Silence

You can’t hear me
Neither can I
It’s the hum of my conscience
That’s keeping us alive

I heave a sigh
Of relief and pain
While the noise of my thoughts
Is making me insane

A newfound instinct
To tread life’s path
Where I follow the thuds
Of a deafened heart

We are no strangers
We speak to the souls
That peek through our eyes
Into a heaven unknown

I no longer stand
To make you hear
Instead, I listen to
The silence beat fear.


Featured Image Credits: Flickr

When Fifty.

One day I’ll be fifty
Greying hair and crow feet
The first few things
That you might notice
Never knowing the
Sights I have seen ,
With the wind in my hair ;
Unable to understand
The memoirs I collected from the
Life I explored
For fifty long years.

One day I’ll be fifty
Teenage kids and curfew timings
The rules you”ll criticise
Might not be easy to decode.
Trust the time I will have travelled
Second by second
Frame by frame;
Knowing the fears of the dark
hearts ; never the sky
For it has been the same
For fifty and the years before.

Fifty shall come
Layered on by the dust
Of memories and musings;
Fifty shall come
With time and tales
Of the era bygone;
Fifty shall come
Like come any other
In the life of men;
Fifty shall come
After fifty I have lived.

One day I’ll be fifty
But, it’s just not today.

Fifty

Names

He strung a few alphabets together
That’t who my daughter will be
To this world, those who will
Behold her for her courage and her mind
Her tears and her anger
Her words, her laughter , her choices
He gave her an identity
He named her.

She called out to her by what she
Stands to be ; what she stands up for
Against disharmony and wars,
Against dishonour,enmity and hate
Against restricted thoughts & oppressive ideologies
As she filled it with colour and shade
That which was her identity.
That which was her name.

I saw her stride through years
The name, her code in this world
A kaliedoscope and a maze
A memory, never same
An idea, A thought, A smile
She dared to be the petal amongst autumn leaves
Because that was her identity.
Her name.

Open To Failure

Failure. Its a pretty big situation. And what is even worse is the depression and all the mixed feelings that come along with it. Not that I haven’t heard of this particular word and its many phases before, I certainly have. Only, I have never felt it – never in recurring or heavy doses atleast.

Yes, I have faltered and fallen down but never completely failed before myself. Having been that person for as long back as I can remember , I choose what I want to do and I make myself pretty good at it, if not the best. Each time someone sets out to grab a chance at being good, there are always going to be the missteps that sprain hope and determination. Yet, the pure greed to get what I want led me to it.

Failing at something I was once fairly good at – hurts. I fell, got back up and dusted myself only to fall pretty hard this time. I fractured the reigns of perseverance and practice that kept it all together.  The feeling hits hard and makes everything else seem lackluster and vapid while I constantly try to pull up my socks and push up my spirits only to crumble into a heap of anxious fury.
I try telling myself, “This can’t be so hard to handle. After all failures are stepping stones to success. Why should one of them take you all the way down?”

It so happens that words are easier said than put to any good use. A continual effort of rigorous faith and obstinacy of mind and manner maybe the hard way out, but is the only way out. Easy makes me fearless on the outside but an absolute coward on the inside. Having been through a phase like that, I have no mind to visit it again.

So, until I nurture back my sprained ankle from basketball and fractured hopes from defeats and frustrated attempts , I hope to learn bouncing back from debacles rather than burying myself under the fear of one.   

Open

Can I Tell You A Secret?

Do I get a share, in the minutes of your time?
Would you sit up straight and look me in the eye?
Can I get you , absolutely, for a little while?
Could we take a break from this life that is a lie?
I might need a shoulder, some tissues, maybe a joke
Hey old friend , lost in the years and through places
Can I tell you a secret?

Is there any place on earth that we could go back in time?
Would you still fight and cry and later understand?
Should I get my gun or will you be my shield?
Can we run breathless , out on that field?
I might need a band-aid and I might need a hand
Hey there tenth grade enemy, since we are now friends
Can I tell you a secret?

If I would like to turn around, do we still have time?
Do we know our way around or are we still lost like the past?
Will I get an answer for all the questions I ask?
Would you lend me your ears and ditch that filthy mask?
I might need water, a few words and a new approach
Hey listen up , if you promise to keep it safe
Can I tell you a secret?

Do we judge what has been and spare ourselves this time?
If it wasn’t for misunderstandings , would we be just fine?
I know you won’t be far away, if I know you right?
I hope we can go on, for days infinite;
I might need nothing , just you by my side
Against my fears, as we put up a fight
Can I  tell you a secret?

 
Understanding

This Is My Muse.

There’s seawater and blood in my veins. I think I’d like that very much even if it were true and for the most part, I’d like to believe it is. Born and brought up near the eastern and western coasts of India, the sea has been more than just a salty water body with immense strength and untiring ways. Growing up with it, I never expressed the pure love I hold for it until I went away to study in a landlocked city.

The sea was my escape from a world that got too hard to handle at times, it was my strength when I thought of giving up , it was the monotony that slowed down the endless changes. As a writer , I thought I’d never write about anything more than once and yet each time I sit on the sand, my back facing the world, plateaued for a few minutes, I cannot but feel the urge to capture the waves that rush all the way from the horizon.

I understand the sea to be a reverie of sorts, the endlessness never breaking into the reality of this world.The unchanging nature – allowing me to believe that even as  change is the inevitable future of life – there shall always be a constant to come back to , I’ll find it right at the edge of a concluding realm.

We all need a point of reference in life , something that keeps us down , an infinity  that shall stay inspite of the mortality of everything else , a link that keeps us connected to ourselves . The salt water is that and more for me.

Connected

The Bigger Picture

I looked up and I saw
Pitch black
Not a point of reference
That glowed in the dark
Not the cousins of the sun
Blazing out each other
Not a join-the-dots game
I still played at fifteen.

I looked up and I saw
Whatever I dream of
I painted it in the dark
No witnesses to my art
Criticism had no place
No haters of what I made
As I filled up the sky
That had nothing in it for me.

I looked up and saw
The blue of the sea
Each a reflection of the other
No differences, just peace
Staring into the oblivion that
No man had ever seen
I saw the horizon hem a bond
No force could ever slay.

I looked up and saw
The colors filled in
No blank spaces in between
Shining in all its glory
For all the world to see
Nor hidden , neither camouflaged
I lifted the curtain of reticence
To reveal the bigger picture.

Sky