Sweet Wind

You were and to be, just a drop of water in the sand, seeping through thoroughly, leaving no signs of existence, just a little mark, and just a little moist. 

I came and went like the wind, swift, cognizant of an impending farewell, celebrating through the night, to look away opposite of the first ray of sunlight. A dream, a fairy tale, a perfect today and that was all. That night in wonderland, that soft wind blew and the moon shone, the stars twinkled and horses ran. I rode one of them, for they don’t exist anywhere else, just for today, I see tomorrow and no horses, so I smile and mount and run. Flowing with the wind, coming too far, the orange skies and yellow lights, colours passing by, unclear, inter-mingling, non-existent.  It is too far, this place, deep in the dream, a trap. The temptation is strong, though the fairy land would disappear just in a bit. The escape is difficult, the intoxication crippling. 

The hole in the sky is getting bigger, but I would flee before that it consumes everything. An unfinished dream now it is, where the finale is not enough, it has just begun and the land fades. I flee before it fades me, a part of me left behind, to take care of itself and validate my presence there.  The end had started in the beginning, well planned, unexpected. 

Jumbled up words find meaning in the end, where they no longer make any sense. They mock me for my ignorance, for when they screamed I had a deaf ear, now when they are silent I expect a scream. A warning in the dark, is it my fault? A game it was, screaming in the dark, a mockery. It  got lost in the end, the light and the voice, dark and quiet, no sound to cling on to, no brightness on the way.

Back home, some leftover breeze from beyond would come to tease, would go away in a hurry, afraid, unsure. A million stories collected on the way, it would still smell a little sweet, defeated, adamant. It keeps coming, giving up a little hope every time, losing strength, aware of its end, the end that was seen a million years ago, my sweet stubborn wind, I am a fallen leaf, let me go...

Beyond The Silent Window...

28^th July 2011

Quiet, peaceful, the view from here, from the inside, shielded by the coloured glass, decorated by the fanciest venetian blinds, the sunlight hesitating, trying to fall through the gaps, here and there, not sure if it is welcome.  Generously enough, the glass allows for a view outside, challenging my interpretations. It is a bold move, to take this challenge, since, what is beyond will not change, but what the eyes choose to see, would alter the world inside. 

That bird, high up in the sky that I see, flying in circles, peaceful...or is it hunting? Maybe I would never understand the thrill and tension of that predator, hungry, anguished, displaying its basic nature. That slight ruffle of leaves... a soft greeting or a warning of impending doom? 

Of all the stillness in the midst of these flying birds, objects move, continuously, from left to right and right to left. Are they hollow, moving on their own, directionless, clueless towards the dense mist somewhere in the east. Or are there filled with the carriers of thoughts, and life, and happiness, celebration, or vacuum? Whoever they are, carriers or non-carriers, in such variety of existence, but the directions taken by them are only two, or three at the most? No wonder the world is crowded; for these paths are forever full, and those that are hidden, rarely taken, a gigantic sign at the entrance...” do you care?” And when by mistake the answer is a “yes”, the sarcastic laughter reverberates in the emptiness of those paths, piercing through that laughter is where the interpretations of the inside come to aid. 

The world inside defines the one beyond the coloured glass, for the strength of the winds falling on the windows is immeasurable, that which is acting as a shield transforms into an enabler of ignorance. The colour of the rains is a mystery, and the one who has never stepped out to feel it would never know it from here. Those who are new, born inside would never care; but the aged, the experienced, would feel the nostalgia, the longing to move out and stand there, beyond that beguiling glass-cover.  The uneasiness would make them stare blankly into the distance, and if their insides permit, they would venture outside, fearless, and strong.

Moon talk

In the darkness and tranquillity, shielded by a layer of nothingness, you are not in the mood to show off today. Maybe it is because you are so confident that no one can ever do better than you, that no matter what, occasionally a pair of lost eyes would look at you as if looking for an answer, or maybe reassurance. But you can’t fool everyone. You won’t fool me. I see something has put you off. And I don’t blame you. In this half hearted attempt of yours, and in this disappointment of mine, we gain proximity. I tell you about the dried up fallen leaves, you tell me about the stars gone into hiding, that you miss them so. The spark and celebration; those stars borrowed by us down here. 

I have not forgotten those moments of joy when you would generously turn black into silver, when you would make us wait to catch a glimpse of you, when you know many are looking at the empty darkness up there, that you would appear like a beautiful bride to be, ready to be married away... to have a look that one last time. Today, I see your indifference, resignation; it is not a cheerful sight. You avoid my eyes, it annoys me. What is it that I do not know? No secret between you and me, I ask for a moment of trust. 

In the silence up there, you wonder while trying to read the expressions on these yelling faces next to me, sound not reaching you, I know you are amused.  But I see through that smug look, when I feel your eyes resting on me while I struggle. This pretence, impassiveness is a distraction, while you waste away to grant me that silver light, I add a drop of water in this sea next to me so that a little of it goes back to you, the silver that was yours is a part of me and a bit of you.

Demons are on my side... confront, those who dare

Angels have gone into hiding

And men are no longer there...just you and me

Angels of this earth, my demons keep you at bay

Dancing at your feet, I don’t care...

Vases of ice, sparkling, magnificent

Scatter the sun in pieces, fall, harmless...

Falling on me, rays sharper, the melting vase gives in

To the strength of my devil...

Keep hiding, my angels,

Fear their strength; I keep them with me

Growing in the shadows, the world safe

For you trod on... and I don’t care

8^th August 2011| Mumbai

Sunset

Faces. Outnumbering each other, moving, in ant- like chaotic order. Waiting. A rule of its own in operation, one, for all. Some look this way, others pass through. Did they feel it? The warmth, the beat? It’s here, those waiting, see life and move, the moving start to run, everything accelerates in a flash, one degree higher, automatic. The one rule governing all.

Inside, on a fixed path, less unclear, confident, relaxed. Within a blink, a song, a soft hum of the morning, some leftover hue. Eyes open, a look around the closed space. 

Figures. Sitting, idle, staring, thoughts drowned by the pace of the train, by the wind. A tilted position, figures not visible anymore, but, structures running past, at fast, breakneck speed. The evening, sunrays weakened by the day’s labour, still able to cast shadows where they can, and where they should. The rhythm, and the dance, engulf every other sound, and all the activities around, the structures passing by, the rays falling to keep some long forgotten promise, the figures idling around, follow the beat, and the dance. Another blink, a touch on the arm, warm, affectionate, the sound muted out, a whisper of assurance; a reminiscence of today’s dawn.

Moist eyelids forced open, it slows down. They get up, the eyes smile in triumph, a small victory; replacements move in, relaxed, seated down. The rule wears off; heartbeats, thoughts... a temptation of life, of happiness is intoxicating, threatens to lift dampened spirits. The golden rays outside... an evening is a promise, a feeling of safety and an assurance of normalcy, that the day still ends to give way to another, that it is not dark before it is supposed to be, that, today will be over before tomorrow happens to be. That one rule still governs all, that if it is today, there will be a tomorrow.

A blink, it is quiet, like a hallucination of reality, the figure stands smiling, ready to force the eyes open, is begged not to, not just yet. The outside loudness finds its way through, and the figure, faint, gives way to another reality, one that forces its existence over the other. The rule.

Its empty, but for one Soul. One other than me. It is sublime, existing as per its wish, it is here now; and now it is gone. The structures outside, the ones moving, are the same. Another blink on its way, testing my patience. It is near, the last stop. Slowing down... at last, eyes closed, the hand is safe in another, in the sweet darkness of ages past. It is letting go, believing in the promise of the bright evening, in expectation of a moment lost. With a slight touch on the forehead, it is gone. The noise creeps in. Getting down, at a place filled with energy, flowing, abiding the rule in motion and in stillness. Blending in, following the rule, we walk into the sunset. 

Ref: "Flashes Captured' By A., 25th Sept 2011, 6:14 AM