My Dreamer

Let a dreamer dream, may he not have to see the filthy ego in your heart, and the fear it creates… let him not see your doubts, or he would shatter his world himself… let him see every impossibility in the eye, let him be the innocent challenger of everything, he may play with his illusions, for he would lead you to your destination. When a dreamer regrets his dreams, existence becomes a question.  A dreamer is your light, a guide in this darkness…let him burn in his fire… and you may prosper…

Faith

There were stars that ever shone so bright,

That ashamed of its morning light, the sun said, take it

That in this defeat, I rise, you are my star and it is all mine...

That never boast with spark that is stolen,

My presence endured by the dark,

And welcome in the beauty of my scattered glow..

Through you I reach out to those we once knew,

Who hide in the dark, and candles the wind blew...

You sparkle with reassurance, guarding my promise for tomorrow,

Is it not that you do, so divine and so pure?

That the light is not all that matters...

That the arrogance is not in the glow,

It is in the beauty of faith, in which you endure...

My New

A twinkle outside my window,

A happy thought or a child’s play

A hint of hope and trust of borrow...

Faiths of the worlds would deny

The rhythm of a simple song someday

Would engulf me in entirety

I would hum in different times

Smelling the roses of yesterday...

I would go to that place and sit down

Staring into distances, breaking them

Reducing the effect, polishing the edges,

I would make it new, shiny now...

The dirt removed, lustrous of ideas new

I will show it off, dare you to

come this way and make it anew, too...

Moments Random

If the world is a function of random events, then how is it that goals are achieved, that when someone eyes a target and works towards achieving it, why does not randomness set everything going in all different directions? Random? Why is it said that there is always a solution and a way of finding it. Doesn’t that ‘way’ refute the existence of randomness? 

That rhythm is everywhere, a pattern followed by every entity. The structures whooshing past a car, dancing with the music inside. Innocence confirming its presence by a child intently looking at a piece of sweet held by the father... nature dominating its creation in the form of a man mingling with his surroundings carrying traces of earth and mud on his person. A quick look over one’s shoulder doesn’t change bits of life one left behind; it exists for someone else’s experience, for someone else to question its existence before moving on. 

Ignorance becomes fate, gives way to manifestation of undefined events, to randomness. This non-acceptance of an egotist gives birth to destiny, and to powerless slavery to a non-existing reasoning. A moon will cast a soft light, a sun will always burn, a burn would always hurt, and a touch will always establish life. The functions would not change, the definitions remain intact. There is no help that goes astray, there is no action abandoned.

In your Heart

22 September 2011

Found a place in your heart, to sit and cry and laugh

It’s warm, comfortable, a delicate soft ray of the sun, on my arm, shining

Like the roads that make place for each to walk on, content to just tread along,

Happy to find that inch that is only theirs, an illusion of possession that yes it is mine...

Found that place in your heart, to close my eyes and wonder,

They remember when they are lonely; you miss me when I am...

Beckon me from the other side, I say wait, for another sunrise

Held your hand drifting to sleep, and dreamed

For ages gone in the dream, an echo in my ears, come back home,

Abandoned, gathering dust, come back and paint it again,

With the colours of this season, while the old ones faint...

But let me look for the colours, I have lost mine,

Lend me yours, just for today I promise.

A refugee in your heart, I dream about my home,

Painted with the colour blue, decorated white with snow...

Warm as this refuge, and beautiful as tomorrow,

My home forever to be, but I stay in your heart tonight.

Purity

Untainted by yesterday’s touch, away from tomorrow’s eyes...virgin, pure is when is today... an evidence of all possibilities...

Leftovers

7^th January 2012

Vast expanses now filled with colours so many, of flowers shouting of perpetual happiness. Not the best day of his life, for more are to come, holding promises no one can yet foresee... however the beauty is yet unmatched, envious to the most dazzling bride, to the starlit sky and even the rain. But he can see, hidden under this magnificence, there are the leftovers of that night.

Little does anyone know but him about the storm that stopped by. Caught him by surprise, or a trick so common? Unprepared, he hung on through the night, so he could catch just a glimpse of daylight in sometime. The day came, so did the patch-ups... here and there and there too. Everywhere... the brokens were mended, shattered dusted, fallen collected, lost looked for... the land of flowers, bare, torn down stared him in the eyes...do you dare? He did, and now the flowers let it forget that night.

The colours struggle to preserve their beauty under the unending fight with the dominance of that which is white...for it conceals, and doesn’t clean anything away, the nothingness is an illusion. Starting afresh is a deception, continuance and consequences follow, and go on as if to time without end. He might have ploughed the land to start anew, but the storm that had died has left its ashes behind, and it is a matter of time to assess the vitality of these leftovers...

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.