Honored by Usha Ma'am & Rukhiya

That Is...

>> Apr 28, 2010

Today I want to write about the imperial sadness
that spreads way above you and me;
Like the roots of a tree that threatens
the earth and embraces like an octopus.

Stoic is the sky
and there is one moon that is sad.
At this hour, darkness is silk
You can wear it and cry unnoticed.

We know not why even truths have versions.
There are different truths; stories to tell.
We choose convenience.
Or sometimes the other.

If you are afraid of heights, fly.
You may meet a cocoon who decided
to date back and became a caterpillar.




>> Apr 23, 2010

This winter the hummingbird did not come to the banyan tree in front of my room. I saw leaves ageing and dying and every morning hoped for the chirps I so longed to hear. Perhaps, birds are like humans. They just fly away someday and never return. I forget that even the ones with wings can be escapists. Or is it me, judgmental? Expectations have given me many a seasonal disappointments.

People migrate from one place to the other; from one relation to another. Almost like seasons, they are. The traits, the aura, the magic each time is different. You can not blame one for doing that. Then that hummingbird is to be cursed first. But. Let us talk about the residue now. The remnance are the ashes which will kindle another candle. Yes emotions. I wonder if they change. I wonder if we feel differently if we love different people in different times. Is not that a migration too? Maybe some of you would be able to answer that yourself.

Our earthly belongings - they move too. In my office I am just a resource who helps in migrating data from one bank to another. We celebrate. People migrate from Orkut to Facebook to Twitter. Do they return? I do not know. But whenever we revisit, does it make you nostalgic even for a moment? Do you feel guilty that you have just 'left'? Do memories of machines bring you real tears?

I find strange resemblance of trees with emotions. Both can not wish to but be stationary. To each its own. Lots of pun, take yours.

Dreams are migratory. I wish I will die in my dream someday. And I will live to read this soliloquy in some other place, some other time. Till then I shall wait for the hummingbird to come back and give these words wings.




>> Apr 18, 2010

2 3
4 5 6

I discuss no maths here.
They are bricks, that pile up
events after events,
bygone, as remnants.

Have you seen the sea shore?
What is left of the sands
After a wave passes by.

Relations, us.
I have seen togetherness die one night
and in the next, individuals are born.
Do they live?
Some questions only embarrass the affected.

I wonder if the ashes after death
hold a life's memory.
I feel they do.
Futility adds a lot of understanding.
Ashes are thus, such.

For a leaf is born
in the same place where the tree sheds
in winters.
And with our faded memories
we cry,
Why don't emotions have chlorophyll?



The Hungry Tide

Inspirations Continue...

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