The clock on the wall

We never intended to be friends,

You know it just happened.

Each time you were with me,

I looked at him again and again,

My eyes wet in supplication – asking him to slow down and prevent you from leaving.

Each time you left,

I stared at him again – this time with blame and anger.

He had not heeded my request.

Each time I waited for you,

My heart beating like a drum,

I pleaded to him, asking him to hasten, move forward quickly.. before I died of anxiety.

As I waited for you, or lay in your arms, or saw you leave – my eyes always met his.

And that’s how we became best friends – me and the clock on the wall.

Image taken from Google images

My safe place

Come, give me your hand,

Let me take you to my safe place.

It’s my little corner in this massive world,

Where I take my mask off.

Come, let me show you who I really am,

Talkative, silly and child-like.

I’m not as sensible and mature as you think.

Don’t let the mask fool you.

Come, remove those tinted glasses,

And peep into my paradise,

And mock me not,

For I know you are not what you appear to be too!

That’s our little secret.

Come, see for yourself, the carefree butterfly with fluorescent wings,

That cocoons itself again, as it steps out of its safe place.

Don’t judge it – it’s not bad, just scared.

Come – let’s share this safe place – you and me!

Image taken from Google images

How love was lost (Short story)

Over time, a lot of things she had lost – reliance, enthusiasm, hope, dysfunctional relationships and occasionally, old fears.

Losses were never easy to handle emotionally, not to mention the public questioning that came with them.

“What do you mean you don’t love him anymore? Is this a bloody joke?” Asked her father, his lower lip trembling in anger. “First you girls rebel against family norms to marry these men of your choice, and then fight again to leave them.”

She remained silent, her head hung low. Her silence only made her father more impatient, as her mother looked on. “Love is over you say! How is that even possible?” He continued.

“Dad, you don’t understand what really happened and how. But I don’t blame you, I never told you and Mom.”

“What is it that we don’t understand? We’ve been married for more than 30 years now. We know how things work. Being single is not as easy as you think.” This time it was her mother.

“What you don’t understand that it’s never love that is lost first. For love to be lost, there must be other losses that precede.

You think I lost love and you find it bizarre, don’t you?

For you to understand better, I first lost my dignity, and a good chunk of my self-esteem.

Then came the loss of respect for those who caused the first loss.

Soon after I lost love. And now I feel the loss of tolerance from every cell of my body.”

The parents stayed silent, as they looked at each other.

She continued “What you don’t see is that even when love is very quick to happen – and yes it made me a bigger rebel than I was – it takes a long long time to recede.

And yes, it’s never the first thing to go.”

Image taken from Google images

Bringing her smile back (Short story)

She lay in bed, her head resting on his soft, yet sturdy arm. Her eyes remained tightly closed, the only sign of her being awake being the warm tears that trickled on his arm.

‘What happened?’, he kept asking repeatedly, only to be replied in silence.

‘Have I done something?’ his tone getting more desperate with each repetition of the question.

She merely moved her head to the side, to answer in the negative.

He had not done anything, nor said anything that had caused her pain. It was her own past that haunted her, her own sense of worthlessness that had been rekindled by something he had mentioned casually in a conversation.

It wasn’t him, but her own memories. What could she tell him? How could she explain? Even if she tried, would he understand the whirligig of emotions that brewed in her head, her own ugly past? She preferred to remain silent instead, facing her destiny alone.

His restlessness kept rising with every subsequent tear that fell on his arm, and he assumed the role of a clown from an interrogator. All his attempts to make her smile or forget her pain were in vain again.

Nothing seemed to work.

Tired and defeated, he caressed her hair. In what sounded like a whisper, he said ‘My dear, I don’t know what has happened, you won’t tell me. But I want you to think about this – do you think we have adequate amount of time in this life to waste on staying silent? In what seems like a short and clearly-not-enough lifetime to be together, there is already so much to say, do and experience with one another. Can we really afford this waste of time in remaining silent?’

As his words seeped into her understanding, her eyes, red by now, finally opened. She looked into his eyes, that were just beginning to form their first pair of tears.

‘You are right’, she said, as her head gradually occupied the cavity of his chest.

Nothing but his simplicity had been successful in moving her from her womanly obstinacy.

Image taken from Google images

The Black magic of love

Tell me how you do that,

These wonderful ripples you create.

Is it just your physical body,

Or a deeper, invisible part of you?

Your mere presence stirs sensations,

That I barely knew before.

Do feelings have colours too?

Then why do I see a rainbow each time my brain processes a thought of you?

With even the slightest touch of you,

Waves of sinful pleasure rise in my spine.

And like shooting stars,

Dart to corners I barely knew existed in my body.

Let me guess what gives you that power over me- you gentle sorcerer I adore!

Is it the rustiness of you hair that tickles me everywhere?

No, it’s something else.

Is it the perfume of your exhalation, the most intoxicating fragrance that ever teased my nostrils?

No, there’s more.

Is it the black magic you cast with your deep brown eyes, rendering me incapable of movement?

No, this doesn’t explain too.

Or is it the bittersweet journey of your long nails all over me? How could pain ever be so delicious?

But I think I know now.. I have my answer.

It’s all of these things and yet none of these.

The answer lies not in the magic but in the magician.

It’s you, in all your colours.

It’s you, the whole of you- my delicious sorcerer!

Image taken from Google images

Collaborative effort and selflessness

The idea of one’s own smallness is rather alien to human understanding. However, this smallness may make logical sense when understood relative to a much larger scheme of things, that lie way past us, holding us together and yet, way too distant from us.

It is probably a deliberate and happier choice for us to realise that it’s the ‘process’ that matters, and not the identity and individual achievements of the persons who perform them.

It is not to say that individual contributions don’t matter, but merely to indicate what is more important. This is not to kill or stifle motivation, but rather enhance it way beyond ourselves, for outcomes that reach way past us. Simply, detached and selfless performance.

It is not to have no goal in mind, but a deep understanding of the vastness of the goal that extends beyond our individual and even collective selves. Are we not mere instruments in the process? Pieces of jigsaw that must contribute to the creation of a magnificent picture that ensnares the beholder?

With that vision in mind, would there remain any room to claim ‘I did this, while you did only that!’ in collaborative effort of any kind?

Image taken from Google images

You – my reason

I still remember my first feeling,

Of your first day in my life.

You felt like a fresh, fragrant breeze

On a blistered skin, freshly-charred.

You were the reason I started to hope,

And for the first time more than just breathed.

Even the silliest of tasks,

Felt like intellectual pursuits in your company.

You were the reason I started smiling,

Something my facial muscles were barely trained for.

After all, your compliments gave me more energy,

Than anything I ate during the day.

However, time not only heals, it reveals too.

Things changed and so did you.

Or may be you didn’t – you were always like this.

It was my rose-tinted glasses that came in the way.

Baby, you still remain my reason,

As you did from the start.

But this time for stripping me of my self-worth,

And questioning the very fabric of humanity.

You are now the reason I’m scared to trust anymore,

The reason why even my tears have dried up.

You my love, are the reason why an innocent, young girl has turned into an eagle-eyed, bitter woman.

Nonetheless, you are precious. You still give me reasons – a new one each day.

Image taken from Google images

The new year – my new hope

It’s another year they say,

But to me sounds no fun.

Though our little blue planet,

Has finished another round of the sun.

She starts again this night,

On a voyage fresh and new.

If she is ready to roll again,

I think I’m ready too.

This year I’ll shed my old skin,

And come out fresh and young.

Love myself a little more,

And treat life as just begun.

This year I won’t deny my feelings,

And from my truth no more refrain.

Next year as the earth is near the finish line,

I shall make this wish again.

Image taken from Google images

A new beginning, a new life

Tell the world now.

Let your truth be finally out.

Whisper it in their ears,

By your window, stand and shout.

Tell them they were wrong all along,

About what they thought of you.

If they laugh and call you crazy,

Smile and tell them that it’s true.

You’ve been the good one all along,

The one that never broke a rule.

The one who never questioned,

The best scorer at school.

And now when you’ve outlived the rules,

And the chains seem too tight.

You are trapped and want freedom,

But you’ve long ago lost the right.

But make a wise choice,

Decide who you really are.

Living another man’s life,

Can it ever take you far?

Get off the wrong train,

Get off as soon as you know that it’s wrong.

Don’t be afraid of waiting alone,

You will find many others along.

Till then keep walking,

Never mind those who mock and scoff.

But one day they shall understand,

When their own masks have fallen off.

Image taken from Google images