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

The Many Shades of Red

Red , they told me ,
A colour of the rising Sun
Set to warm the cold souls
Of the blackened night.
Red, they promised,
A color of inspired blood
Rushing through a being
Of immense humanity.
Red, they showed me ,
A mark of the woman
Tied in the sacred bond
Completing another half.

Red, I saw ,
A devastation and destruction of love.
The knife the let the red blood flow.
The words that bit into her soul.
The bullets that built a wall , unbreakable.
The voice of bitter memories.
Red, why had they lied to me.

Red was never one colour;
It was a variable waiting to change
Into the many forms it took
It was always in vain.

Angry