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A SOLITARY DREAM.

Remanents of sleep

Flicker like fireflies

When dawn slits the skies

And I try to open my

Heavy lidded eyes.

A reluctance to leave

The fluffy bed.

An aversion to listen to the day

And all that it leaves unsaid.

There is comfort in solitariness

There is no one to separate me

From love there.

I carry wounds from battles

I fought for who I thought was weak.

It was their sword that fell upon my neck.

I bandaged their hands

And let my neck bleed.

I carry scars from scratching on doors

That knew only to stay shut.

They were not mine to pry open

Inside were false cries of help.

Separaters do just that

They separate you from you.

From everything you call yours

From everything you love to do.

I am older now

And I hurt a little less.

Or so to you it would seem.

I still unravel in my solitariness

Quietly, deeply, beautifully

Like a long, poignant,lonely dream.

.

COCOON OF SOLITARINESS.

I tore away from the clutches

Of an ivy night.

To usher in reluctant sunlight.

And opened the window wider,

The air grazed its metallic fingers

Through my hair.

With an immediacy of a lover.

I felt it deeply

Like a childhood memory.

Craving to relive Itself.

Longing to be cradled on a sepia shelf.

The sun was tiptoeing

Hesitatingly on my

Wooden bed.

Trying to uncrinkle the sheet

To make space for sitting in.

A book lay wistfully awake

On unslept, puffed eyed pillows.

Momentarily ruffling its pages

With the cold bookmark of mountain air.

I was too lazy to

Rouse myself,

to make me

A cup of coffee.

So I turned on my side

And muttered a complaint.

The air deepened its fingers

In my hair.

And whispered,

There is no one,

You are alone.

And I pulled its cold face down

Upon me.

Close enough,

For it

To feel the pulse

That keeps me

Thriving in life.

The love inside me you see,

I said.

Is a war.

A battlefield between

My mind and heart.

And I hold it within

So I don't fall apart.

Like the morning breeze,

Carrying possibility

Of storms, in its yet

Gentle waves.

There is something about

Giving myself to another

That now makes me curl

My toes in rage.

I am not meant for a cage.

A butterfly that cannot

Go back to its earlier age

Love is an illusion of freedom

When offered by a sky

That knows

You do not have wings to fly.

I got up then,

And shook myself.

The remains of slumber,

Scattered in the sunlight around me,

Like diamond dust.

I rushed

To embrace my aloneness tight.

But

Like always, It could not

Hug me back right.

Before I turned away.

It said,

I will never betray

Aloneness is the only one

Whether you want it or not

It always chooses to stay.

And just like that.

with it by my side.

I wasn't alone

And

It became a beautiful day.

.

THE INSIDIOUS CAGE

.

The world is insidious,

It parades as pure.

Don't let anyone tell you

Who you should be.

That there is glory,

In letting future be unsure.

That the desire to be perfect

Is a problem.

Look at their unkempt gazes.

And unruly manners.

Look at them.

Without roses in your eyes.

They see your excellence.

They want you because of it

And because of it,you will be despised.

Go become a boho thing.

And watch all respect and regards flee.

Both from their eyes

And from that of their kin.

Let that be a test of their love

And integrity.

And know it was never about you,

But what you can bring.

Your worth in their eyes,

Is from where your perfection,

has brought you today.

May you see your worth

like they slyly do,

Is what I will pray.

But they will tell you otherwise.

How else to convince a gullible one.

You are sweet and pure my child

Yet to learn of worldly wiles.

Your mother has seen it all

And now has hawk eyes.

Listen to when she warns,

She may have her intuition

For herself all wrong.

But for her child,

She knows it is feral

And strong.

They tell you now, to be who

They are.

That is safety in their mind.

What they can never be,

They will not let you see.

They will take you away so far.

They will make you forget and

there will be no one to remind.

The limping ones don't want you

Climbing a ladder.

So they keep you on the lowest rung

And call it staying aground

And they tell you the same

Each day harder.

And happily watch you slide.

They have small dreams,

And they know, yours will be big

So they do not let you sleep.

They will keep you awake

And exhausted,

So you fit into their scheme.

They will entwine around

Your body.

Calling you sweet names.

It is the drug,

They numb you with

So you come to love all that clings.

Not understanding,

It's not beautiful ivy

But it's poisonous imprisonment.

When it is time for freedom

Don't fall in love with a cage.

Their words may tell a story,

But it is a different book

It cannot be the same page.

They will say always

An""ours" and a "we"

Baby we should do the dishes,

Also when it comes to money.

Specially when they want it done

Only by you and as per their wishes.

And you go all the way.

Skipping merrily.

Ofcourse they plan everything

And in detail

It's easy to do

When the money is from

Somewhere else.

The day they put money where

Their mouth is.

And take charge of your charge,

Is when my baby

Think of them as generous

And large.

You love with service.

With money.

And your time,

And they see and know it well.

You pleased your family

And found, how, yourself you

Could outshine.

You now please them,

And watch how your

Progress they will confine.

You please now

As you did before.

Only the person you choose to please

Is another one.

Another object of your desire.

But this one

Unlike your parents

Will make you perspire.

Manipulation is

When they tell you,

Parents are enemies

Do not give them your best.

Please me

Bring to me all the rest.

This pleasing will cost you dear.

It will bring regrets

When the end is near.

Parents teach you to

Reach for the sky.

Because their job is to give you wings.

And they do so with surety

Because they are your roots

While you fly.

No one else ever

Will let you go to the horizon.

They will convince you

The chains on your feet

Are the roots that you need.

Please none,

Other than yourself.

Remember your cry with joy, at your wins.

And let your halo be yours.

Not the ones,

Who want the wins

But keep you dim.

They will take all that

And puff you up,

But baby

You will be left

Without

Any kith or kin

Learn to observe

How they be, around the

One's who got you here,

To the pinnacle of your success.

They will hate on them.

Because they know

Those are the ones,

Who will show you the summit again.

It is their greatest fear

Because they are base camp squatters,

Who want you

To bring them the spoils

From above.

So they can claim the glory

Of your trek

Without any effort.

If you still need them by your side

So be it.

For you are the one to decide,

But baby

Don't let a fool fool you

Go play them right.

Use them,

To propel you to

Where you need to go.

Like they are using you

As a feather in their cap.

Go get what you want

But make sure

You don't get played.

.

SHADES OF GREY.

I was young

A birch tree yet to be.

Unaware of what it could do,

How many, would envy,

How many, it could woo.

My shade, was my cool.

My naivety, yet no body's tool.

I did not know,

What a tree has to endure.

Its grandeur brings mossy weeds

Hunters with axes to cut it down

In the guise of noble deeds.

To shrivel it,in the name of pruning,

To cut its gut and fruits,

for hunger and greed.

There were separaters

That fenced its might.

Isolated it from the shrubs

And bushes that swayed with it

On moonfilled nights.

There was rain, there was none.

Every season felt like one.

I stood against the wind

Sometimes basking in the sun.

there was shiver in my leaves

And on their tips, a buzz of bees.

Blossoms unfolding

In my eyes.

There was much to experience

Under the grand skies.

My roots were gentle.

Like my belief in all

My dreams were tall

The tree mighty never falls.

Fall I did, got back up on.

With spring in my leaves

And myriad branches

Chirruping with bird songs.

Nothing mourns.

Nothing grieves,

As much as fruits that age,

And nothing laughs

And nothing rejoices

Like stout roots

Turning a new page.

The tree stays mighty,

growing quietly.

Days will come and go

Some sparkly,

Some inkblue nightly.

Heavily or lightly.

But

Years, spreading

Like roots neath the ground.

will eventually know their

magnificence and strength

And be proud

Of how much love there is

To be lived

Inside every life's length.

.........

.......

.

BACK HOME

Years spent in building others

I forgot to look my way.

So I decided today

To give myself all my time

Like I did to those

Who walked away.

I found a scared person

Beneath layers of mistrust.

I found some despair

Underneath the crust.

I took myself in my arms

And sang the way I used to then

To all the people who came to me

To confess their shame

I held myself gently

And let myself weep.

I caressed my distraught soul to sleep.

It made me feel good

To have looked at myself again.

It took away the load

It took away the pain.

I promise I will never let go

Of the beautiful being

Inside my skin.

The thought brought

peace upon my limbs.

I watch myself and now

I smile more.

I gave myself a home

And showed the demons the door

.

MEMORY OF A PROMISE

I still think of you.

You somehow became more real

As you faded slowly in flesh and blood.

Distance did not take you far

Like a trail it brought you back

In a loop.

You somehow became more real

Real , just as I had once needed you to be.

I make you smile and look at me

The way I wanted you to then,

I can picture you as the lover I wanted

To see.

My eyes see with my mind

What they longed to see

When you forgot to look at me.

In my mind you are just as I had thought

You to be.

I listen to songs

From our time together

They seem sweeter now,

Like fulfillment.

They don't have the ache of heartbreak

Like they did when we heard them together

Lost in our own little worlds

Doors shut to each other.

I like the songs more

I don't cry as I hear them now

There is a stillness of coming home

In these memories of us

As if the lights are on

And you are silhouetted by the window.

The cigarette smoke

Beckoning me

As a warm hearth would

On a cold day.

I see you in my mind

Just as you had promised

Once you would be, to me.

I told myself to forget that promise

The day I walked away.

I wiped out the clouds from my sky

So the sunshine of my own magic

Could recreate you

And turn you into a permanent

Dawn scattered upon

my lonely firmament.

.

FOREVERS

Mother came down the winding steps,

Gently gliding,as a swan

And sat by my side.

I was stretched out on a lounge chair,

Her hand caressed my forehead.

I snuggled deeper into her smell.

She was silent, as was I.

We were waiting for father.

Not a word uttered, but so much said

Her fingers on my forehead

Spelled out her love.

She seemed to say

I wish I loved you more.

And I moved closer to her

To tell her the same,

Before the unsaid galloped to

become our bane.

The wait for father

Felt like looking at a painting,

About to be touched by the last

Stroke of stain.

Just a moment before it is completed.

The anticipation of years

In a pending stroke of colour.

The last flourish of completion.

I heard footfalls.

It was him.

My father,

Walking down.

Still hidden from our view.

Like an intuition slowly

Coming home.

I turned to mother,

Smiling through my pounding heart,

I said

Either both stay here,

Or take me back home.

Father came into view.

Mother looked at me.

And I woke up.

I had a dream clasped

In my palms.

I think they stayed.

.

THE VALUE OF ZERO AND THE POWER OF NOTHING

I have, loved ones absent from my life,

There is a zero that spreads itself

Across my space.

Zero is an absence

It is an absence,of their presence.

And hard as it may be.

If I try enough,

I can bring myself to add to that zero.

Fill it with something,

Memories maybe,

Fill it with thoughts of them.

Or perhaps with another

That brings to me

Their kind of love.

But

more than the zeroes,

I have encountered

A cascade of nothings.

What I cannot bring to life, is nothingness.

Nothing and zero are not the same.

Zero is an absence,

Which can be filled with a presence.

But, nothing,

nothing is an absolute.

Nothing is not about absence.

Nothing is a presence

Nothing is the presence of nothingness

Nothing is a calculated space,

Much like when I go to sleep.

I become a nothing,

There is no me

No name

No context

The deep slumber

Anihilates me.

Yet I am there.

I am the one sleeping

In that space of being nothing

Is all of me.

That nothingness, has a presence.

Meet me at a zero,

I know how to multiply.

I can add to it, before

Or after.

I can worship a zero.

Because there is value in absence.

But

When you come to me

With all your nothingness,

I have to let you go.

Your nothingness

Is like my deep state of sleep

Where I cease to be.

Your nothingness

Is the same.

It is the place where

You have ceased to be.

You are so full of nothing

There is no space left

For anything.

I can raise your love

Or add to it more,

If I start with a zero.

But I cannot get love

out of the depth of your nothingness.

Nor can I waste my love on nothing.

...............

......

A FAREWELL TO LOVE

Oh those nights

Of scented candles

And anklets chiming on my feet

The warm dance we were to pick up

When the music faded into

A foggy cold sunset, adrift.

The nights of wine

And you imprinting you

As goosebumps upon my skin.

A few days of kindness

Drugged the walls of my home.

I have lived in its stupor,

Without you

For now almost a lifetime.

I will leave soon.

My bags are packed.

Folded right underneath

Is our contract for

Termination for this life.

My home with scented

candles and wine,

Stays

Waiting for new lodgers

And their love smells

Our unfullfilled life

We forgot in our sleep

Our promises we forgot to keep

I will take them along

On my wanderings

And I won't ever say goodbye

Even though we said it.

Both to the house with scented candles

And to our promises in this life

.

BREAKING FREE

.

This was not to be,

This was to be,

In disbelief I believe.

I believe in the bewilderment

Fate brings.

Don't go down my heart

Don't fall on your knees and surrender

To the mute

To the deaf

To the stirrers.

To the pullers

To the thiefs

Eyeing your soul

Do not love to the point,

Where you begin to cherish

A mediocre unlived life.

Let yours be a story,

A story everyday

To tell your older self,

When no one is there.

There is no one now,

They are inside their lives,

Where is yours?

Reclining idly in their languid chapters,

Or humming a marching beat in your own.

Never deride the

excellence of yourself in your past,

To fit into the mediocrity of

someone's existence in the present.

Don't fight for another so hard that

you end up fighting to be

a mediocre version of yourself,

for another's comfort.

There is a sun resting in your heart

And eclipses tied to their fist.

Be who you are,

It takes you far.

Not what you need to be,

It does not let you see.

.

THE HUNT

.A thinker needs

Freedom, from another's hunt

And control.

A thinker,looks at a bird pierce

the woolly clouds,

And learns about the mighty sky.

He marvels at the bird's

Search for a forever home.

In a vast expanse that holds

Impermanence of seasons, in

its dome.

He feels the rain shimmer,

In the partial sun

He sees its glistening colours,

And marvels at how the rainbow

Is owned by none.

He watches the bird in flight

His eyes moistly crease,

at the beautiful dance

the wings do,

With undulating breeze.

He cries, at the beauty of an eagle's soar,

He sees how it defies gravity and its own

Will.

Its massive wings holding such power,

In every sweep, his heart fills.

He wonders how the world looks,

to a hawk's lone eyes,

from the top of mighty trees old.

And he dreams of beautiful flights.

Over snow capped mountains

With their haunting cold.

Their silver mist and metallic wind.

a thinker needs to sight a bird

And his mind shows him an entire,

Different world.

A hunter sees the bird

He needs to snatch it from the skies.

He catches it, traps it, cages it,

He looks at it in awe,

And rips its wings to see how it flies.

But he thinks of himself

As curious not cruel.

After each rip he bandages the wound.

Calms the bird with whistles and crumbs.

He only wants to know how it flies

And sings.

With honey coated arrows

He will pry open its beak,

And teach it,his own language

And then, all secrets, he wants

The bird to speak.

He will push and push for the bird

To spill what the little bird

Does not know.

It is just its nature to

Sing and fly.

And now the bird hates its gifts

Because a hunter

found out about them

And made it cry.

.

THE NEVERNESS OF HEALING.

.

In the heart break

Of petals,dropping

To the ground,

On the first day of

A jolly spring.

In the sounds of broken sighs,

Between jokes told by a friend.

In the breathlessness of pain

Behind a deep inhale

Of a perfume.

In the beating of two heart

Tied in an embrace.

In the stare of vacant eyes

Looking for a face.

In the abject absence of company,

Even when surrounded by smiles.

In the solo ness of grief

That sits like a cawing crow

Upon a hill.

In the basking of heat,

On a scorching summer day

In the barrenness of desert

Wishing for a tree.

Sits silently

The maze of healing

Waiting in the forest of pines.

I miss it

And so do you.

In the rush of every day

Sentences and crimes.

No one taught us,

The answer was

hidden between the

Unsaid lines.

.

..

.

AN ESCAPE WITH A FAIRY

I understand enchantment.

I know fairies by name

They hide in the

Lavander hues of daisies,

Playing scented games.

I have met elves.

On nights when moon

Bled silver slivers

On fireflies.

A little girl pigtailed

In red ribbons

The colour of dried roses

reading in the library,

Her eyes deep as sea.

She looks like me.

Star dust

Falling from her fingers.

On the glossy pages

Of folk lores and

Fluffy stories.

Fluttering her eyes

Like waves, holding

Paperboats,

Creased newspapers, folded into

Into mighty ships,

Worded paperboats with

Headlines for masts

Bobbing up and down

In the ripples of her oceanic mind.

I saw her and her world

So real.

You may call it imagination

I know it was not.

She fought with ogres

In broad daylight

And her fairies clapped

With dainty fingers

In pretty lace gloves.

Their delicate wings excitedly

egged her on.

Their soft lilac feathers

Smelling of lavender songs.

Wisps of grass

In glossy books,

Hiding their tiny forms.

Cheeks blushing from

Warmth of golden sun

Sparkles on their dainty feet

Scattering as they run.

I lived with them

In my pig tailed years.

They showed me beautiful caves

With golden orbs.

And diamonds so soft

Round and clear

Like a translucent tear

I know magic

Because there was some.

You cannot teach me otherwise.

I have known enchantment

Not for a few moments,

But for years.

Inside pages of

Library books,

Was that beautiful world

I lived in

For long ,as a little girl.

.

LESSON OF BETRAYALS

Knives in the back

Have felt to me, like wings.

Every twist, deeper in,

Felt to my mind

As a feather, pushing

Out of my skin.

I am happy i thought it to be so,

Or i would not have walked

Or survived

This far, alone.

I walked in the hope,when

The wings become strong

I will take off.

The knives got sharper

And hardened my back

And I, believed

The story I told

My mind.

My wings were growing

Wider and stronger.

I felt finally one last

Gut wrenching twist.

This knife has been the sharpest

The hardest betrayal of all.

I think my wings are ready.

I think this time

I will fly the farthest.

So so far away

Further than

Any night or day.

Far far away, as far

As the eyes can unsee

Even further from

All that was me.

I have gone missing

And I don't know how to return

My wings only know

How to take me further

There is no one tethering

Me to the ground.

.

TO BE

I wear life on my soul,

as a badge of honour.

For it taught me well, to say,

I am not a cynic, I am not a stoic.

I am not a saint, I am not a sinner.

I am not a blank canvas.

I am not your mirror.

No part of me was for you to claim.

Wholly or partially.

When I disposses all, finally,

having been with you does not

become a crime.

It could not have been any different

The power was never yours or mine.

I don't belong to anyone

Yet I am not unclaimed.

I am no one's glory

I am no one's game.

I wasn't born unfree of risks.

Nor was I meant to be safe.

I am a portal

That brings life to life.

For it to fold however it may.

In love or in strife.

Be it a tragedy or a game.

I was not the shoulder,

you could rest your blame.

I am as fiercely my own.

As the love I know to give.

I am as breathless to a gasp

As I am death, to the need to live.

I shine more in utter solitude.

Than in the company, of a hundred one.

I see through disdain disguised

As platitude.

So I seek to renounce eclipses

You hide behind the sun.

I have known ecstasies

I have known grief

But I am neither a rejoicer

No am I a mourner.

I am,

that is all.

The same at this end

As in the corner.

And this life I wear upon my

soul as a badge of honour.

.

AFTERNOON TEA.

Its been a while,

we have not sat and talked.

A train of events paused for a moment

And then chugged away,

Scowling,

we did not ask it to stay.

There are conversations waiting their turn,

standing mutely by the window,

Looking out at what could have been.

It has been a while,

we havent looked at each other's eyes.

There are stories

they have been meaning to draw,

When they find the time.

Their paint sits dry.

The lashes spiked, stare at the easel

Let us meet, let love not be the reason.

The cold winter afternoons have returned,

back from their lonely journey.

They stand outside the window,

looking for us, where they had seen us last,

not knowing that ages have past

Since we waved them bye

and went our solitary ways.

Come by if you miss me sometimes

cheer me up, make me smile

Come sit by the window

Let us have tea

Its been a long, long while.

.

PINCH OF HAPPINESS

.

.I have to go and

get my pinch of happiness.

I do that every day.

It loves to play hide and seek.

It runs amok, untamed

But

I have mastered the game.

The good thing is ,it never tires

Neither do I.

I know where its favourite hiding

Spots are.

Most of the time.

Especially on gloomy winter days.

On a day like a lonely

Mountain peak.

It hides in the wedge

Of my window.

A drop of condensed steam

Rolling down like a tear

Upon a cheek.

I wipe it off, with all

My gathered gentleness

And the glass clears,

Like the uplifting fragrance

Of a hundred flowers.

It hides sometimes

Inside the pages of a book.

And as I search for it

Page after page,

In the mystery

Of an unsolved crime.

A beautiful story

Unfolds the creases of my mind.

It waits for me behind the last page.

And when I finish the tome.

It slides out and hugs me tight.

Sometimes it rides on the back

Of a butterfly.

Polka dotted and purple.

Flitting,

With a need to just be beautiful.

I chase it with giggles

My fingers stretched out

In a pinch.

Between my thumb and forefinger

Is all the space it needs.

Whether it is me turning a page

Wiping a glass pane.

Or looking to grasp its wings.

The measure of space

In between my pinch

Is all I need,

To seek the bigness of happiness

That likes to hide

In little things.

..

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