Absence

 

 

 

It seems like ages ago since we walked together in the rains. When you looked at me, it was as if a world had moved and a new chapter began in our epic story. You and I have changed faces, shapes and lives altogether in the meantime. 

 

In those days, your name was a chant that I would utter from morning till I lie down at night, imagining your arms around me.In those days, being away from you was never an agony for you were always around; at least I was so sure of your heart’s desire to be with me all the time. 

 

Now, eons later, I wither in the agony of your absence, howling at times, weakened by a love that needs togetherness as much as it needs assurance.Now, a desire to be with you overwhelms every feeling that I have ever known, much to my angst.

Bitterness

This little life has known ups and downs and plateaus. There were moments of great strife when the mind showed great courage and lived life to the fullest. Slump was the result when there was nothing to fight for and normal life was lived when days were all the same with nothing eventful between waking up and going to sleep.

Occasionally, there were those nightmarish times when it turned into nothing but a series of misfortunes one after another, when the heart had to face troubles all by itself and there was nobody who could help or listen. It was such a point of life, a quieter me evolved, who does not explain herself to anybody or anything and is happy with whatever life drops in these outstretched pair of hands.

How will you know, who became a tormented soul so late unlike me, one who has tormented each and every one of your listeners every day with your contagious chalice of bitterness about being open-minded and living in the moment? I have my days of bitterness; but looking carefully I understand that all these words of bitterness were a whiff from your putrefaction.

Ineffable

Eternal and strong, water-like, your love comes to me,
With the aid of silences and a few gestures of affection.
Where else can you come, when denied a real meeting,
You choose to drape yourself with words in dreams.

Ideal and true, my shy one, you shine bright in words,
When all the others have gathered here around me,
To know the truth with its many facets and versions,
Your memory lights up my soul with more words.

Witty and understanding, you past antics bring laughter
And so many words piled up on pages and pages,
So many lost, so many forgotten, so many yet to be,
All that found shape around an unforgettable you.

The one behind the words is ineffable, magical, eternal,
So apart from all the ones who think they spur words.

Message in a bottle

When I sat before you, with my heart beating,
There were a few words that I wanted to say,
You in your impatience didn't want to hear, 
My desire for you be around me forever.

I want you to drink me with your dark eyes,
Like the way you drink your black coffee
I want you to consume me like you devour
The huge pot of dessert set before you.

I want you to forget what happened earlier,
I want you to forget the worries of tomorrow,
Abandon all the lies that we say aloud daily,
And let the heart reign over reason for once.

What we have left before us is the present,
Where you need to be with me as my love.

Sleep

Once, it meant waking up warm in your arms,
Aroused by the smell of your coffee perfume,
The lazy mornings that ended in surprises,
Watching TV series or eating out as well.

Now, it means counting sheep till you sleep,
With a wish for a sleep without end often,
For our days turn too weary to say the least,
This old soul has re-learnt its ancient tirade.

This sullen heart longs for your presence,
The invisible net that could catch my fall,
For the ties that one broke in reckless fury,
Or the gentle promises that were forgotten.

The twilight brings in a taste of your perfume,
And a loneliness that will not go away too soon.

Spring

Sunshine

Why to sing of love when all our hopes are buried?
Why to talk of love when there is anger everywhere?
 Love has become the truth that needs to be sung,
From the rooftops, for the near and dear to wonder.

Why talk of the rain during the scorching summer?
Why talk of warmth during the dark wintry nights?
What is often needed becomes the talk of the hour,
Much missed yet has to be recognized and sought.

The earth celebrates the touch of rain with sprouts
That break afresh everywhere through the ground;
The sky relishes the warmth of the sun with life,
During the dark cold nights common in winter.

It's the piece of earth in me that celebrates the rain,
And the piece of sky in me that loves sunshine.

Metamorphosis

Cosmos

Nest

Caim prayer

Soul

Home

Cosmos

Happy friendship day

Journal of a Female Quixote

A thousand blank pages await to record a few thoughts,
Serious or trivial or at times a mixture, just like this life;
All gathered from the same quixotic rambling heart,
One that has loved to dream, to fly, to win and to keep.

The serious thoughts were all about a love in my life-
How from a stranger you became my heart's anchorage,
From a chance acquaintance you grew into my world,
Changed my world into one of pleasant togetherness. 

The trivial thoughts were scribbled on early mornings,
A bundle of words on the pure delight of being alive;
When a burst of fresh air and a bit of bright blue sky
Were more than enough to keep this heart stay high.

But the best ones are the mixed ones, serious and trivial,
With and without you that finds room in today's journal. 

Us

In a way, each story has the same kernel in it- our dreams, hopes and longing all lost and found again- the fire and the smiles and the hopes that love kindles and brings joy.

The stories that we write are not what really happened or events that could really happen. These come from an imagination that loves to wander and see what would have happened if!

Sometimes, it is sunshine and laughter outside; depends on the state of this mercurial soul. The reality looms large taking everything away and sometimes giving blessings unasked for.

Your stories reveal the joy of finding happiness in new things, which are in fact, new ways to name the old likes and loves while I harp on change and about moving on but have stayed in the same year where I stopped learning.

The fire still burns in these kernel stories of love, longing and loss so much that our words have intertwined the threads of our many lives forever. 

From Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist

In ancient Rome, at the time of Emperor Tiberius, there lived a good man who had two sons. One was in the military, and had been sent to the most distant regions of the empire. The other son was a poet, and delighted all of Rome with his beautiful verses.

One night, the father had a dream. An angel appeared to him, and told him that the words of one of his sons would be learned and repeated throughout the world for all generations to come. The father woke from his dream grateful and crying, because life was generous, and had revealed to him something any father would be proud to know.

Shortly thereafter, the father died as he tried to save a child who was about to be crushed by the wheels of a chariot. He then met the angel that had appeared in his dream in the Heaven.

"You were always a good man," the angel said to him. "You lived your life in a loving way, and died with dignity. I can now grant you any wish you desire."

"Life was good to me", the man said. "When you appeared in my dream, I felt that all my efforts had been rewarded, because my son's poems will be read by men for generations to come. I don't want anything for myself. But any father would be proud of the fame achieved by one whom he had cared for as a child, and educated as he grew up. Sometime in the distant future, I would like to see my son's words."

The angel touched the man's shoulder, and they were both projected far into the future. They were in an immense setting, surrounded by thousands of people speaking a strange language.

The man wept with happiness.

"I know that my son's poems were immortal," he said to the angel through his tears. "Can you tell me which of my son's poems these people are repeating?"

The angel came closer to the man, and, with tenderness, led him to a bench nearby, where they sat down.

"The verses of your son who was the poet were very popular in Rome," the angel said. "Everyone loved them and enjoyed them. But when the reign of Tiberius ended, his poems were forgotten. The words you're hearing now are those of your son in the military."

The man looked at the angel in surprise.

"Your son went to serve at a distant place, and became a centurion. He was just and good. One afternoon, one of his servants fell ill, and it appeared that he would die. Your son had heard of a rabbi who was able to cure illnesses, and he rode out for days and days in search of this man. Along the way, he learned that the man he was seeking was the Son of God. He met others who had been cured by him, and they instructed your son in the man's teachings. And so, despite the fact that he was a Roman centurion, he converted to their faith. Shortly thereafter, he reached the place where the man he was looking for was visiting."

"He told the man that one of his servants was gravely ill, and the rabbi made ready to go to his house with him. But the centurion was a man of faith, and looking into the eye of the rabbi, he knew that he was surely in the presence of the Son of God."

"And this is what your son said," the angel told the man. "These are the words he said to the rabbi at that point, and they have never been forgotten: 'My Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under my roof. But only speak a word and my servant will be healed.' "