Love is just another fetter...

And when it was just about to take a flight,
another shadow hung above it,
resisting its motion...
its foray into a free dive
beyond restrictions and inhibitions into a world of its own.
Wings flutter desperately to expand and
to open up...
claws maneuver their freedom through the thread
eyes wander restlessly in search of help
the neck might as well break with efforts of desperate movement.
Thus, clipped and bound,
a humble soul mourns its longing for love,
for love is just another fetter...
going against the will of aimless wandering
one more shadow that hangs above head,
one more shadow sucking life's nectar...

My Life is my life and nobody else's...

and there in me there are a plethora of emotions and thoughts. It is one of those moments when the dichotomy between mind and heart is blurred. Yes, my mind and heart are not going in different directions, its just that I am not sure where do my thoughts stop and the feelings begin, thinking and feeling...feeling and thinking...merge into each other and make the task of verbalizing how you feel and what you think even more difficult. Is it a necessary step in the process of growing up? Is it some kind of essential conflict that everyone goes through? From whose perspective do you define yourself? whose perspective justifies your presence as worthy of living? friends, colleagues, family, caretakers, and a number of invisible forces, who would have been totally absent when you were growing up, battling it all alone, but now that you are in the process of carving an identity for yourself, they all need a share of 'your' life, suddenly they become stakeholders in your decisions..how? Nobody knows...how is it that the world expects you to act according to your discretion and yet when you do, there is always somebody who can think better for you, who can take your decisions more intelligently for you. Caught in the whirlwind of personal expectations, desires and aspirations, as soon as the self takes a flight into the world of dreams, that we realize the weight of the stone which pulls us down to earth and keeps us from soaring high. I wonder whether this vicious circle of being accepted conditionally would ever end? When would the time come, when my life would be my life, When would I feel the pure joy of owing my life to only myself? the sensation of living it the way I envisage? Would this existential quest end ever? Will I ever get the opportunity to make my own choices and to be free to bear the consequences on my own? Will I? Thinking and feeling...feeling and thinking...

Kaash...

Kaash Yeh Waqt Yahin tham jaaye,
Ret pe padi silwat padi reh jaaye,
Saans dar Saans katati zindagi,
Koi roko isse...
Kaash khushi ka yeh lamha na beete,
Chahe to saans Yahin ruk jaaye...!

Silent Night

Silent Night
Soft warmth of the quilt
Whistle of a distant train
Fragrance of a burning incense
A child's wail in the neighborhood
Creaking of bed, Buzzing of a fly
Tik-Tock of the wall clock
Breathing and the rhythmically beating heart
Silent Night and its sensory pleasures
Silent Night and its hidden treasures ...

Words...

Words are like the small dew drops on a new flower's petals,
reminding us of the beauty that surrounds us,
calling our attention from the mundane,
making the familiar look unfamiliar and unusual...

Words are like that new found love,
which evoke the deepest of the emotions from slumber,
that momentary ecstasy we feel,
that ephemeral lingering of heightened passion..

Words are like the crushing waves of the ocean,
drowning us in their forceful stream,
calling the sailors to carve their own path,
to create meaning of the voyage undertaken...

Aah words, the divine pleasure,
the epiphany of the muted soul,
Aah words, the wasted leisure,
the metaphor for the embittered core...

And the dream dies!

And When the storm has just gone past her,
She sits caressing her ruffled hair.
Wondering if the swallowed sea would
fill in the vacuum that sits in her...
Far away she hears a loud cry
and cringes herself back in her cocoon.
And while she caresses her ruffled hair,
a voice repeats itself softly
and booms in her head,
the dream dies! the dream dies! the dream dies!

Of the tragedy of falling in love again :)

Of the folly of befooling oneself, the sin of being dishonest with the heart,

Of the tragedies of failing expectations, the sadness of treading an already beaten path,

Of the irony of failing to learn a lesson, of the futility of uttering an oft repeated promise to self,

Of the repeated comings and goings, Of the eternal scars they leave.

Of the faith that is broken, Of the love that one pines to feel again,

Of the presence and absence, of expression and break down of communication,

Of minced words, misunderstood feelings,

Of the repeated comings and goings, of the eternal scars they leave.