Wednesday, February 14, 2018
Going grey
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Who nights
We are waking and sleeping, dreaming and despairing, all in and all without. Who are we? The endless nomadic thoughts take me from one cold endless night to another. What is this with cold nights? They keep me shivering and strangely warm within, the train it rattles the whole night through nameless towns and hills, all I can think of is some fantastical lights , sparkling drops of laughter and my glories. The orange of the sky blending into the ink blue and the grey all around, flying a thousand miles up in the air, and all I want to think of is freedom and love. Mystical stars and me chasing their twinkles, sitting all alone and still all without and all I can think of is some conversations to shoe the night by. What is it with all that goes on within? All I am thinking of is lying flat in a mountain stream and feel the water submerge me in its coldness. What is it with streams and me? You seem to be in my every dream and yet I can't take a dip in you. Like a thirst I cannot quench any of you, my nights, my dreams, the silhouettes I can never decipher, bring me a drink, for all there is somedays, is an old cask whisky to make me slowly drift away on a boat in the sleepy sunshine of evenings, over the stream in my backyard and stare far into the sky and wonder where are the stars behind the dying rays of sun. What is this in my eye? A longing , a determination, a loneliness and also the love of all I have been given. The warmth of so many who love me, the peace of the nights and the self determined pace of life. But then there are dreams and in those dreams are sunlit streams and there is me finding myself bit by bit in my small hilltown of dreams. And there is those whistles through the trees, calling me deeper into the woods as I dither and vacillate on the edges.
Sunday, April 30, 2017
Aching flights of fancy
Listen, I said to no one in particular,
I want to fly down that mountain,
Soar on the wings of my soul and call valleys below names,
Paint some orange on the white floating clouds and make them rain as I go piercing through,
Fall flat into some lake between the mountains and rise frozen phoenix from the waters,
Then sit and wonder about life, my apparent loneliness midst our togetherness,
long nights of restless dreams and fantastical beasts who fail to get me through those long night chases,
My heartbrokenness amidst the aching love of the mountains, the darkness within amidst the white and greens all around.
Call me names if you must, but don't call me back.
Saturday, April 15, 2017
I used to
Yes, I used to dream, many dreams fantastical.
I used to laugh, I used to care and I used to love.
I used to gaze at twinkles, through endless dark nights.
Now on the days when the fog lifts and the moon shines through, reminisce is all I do.
I am the left over from a banquet, stale and foresaken.
I can't leave and I have overstayed my welcome.
I am the crooked smile in a sea of grimaces.
I am the mad man sulking in the corner, enraged but smiling.
I am the nightmare that ends a night of fitful sleep.
Sunday, August 7, 2016
Hitting the keys (that's all)
Ah the many long years, were just a little few hours separating us,
And I still was in that old mill office, and you still found me funny,
The giggle, the smile, my heart;
Oh how I wish this wasn't what it was to become,
Few starry nights of loving you, loosing myself bit by bit, darkness ripped by a bright shining dust of glitters, all just serenading dreams of drunken love.
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Jewel
Hello, is all she said, a hello was all it was. But dreamers, they sometimes only need hello's, and he was a dreamer.
In the sun-drenched space between him and her, myriad rainbows formed and disappeared, all in the few moments that he peered into her eyes.
She always had her way with men, the mischief that danced through her serene and deep eyes, set prominently in that undecipherable face, made most men flounder.
He told her of how he had often hoped for another chance meeting with her, ever since the time she had caught him by surprise while sitting alone at the edge of the valley on the foot of the abandoned old cottage near Toru, the biggest hill in town.
It wasn't the best thing to say, and it was almost visibly boring for her. But he was never known to be a conversationalist.
After several minutes of such inanities, she told him her name was Jewel and he blurted 'how appropriate'. That, awkwardly enough, broke some ice and she let a small laugh through, which almost made him feel like pulling her up close.
These were early days, he knew. But also that, there would be a lifetime of these days.
Standing on that rather cold but sunny morning, in front of the small bakery that opened early to catch the morning walkers, he had no way of knowing that Jewel was about to change him in ways he could not imagine then, he and Jewel were headed for adventures.
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Dark evening kites
And we were back in that old mill place, the conversation, your eyes, our smile, my heart;
Fleeting touches and whispers of the passing night,
Awake through these long nights, how long will I keep stumbling past your door.
Sunday, April 24, 2016
Hills and a heart
Friday, April 15, 2016
9A past midnight
Thursday, December 31, 2015
lets begin again
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
Another non starter
The ends seem to always be corners,
Leading on to newer ways;
We all seem to call ourselves names,
Only to be lost in our own wile games;
We wish so many tragedies on many,
But none of the wishes ever come through;
I am caught between witches,
Asking for their pounds of flesh;
I can't decipher a road to escape
From the thousand little pathways;
I am shouting hoarse and sometimes crying loud,
Too far too long into the wall that separates me from faith.
Saturday, August 15, 2015
A passing storm
On the wings of furious winds, piercing like needles to my bones,
Watery eyes beholden to the sight, waiting for the lightning to strike,
Drooping trees turning green to grey as if refusing to stand in the way.
A maddening glint in my eyes, and on the lips an unrepentant smile,
Mangled but erect, on my feet still, hunched like a bull,
A dark silhouette full of rage, staring deep into the gathering storm.
Sufferance when pushed, burns the blood and drowns our soul,
And it oozes like pus out of our bloodied selves, toxicating all that passes near.
Eighteen with four to go, wonder if I can withstand these storms any more,
Monday, February 23, 2015
Searching for moonlight
I woke up refreshed and full of spirit, jumped out of the bed, stretched and walked to the wall size window of my room and moved the curtains with a flourish, somewhere I was hoping for the weather to partake in my enthusiasm and depute the sun to be shining bright. The dark gloomy clouds and the strong breeze that I could see flowing through the trees in my neighbours garden below, instead seemed to signal a dissuasion. Determined to not wait another week, I went about dressing up and having a light breakfast. Spent considerable time setting my hair in a manner that would signal a casual and carefree manner, and then in a similar manner handled my clothes. After an approving glance on the outcome of my efforts, I walked out the door of my warm, small but sufficient apartment, into the biting cold of that autumn morning. I had set out in her search.
Heading straight for our quaint first meeting place, near the rocks of the old decaying cottage, I found the surrounding a little unwelcoming, the overnight dew had left the rocks dripping wet and the wind was especially sharp atop the corner of this small hillock. I could have still braved the conditions but I was convinced that if she did turn up again, from her Sunday morning trek and found me sitting here, the chances of being taken as a glum moron requiring help were too high and not worth the risk. The lack of any basis, for my confidence in her Sunday routines did not bother me at all, though my mind did rationalize that a trekker is likely not to use the same exit every week and hence she might not come down trail behind the old cottage today. Having convinced myself to this line of thought, I immediately proceeded to the trekking trail, that led from behind the cottage and was on my way to meet her by 'chance'.
A couple of hours passed, even in the oppressing cold wind, I had broken into a sweat, I was standing atop the sharply jutting out ridge, the highest point in my little town. I had a few faint memories of having trekked up here many years ago, with a few friends from school. I realized, with a tinge of remorse, how in the moribund life that I had been living all these years, I had never again found the motivation to walk up here. The crisp morning, the slight light headedness from the mountain air and the many tall pine trees, had taken my mind away from all the inanities I chase week on week, I felt liberated and brimming with a feel good hope. Standing there and looking down far away into the valley that spread all around, I was tempted to promise that I would make this a weekly habit, to trek up here- but then I thought the better of it, as even in the optimism of the morning, I didn't see much point in adding another promise on to the overladen table of unmet promises I kept in a corner of my small room.
Saturday, February 7, 2015
Beginnings
Summer days are like this, they make you feel generous about your own prospects. The balmy weather, sunshine and the lightly swaying dry grass in the tropical march breeze, made me feel optimistic that winters were left behind for good. Or so I hoped.
I took many determined steps walking away, fast and quick, from the dry hillock on which I knew I had vile'd away too many years of my life. Arrogance, foolery, cowardice and lastly plain dejection, in that order, had made me sit atop the hillock, waiting for the thing to happen. It never did, and I grew older and bitter. But now was the time, the great breakaway from my prejudices and failures.
With glass eyed determination, I had set out to find my green valley and that longed for drooping tree, beneath which I would lie down to sleep each night, under the gaze of the far away shimmering stars.
I had finally set out to find love.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Unfinished
In the strange disquiet of that quiet evening, under the quite caress of the strengthening breeze, in the darkness of the sky and the harshness of the waves , I could neither hear the outside world nor could I hear the chatter within.
The hardening with the years and the vicissitudes of my unremarkable life, have left me cynical to the existence of epiphanies, however in that moment on that bridge, I saw a life changing one hurtling down towards me. I could have spoken aloud, for there was none to overhear, but I am not much used to verbalizing what's in my heart. So instead I write.
Sunday, November 23, 2014
missing the woods for the trees
Walking the streets of our past, we often realize how the world and the people in it have been changing, but very seldom does this inquisitiveness to observe and comment on change gets directed inward. How life changed me as a person internally over the years and how those changes tend to manifest themselves externally is something, quite to my surprise, I have never really postulated.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
awakening on a sleepless night
For,the inventiveness of my mind, in constantly churning out new desires, material or otherwise, and my unabashed acceptance of them all, has always been a parameter on which I enscon myself on the highest level in the scales of intellectual highbrow.
Treating it as a belief, a marker, a potent indicator of my zest for life.
Comforting? This harmonious acceptance ? Not really sure.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Lost
From the end of the long mile
Stumbling through the coal black night,
want to hold you just a little while
Faraway from where I stand
A twinkle here and a glimmer there,
Just illusions conjured by a tired mind
Of snow white clouds in star less skies
A little star struck and a little vile,
I seek some lies in these honest times
As the empty, weary sky they grope
Asking life for another try,
Just seeking some winds to an unknown sky.
Parallel life
Just empty hands, and a last few ember's of my slow dying dreams.
So many may-be's , so many sigh's, so little to show for my long winding ride.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Winter monologues
Ek Sach
Hum apne aap se bhi chup ke rote hain
-
Lying on my bed, watching a small fading light bobbing around on the lake beyond the edge of my bed, I started wondering about life. Have b...
-
From a new place of love, I try to start a chapter again, discovering the purple shades of my heart, I watch the bubbles that form and burst...
-
As the sun went behind Albo, the tallest hill in town, everything grew suddenly colder and quite. Narda had been moping through the weeken...