Struggle

A silence, a longing, a struggle, 
To get back my balance, 
Lost and found, lost and found, 
Like my love for you
Hiding in my own heart
Surprising and attacking me,
Attacking my reason, 
To follow your steps
Like a faithful disciple
Which my heart is, 
But my reason isnt.
Whom should I heed?

You

Flow with the rivers
Fly with the kites
When you come back
You are the river
You are the kite 
No more you. 

Dreams

Your fingers haunt me,

Your lips taunt me,

Are you real or a dream?

Your voice melts me,

Though I hold my heart safe,

Am I really safe from you?

Your presence is in dreams,

In every face in the crowd,

In every voice I hear.

Invisible and stealthy,

You intrude upon my silences,

And leave an emptiness beside.

Awake from your dream,

I know you were here, near me,

From the sweetness on my lips.

Seasons

How can you live like this,
Anywhere but here in this moment,
Held together by a million voices,
Glueing your existence,
In a life that doesnt move,
Yet with plans that astonish,
And never fail to astonish,
With perfect names for baby faces,
In the right order, too perfect.

How could you make it more perfect,
When beneath the resounding words,
The intent is hollow and changing,
With the moon, with the seasons,
Before deities that dont reply,
An emptiness chanting promises,
Yet at a loss for words,
For that which matters most,
True, close to the core.

There lies silence and a spirit,
That expands in directions,
And grows inward and inward only,
Eyes blind to the future and past,
Not even this moment alive,
Just there, for another dawn.

In another dawn, when the sky is red,
The spirits may call each other to a tryst,
That never was or never will be made,
Consciously by you or me.

A WOMAN CALLED RAIN

Rain sobs, hysterical woman.

Bleeding and lonely,

Forbidden by rule.

Rain sobs, love-lorn,

For loss of fulfilment,

On the surge.

Rain sobs, bursting ovum,

For unborn babies,

And forgotten needs.

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