Category Archives: Imaginations

Of Picking Confidence

I had shed tears last night, the sounds meandered with rain hitting the tree leaves
I wondered what the birds in the nest are doing, are they safe,
a two second gap of care and random thoughts amidst this

Nothing really changed today morning
with irritation and ache for a change, I woke up
I really don’t want to wake up this way, but I did
dealing with it the easy way
get over it.
Put your two pounds cheap ego in the garbage bag
that has to go to the unethical landfills,
now wake up, smile
Here- that is you giving yourself another chance to survive
this game
Brush, bathe, eat- it’s hard to get into goodness

I walked a little, staring up at the birds and their safe chirps
a little more to do the chores, to show on the outside,
with a beaming smile, to show I am more than fine
then walk, to the tiny place where the solace is found
or that is what you think when there is no one to question you
not even yourself because you are there, to please yourself
to hunt for the gazillion thoughts and put it in line, like a school of army,
the bees store nectar in the tiny cubicles like this place
There is positivity in inches you walk and breathe
it is the vibe that hundreds brought to this place
and that is why I like coming here
to add my part

And when you come to the right place you kind of realise, you came in to store the positivity
in one of the cubicles and not here to pick some
I am walking back along the flower vendors, I see little things now, happy petals
and by the time I have reached home, I know,
I have picked the confidence I need to live the day, few moments,
from the birds that survived the rain,
from the stranger faces I saw while doing chores,
from beyond the walls in the solace place
from the flower vendors’ joyous flowers,

All you need is a walk, that day.

Two Dragonflies Chilling By The Ivy Arched Window Pane

We all have one of those days when everything seems unfinished. We are unsure about the chapter on the next blank page, about the pending chores that we left for an apparent tomorrow, about the next moment where we were supposed to begin with a pre-planned activity. This immature mess builds up steadily in the mind’s landfill and becomes a sheer garbage before you realise years have passed!

…..With a chill timid breeze beating up gently, I stand behind my tea stained ebony railing, facing hundreds of willow trees. It is a fresh two day getaway before I join my allied mess. All I’m sure about at this point is the imagination running through the wilderness of my mind, that moment. My mind’s wafting wilderness itches the strangeness of the evening. Far away, I can see two dragonflies chilling by the ivy arched window pane. One goes to the other and showers all the love it has. Your golden laced wings are beautiful, it says. The vines running along my ebony railing goes and ends above that rose cottage. The tender pink roses have bloomed and merged onto the corner of roof. They had a tough misty morning. They just dried themselves out from the drenching dew and a tiring work session. Don’t even get me started about the sunflowers standing near the silver door. Their fashion parade in the noon to attract the bee swarm was such a drama- I have lesser drama in my life. 

My coffee arrives as I start looking into the crisp green grass. I look back into the willows and everything strikes back, but in bits. I get the clarity of my mess as I sip and stare into the chamomiles amid the crisp greens. The whites gave me confidence to sail through the plume of unorganised thoughts.

My perfumed skin felt numb against all that I was trying to push inside me; fragility was a reason. In the bizarre evening, I try to tune the mess to art, little by little. I try to mouth emptiness into beauty, make music in the ash grey heaven. I also try to understand you like how the paper supple roses mend itself, get you. 

It is just another day where I figured out that this is the reason why nature never goes outdated. It mends you. It mends you like no other, from within. 

In Search Of Him

you have heard many stories
of pines and cedars
but this:
a scene of loss,
peril
my fingertips tremble
and freeze as i touch
the rose gold fountain pen
i blink twice
my smoky lids as i
explore him
about
on the papers;
so unfamiliar with my language, sheets
quiver as I stride my nails on
letters and words search for fervour
as i even think of him
everytime
on a paper
under fading pink skies
amid the pines
in a word, letter
for you and me
he is new
and gone, long gone

Beyond The Bounds, I’m

Fire cannot see the ashes it creates, I scrutinized, lying in one corner of the dark room, possibly the darkest.I prefer.

Barring the randomly rumbling thoughts in my mind, I tried to peruse the situation.
I don’t belong to this place. I belong to the distant cedars. Under those evergreen woods, etched is my name.  That is the place where the dead meets evil, blood meets peace and fire meets ashes.
I want to lie there, blamed by none, feeling my numbness rise— touching its peak. Amid the sap green smoke, it is beautiful, to see me there like a creeper— twining the stupefied me, relishing my soul. I finally produced what it wants, it deserves. I can’t take you there, for you don’t know how to hum with me, you rattle. And that does no good to the cedars. It’s darker than a blind man’s world. You will extol the beauty, never. I breathe to drag in the grand fragrance, I apologize. As you fail to feel this intense fancy.

A hundred souls with me there, selfless, lie. Every nerve brims with bliss. The deceptive never survived the chill— iceberg cuts through your gut, distorting your spine. Surrendering is the only choice, I did. The loyal ones do.
It’s for the toughest.
Go away.
Beyond the bounds, I’m.

The Abyss With Dimensions

She pondered over her father’s illness and their financial crunch. Her satin lilac skirt and a contrasting blouse not only claimed her naivete, also making her sweat in the sweltering summer noon. The parched road she was walking along had tiny shady shops alongside; colourful candy shops, the smiths, umbrella repairer, grocery store and few others still bearing the essence of village tradition. It was one of those days where she was clueless of life’s happenings. Sudden demise of her mother few days back, the breadwinner, shattered her. Dreams of moving into a cottage like that of her close friend Rani’s, granddaughter of the village mayor were burnt to vapours— her tiny castle of extravagant hopes.

Her dusky skin shred drops of sweat— of grief and fear— she was responsible to raise her sister and run her house there after. Recollecting her mom’s advices that you are your own helping hand in your life, she walked and explored places every afternoon in search of an earning. That day was a bit unusual. She had a destination. A vagabond in his forties, who is usually spotted near the village temple every summer selling bangles promised to offer her a job a day before. He claimed to have the best quality bangles that carried a charm with it. She was unsure about everything that moment. Trusting her immature instincts, she went to the person for a job, a final call of her heart to survive.

“People usually are not satisfied with anything in their lives. They try to measure the dimensions of the abyss they create. To add up, people just daftly compare theirs with other’s nonexistent abyss. Once you stop all of that— you start living, you start admiring and valuing the present. The dimensions are your illusion”, he said in his husky voice before even greeting her.  She was stunned by the profoundness of words that he spilt.

Looking back, she cannot just ignore the vagabond’s eminence in the way her life’s outlook changed. Now, being in her late thirties in a cozy and comfortable apartment of her own, she recollects the girl wearing lilac skirt with all illusory dreams, the changeover, and the journey until now. ‘The way you dream can destroy your dreams’, she told her eleven year old who was pinned to her electronic device. She had her own set of life lessons to be learnt.

 

 

People and Incidents

bark of the tall tree is dead
wearing out
walls have begun to crack
iron poles in the corner of our backyard is
rusting
flowers in the garden
are vibrant
no more
narrow passages that once led to a fresh pond
became shady- creepers twining all over
my body
so fragile
powerless
my imprudence need to be punished
for i kept waiting
until this
for many in life
people and incidents
that never occured
one question if i had answered
myself
to rescue me from this trap- of waiting
my book would have had
happy chapters
new characters and less wrinkles
why-
why am i waiting
is the one that’d have
saved my time from
people and incidents
so bleak!