Claustrophobia

Voices whisper in the head
Claims of having bred, fed and loved,
While they have done nothing but bled,
Tied by an invisible umblical cord,
A noose on the neck, 
Bled, this poor heart, 
From its freedom instead,
And coming back speaking of
Duties having bred, fed and loved,
When it would have been better
To have left alone without any claims.

A Promise

You gave me a promise

To hold this hand forever,

Through thick and thin,

Come rain or sunshine.

 

From this heart comes

A promise of growing older,

Stronger and wiser with you,

Always at my side. 

mindfulness

The Unsent Letters

The Unsent Letters

The Corona Journal

I was just now going through my last year's diary and I noticed that unlike most of my previous years ( I have been journaling for years and is known to buy a save our trees every year methodically and start writing in it before 12 o'clock midnight), last year my entry begins on the day lockdown is declared and it is no coincidence that the diary chronicles many projects some very unsuccessful and some very successful like most of the lockdown journals. 

I think that it has it recipes of herbal cosmetics that one had to rely on because of declaration of lockdown to recipes of food items that one made taxing one's cleverness in creating simple followable steps. I heard of a recent DIY hair remover and was amazed at how open we have become to.mixing a few well-known ingredients rather than risk buying a hair removing cream or wax. The journal talks of momentary weightloss simply because of the nonavailabilty of meat and that of bakery items. It also wallows in self-pity after the failure of a microgreening program after reading a lot online. I think reading online makes you amazingly knowledgeable but amateurish about the DIY projects. 

The journal marks the demise of a well-organised worklife in July after lockdown is declared again and one learns how to take classes online. Though it speaks of the ennui of day to day life and later on the serious issues like blood pressure variations and memory lapses, it also celebrates some luxuries one had like long baths and detailed entries of everyday adventures in the field of films ( Because I teach film.studies I guess) and songs and books on kindle. While ageing is a process that shows on the bones and in one's nerves presently, I want to offer gratitude to wifi and for some small mercies that helps one survive the toughest of times.

There are also so many threads of stories that one has started with a perspective that is mature but lost interest after one finds it too intellectual and difficult to manage and ends up writing the same fairy  tale romances that one loves. Hope life gives more days to live a life that is worthy of writing about!

Eternal game

You and I were meant to meet; like two streams joining to form a force, entwined to travel through miles and miles to become invisible specks in the endless sea of eternity. But you and I were destined to struggle about identities, independence and possession- that make such a natural blending impossible. Like two opposites, fire and water, who cannot co-exist; we have become feuds in one eternal struggle for life. But this is enough for this life, for without being possessed, without following the rules of the world, this love has turned into a game that can played forever.

Love of my life

You are the best thing that happened to me though I didn't recognise it at that time. In the past, there were crossroads when one was left alone and this time, this heart manages to find a home in a heart where love beats in a language known to it. Though I fail to bring back our days in real, this love has become a fond and affectionate bond where we seek and find each other out with a hunger not known before or after. 

Love

I never say  I bring you only bouquets of joy,

Yellow flowers of sunshine and love.

Hidden beneath them may be flaws in me

Which may wound you and pierce your heart

Yet with the broken, tattered, torn, scarred flowers , 

Which call my soul, I bring you dreams

From the unknown land, where in the grass,

Little toes will step towards you with delight.

Perimenopause

On air

The way your memory creeps up before my eyes

The way you croon your favourite songs and mine,
The songs that have stayed despite the long years
Playful, naughty, sad, philosophical or just pleasant.

The songs that bring you back to me wherever I am
Wild dreams of being one with you body and soul
Spending endless hours in embraces like creepers
Despite the long sad years of absence and longing.

Though I long for our lost days with a heavy heart,
Those days of endless sunshine that were so perfect
Your sweet voice singing your favourites and mine
During all seasons and all times, every single day. 

The songs that I listen on the radio this morning
Brings back a smile in this era of infinite longing.

#listentotheradio

May

Peacock

Devotion

Ram Navami

Legacy

Legacy

May be it is because I lost you even before I knew what loss was. I lived years without knowing what it was to grow up without a parent. 

Then on becoming ten, I saw with sadness how parents loved their kids and it stung me that I would never have fought or answered you back had you been alive. 

It would have been a normal life with you around me and I would have grown up like the others too. But this was a life snatched away too soon only to leave a similar legacy of not being around to nurture one's offspring. 

happy easter

Celebrations

In most of the festivities, sadness cast its shadow like the ancient skeletons hung amidst sumptuous feasts. I could never let it go for this heart never knew how to let its soul soar in the skies.

Every year, this was a celebration of joys and sorrows with equanimity: for one learnt this bitter stoic attitude quite early in life. There was no better teacher than my grandmother who sang the way of the cross in her sweet mellow voice during Lent.

For it was never an easy life; always a loss between the cup and the lip and when the ancient scale of weights is checked against feathers, it is a heavy heart that upsets the balance by its inability to let go of the past.

World Poetry Day