorical question for I have no answers. Why should you seek answers? Where will it get you? Will it change the way you feel? what are you seeking? Why are you seeking? where are we going? Why? what? I don’t know. Just be there.”

Questions and counter questions.

I look at you in silence, feel the pang .  I see a child like soul trapped in a tired over worked body wanting to escape. You deny. It’s a conscious choice – good bad whatever. ” Is it all worth it?” , I ask. you don’t want to go there.

I watch tears, smiles, frowns, happy, sad faces  pop up. Emoticon expressions. You share and I share and we move on.

A million thoughts leading nowhere ..I search and search and search .. more questions and more answers leading to more questions. Life has suddenly become a mathematical technical problem or maybe a philosophical one, I don’t know.

We just go with the flow. Dreaming, yearning, passionately longing . Sometimes like a magical mysterious placid underwater river with no source  no destination and at others like a mountain brook revealing itself and all its magnificence as it turns into a gorgeous river unmindful of where its going.

The laid back underwater river sometimes losing its sense of time and it loses the will and strength to cut its way through the obstructions. You have become like that.

One day the hidden river discovered light through a gap. It saw  the way to freedom but the effort to cut through the formidable stone walls was too taxing. It waited, craving to be free, looking for some lift and found me. love happens at strange places in stranger circumstances.  We took a dive . I to explore the unknown deep mystery and you to reach out and escape to freedom.

Being dormant for years creates conflict and the mind thrives on it. It loves to throw the heart in whirlpools and watch it burn and gasp.

It creates disillusionment, spins you, makes you dive deep and resurface breathless and baffled.

Enchanted and enamored  you went headlong and landed in a whirlpool of emotional upheavals conflicting with your chosen placid life. You began to  see and the light blinded you. You began to retreat. Courage doesn’t come easy.

I stood watching , helpless .

Happens when you fall in love with an image, wanting to own, to possess an illusion. Wanting a hostage for a season and then the pretensions fall to the ground. The fairy tale ends. The rainbow dissolves.

It happened too quickly. The want, the need all there but there  also a void.

The feeling of Having it all having nothing

Something you got to experience and explore to make the change that you desire and that has found its way to you.

You placed a boulder and shut out the light .  You shut me out but I have watched to peeping through those chinks and it gladden my heart.  I see another rainbow beginning to form. You are a wizard . You saw through it and cemented the opening firmly.

I smiled. Nothing can hold a surging river especially a dormant one.

I have an insatiable urge to grasp the unknown treasures, to taste things that are so wondrous when teasingly obscure, to get lost in the pathless dreamland away from the madding crowd.

Being in love gives meaning to life. It complete the circle of life. Even if it is a dream.  Luminous, delicate, ethereal dream arising out of a smoky mist an image slowly defining itself and me I love the shadow of the moon staring hungrily, ravenously longingly. I love the rich night sky with all its hues and changing patterns, I love wild daisies, the butterflies and furry bunnies , I love the fragrant roses , the rain shower, the cherry trees .

Reminds me of the poem by Pablo Neruda what spring does to a cherry tree 

I love to share it all with you knowing my footsteps don’t echo with mine. I still want to walk along just in case you terribly feel the need to open your heart and embrace life. The walls are too high to scale but I try with skinned knees and bleeding heart. Distance, time engulfs me in a misty robe turning me into water .. I flow.

Seduced by your songs, your laughter, your whiskey voice, your warmth. It fills me crosses all barriers of universe. I wanted to be wanted and universe fulfilled my wish. So I go with the flow. Sometimes like a gurgling stream or an untamed passionate mountain river at others serene silently flowing at leisure. Unpredictable yet contained.

Sometimes I get the feeling that all this is lost to you.

Beneath the quiet calm flow I burn.

My heart flies to you while my soul awaits. I, a thing of rags and patches, with twigs and flowers in my ruffled hair. I, with dreams in my eyes and fire in my heart. I, whom creator made and threw the mold. Who needs such romantic fools anyway.

And you, with a shell around you , a king with in the four walls of your self-created  kingdom. Shutting out all that would create an upheaval it your nicely manicured space. Taming the river that flows in you. How can who tell me to flow with you when you have created dams at every curves?

You forgot that over a period barriers begin to develop chinks and when they do you won’t be able to control the surge of a captive river.

Try, keep blocking.

Fill those chinks, those cracks but hey will widen with time crumbling to dust in front of the passion called life. I saw a gap and with quivering heart I stepped into the realms unseen unknown. The universe awaits.

You scorn and laugh. You moved into my mind space and now it leaves you troubled and yet strangely contended and me too in that process.

You close your eyes , bury your head in the sand  pretend it doesn’t exists but love moves in mysterious ways, in silence. So do thoughts.

Watch me burn in my own flames but remember I’m  a phoenix  I will rise again but your eyes will just see the ashes of love . They will search for something in those smoky remnants as the scent of jasmine riding on air-back  will flood your heart. Your grief will bleed inwardly for your soul has no rainbow and your eyes no tears.

You either enrich a life or you don’t.  There is no middle path.

to be continues …….

Winter Solitude


A lone eagle in the sky, cool breeze brushing my cheeks, parakeets making a racket on leafless poplar trees, yellow leaves drifting aimlessly to kiss the ground, larger trees swaying in a rhythmic, spiritual dance. Shivering birds search for night shelter. The rayless sun hidden behind the wispy clouds decides quitly to make his exit and let the night take over.

Somewhere a door slams shuts breaking the silence. A group of seven sisters noisely circles around the park and the lifeless, pale buildings and settles on the top branches . Today was a nipping day when one wants to be wrapped in a warm shawl or a cloak or a veil of memories.

An aeroplane flies past distruping the calm , a crow objects. I spot him sitting on the electric pole. A loner yet not so lonesome. There is something about the crows, mysterious, grand and regal. Something that does not want me to shooo them away like others. He looks around and takes a flight into the sky which  has turned  a peculier shade of grey today.

The stray dogs oblivious to all the changes around them cuddle on dry leaves and sleep as always. The cars zip past them but the only movement is a raised ear, or a half opened eye.

It’s began to drizzle. The clouds seem to be gathering in my eyes too, ready to pour. I watch.Standing near the open door. Inhale the sweet smell of the earth mixed with the roses in my flower pots. Fragrant evening.

Slow and steady falls the rain. The trees grieve with me. They look exhausted so am I. My eyelids are heavy with sleep. Hot tears burn ny eyes and yet I am unable to cry. Partings are never that easy. I reflect on the events of last few days.

I ask myself again and again why didn’t your footstep echo with mine? Everything seems to be rendered silent by the loss.

A steady drizzle of quiet moments.

I can hear the Aazan from a closeby mosque and the temple bells for the evening prayers. It is around 6 in the evening and already dark and dreary. One after another images come floating in my mind.  I hear whistle of a train winding it’s way in the mountain, the explosion of colors in the evening sky over the snow clad mountains of Ranikhet, the sound of rain pelting against the tin roof of the army rest house in the cantonment, thunder and lightning and the darkness thats slowly fills you till your very core.

A bitter sweet symphony of life. I love the evening rain that slowly builds up in the night and the fresh morning after that. A smile struggles through the tears and I switch on the music. Rain and music- two things that heal. I inhale deeply and take in the fresh sweet night air filling my senses and then exhale slowly letting out hurts, resentments, grudges, pain.

I remember lines from a poem by T.S.Eliot

I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.

Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.

(From Preludes)

mirage


“Is there anything in the world sadder than a train standing in the rain?”

Love… The very word warmed me all over and I basked in the glory of the thought that the feeling was mutual.. for once it was not an one sided affair. Under the bejeweled sky I began to serenade, a song which rose from the depth of my very being. The night silently listened.

Something changed overnight. Every moment became an irreplaceable miracle. I became conscious of people’s stares. Was I looking different , I often checked into the mirror and saw the fireflies dance in my eyes. Was it the color of the thousands of candles lit in my heart that had risen to my cheeks or it simple was the thought of you? I don’t know.

I began to write. The hues from the skies and the seas, the various shades from the red maple to the moist velvety green of the hills covered in morning mist ran wild in my verses. Suddenly you colored my world with unthinkable variations of reds, blues, greens, whites, pinks and yellows. The phantom man who haunted and inspired each word, who controlled the dancing fingers on my keyboard.

My emotions rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, taking me along on end endless rhapsody of life. My soul left my body and danced among the sand dunes..liberated. It’s swirling movements and soft taps echoed with my heartbeats.

Passion flowered under the deepest darkest corners of my life as you watered the tiny saplings of love in me. It seemed like a dream within a dream.. absolutely unbelievable yet true. I flowed like a wild river, rushing to meet you at every bank and every turn, full of hopes, dreams, joys and promises.

Your love like the mellow warmth of the winter sun thawed my frozen heart and rejuvenated it. I was alive.

But….

The time like a winged thief stole the most magical moments of my life. In my insanity of the new found love I forgot to see that I was travelling the path alone. Somehwere you had changed your path and left me dancing to the echoes.

As I watched the shadows of gloom descend and envelope everything that surrounded me. The hushed bliss had turned into a morgue like silence. The river had lost it’s youthful rhythm … the ripples were there but soon they would be gone too.

I began to gather the broken pieces of my heart. the sand beneath my tender naked feet began to burn. the blisters bled and a trail of crimson footprints began to take shape as I ran after what was mirage.

I could not let go. No, it was not true, it could not be. In the dark recesses of my mind your love was still moist and warm breathing life into whatever remained of my ravaged self.

In every winter’s heart, there is a quivering spring, behind the veil of each night, there is a smiling dawn, is that not what you used to day .

Where is my dawn ? Why am I scared of the night which brought the best in me for you.

I try to still myself, to control my breath and the thoughts. The night is stained with the memories of lost love, of deception, broken promises, guilt, excuses and hurt. The sunsets that I chased make me weep. The moon, which we both saw from our windows across the oceans and the deserts and saw each other in it, vacantly stares from the raven sky. My heart looses track and I try to listen in vain for those millions of heartbeats when I merged into you. They all seem to have melted away.

Autumn has left the trees bare just like my heart. I watch each leaf, dried and crunchy, slowly glide to the ground like my desires and dreams and see it get piled up, crushed and then scattered away with the wind.

Splinters of memories dig deep through my soul, leaving it bloody and bruised. The day goes by in doing various mundane tasks but it’s the nights that bring the agony and the pain. It still makes me alive but with different emotions. Tears that sparkled on my eyelashes in the brilliance of your love now burn the skin as they roll down ceaselessly like the lava from the volcano. The whirlpool of emotions, feeling that are trapped within, memories that jostle with each other create such a havoc inside me while a smile struggles through the frozen tears to face the outside world.

Gaping spaces yearn to be filled, the fruitless life longs for that dawn of hope. All in vain.

Where did we err?

I wonder what happened to the little notes of love that I wrote. Are they tucked away somewhere in the crevices, tear stained and crumpled, forgotten.

I look around the sand dunes and the emptiness around me . In the dust filled sky , your faint outline on the horizon lifts my dying spirit. Are you a mirage or just a distance not traveled? I gather the remaining stardust in my hands and under the faint light of the moon, which limply hung from the torn garment of the night sky, I began to struggle through the shifting sand grains.

I hear your voice though distorted. at times it’s different, like that of a complete stranger. I follow my instincts. There is nothing more to lose. All that I had was given to you with complete trust and devotion. Now with a torn, trailing veil of memories I seek you.

The dust of dreams leaves one thirsty,I try to ignore the feeling and as one dream another rises. I follow them relentlessly, hoping to reach you.

I lose when I count how many times I reached out to you and cried out your name.

The asphyxiating silence prevails.. I don’t know how many dreams will end before I find you again but hope is a miraculous thing at least for me for it keeps my life strings attached to you. Maybe someday I will be able to cover the distance between us or maybe you will go wandering back into the corridors of memory, find me there and breath life into my soul.

The night has fallen again, the cool breeze seeps inside me as I watch the dark sky where clouds drift like distant dreams. I wonder if you will ever read this but I know that the breeze will carry the fragrance of the passion flowers to you and maybe, rekindle the flame from the ashes of our love.