O wild flowers! of spring season,
I envy your vivd colours;
I envy your vibrant nature,
And i envy your unyielding eccentric stature,
Your beauty cannot be out reasoned.
.
Fluttering you mingle with sky,
plucking you from you habitat;
and putting in a vase is a crime,
you are featherbed to cold hard earth,
you are the smile to an old man,
you are chirp to song of bird…
And and you are an ode to love.
The desolation spreads like smog covering winter morning,
Unsolicited whiff of deodar scent keeps me in peace,
The birds chirp and I listen with semantic stealth,
Not a step more or a step back can I take,
My fingers on my lips taking drag of pure air,
And leaving puff of rings as if addicted to decadent activity,
But I hold nothing between my fingers,
Just a dirt of possibility settled under my feet,
Panorama before me and paranoia inside of me.
For me to utter words that strums chord of your heart
Is inexplicable, improbable
‘coz my spoken words are just mere words
Tainted are they of the prejudice of my emotions
Fragile, they are not as pure as my love
Give me a prescription and direction on how to live
Renditions of pills to swallow and guidance on how to follow
North star or compass to route my journey
An app to warn me of sullen weather as my destiny is approaching
Provide me with a solution before question is raised
I need an anchor, my eyes are closed to void the haze
Ambiguous thoughts belittle my journey I need a sense of divine
Pragmatic will i be when i know my fate
Till then I’m uncertain trying to find my way out of the maze
“The cloud will always be white and not cotton candies.
The grass will always be the colour of green and not bubble gum pink
And the man will always have to be rational and real
But dreams can be sanctuary where men and women can be true”
Dear Reality,
In the midst of all confusion (created by you), I hope you are sound and doing practically well. From the beginning of our relationship things have been quiet ambiguous and filled with torment. To be precise you have acted like a total nincompoop and as always you were the party-pooper. The person had a vision and you had to be smartest conscience in the room. Though you may think your logical influence was impeccably correct and successful. What you are forgetting while lifting those rose colored glasses off is that maybe your light is too harsh. Maybe sometimes rose-colored glasses are there so we can avoid your centre of galaxy persona.
Why is it such a big deal with you that the one lives under your limit? Hey! Sometimes you don’t have to act like an uptight high street jerk. You need to loosen up a bit and let yourself be charmed when a little child believes in magic and fairies. Think..what you and i can do if you stop with the lone crusade of making world safe and dreary. People need logic and sensibility to moved ahead in life without making a bad choice, I accept that. All i say if they do not dare, be creative and let their imagination run wild, I cannot see them building an Eiffel tower, or coming up with the theory of relativity. After all to make this work all you have to do is letthe wheels of your mind churn beyond your comfort zone. Even if i wanted to stop I cannot stop dreaming and hoping against all rationale thought will still not help my case because i have seen men fly. I have stepped on the moon. And I have even fall to the ground bruised and scarred terrified. But i still wish upon a shooting star. I still have seen the comet.
Hope you understand my need to vent and sabotage you from time to time.
Yours Sincerely,
Not so important Dreamer
Surrender to the cynicism of the mind
A game of peek-a -boo played by memory
Taking us back to a place like a torn kite
Where we fly with the breeze and clouds are thundering
I store my thoughts and seal them in an empty closet
Cannot show you the words that are not spoken
The words are liar and only deeds are honest
Conferring to tides night is a little more darken
The wheels spurn and something new I become
Breaking the conventions of social being
Want to break the solitary confinement of me
Sceptic maybe I am yet I believe
That world would change if I stop with this deceit
She gazes at the pilfered sky set on the ceiling of her room, an uninspiring imitation to the original artist’s craft “with as little as possible” imagination into play. A bit weary but very much awake she tries to makes herself comfortable with a little shift to left while moving her right hand underneath her head. The mattress was pushed and bruised by her constant torment, she even crawled into a ball and pinched herself close but nothing worked. Was it the anxiety taking over her mind or was it the dilemma of her heart? Probably she already has answer but for life of her she was totally blank then.
With the little sigh and “humph” for added effect she just settled herself back punishing her pillow with her fist a little more. Her mind wandered in all directions never staying for anything more or anything less. It was as if she was in a flea market standing their haggard by chaos around knowing not what she was doing there. The street vendors were shouting the most aggravating sounds as an Auntie was imparting her negotiation skills with the girl of gen-next. To be frank the girl is looking baffled with Auntie’s depth of knowledge. The whole scenario revealed the debacle of her mind and how crazed her sleeping pattern was.
It had been more than a fortnight since she had a good night sleep. She always ended up in the same fatal position of drowsiness gazing at the artless ceiling wondering about trivial matters but never giving in to sleep. The night blooms in her peripheral vision lassitude she felt not in her body but her mind. Though she has tried everything the darkness carries more appeal than morning, to her state of mind seems to be under wicked spell. Awakened though tired she is in night the morning routine feels like an obligation every day. She follows same set of rules each day of waking up, eating, working and eventually sleeping. Redundant her days have become so in night her imagination gets active as she feels in control then and she plays out different scenarios some from memories and some just wishful dreams. In the end she felt like ticking Time bomb which will explode soon leading to massacre of emotions in her days of fiasco.
An Indian Princess 