Month: February 2014

One day
You had wiped my glasses
So that I could see clearly
But
Then I wished,
These had remained fuzzy
Is clarity always good
Particularly
When it shows the ambiguities
And contradictions
Even more clearly
Let me keep
My glasses hazy
Fuzzy
Ambiguous

When wind blew a little fast
You came close
Just like that
But the tendrils didnot intertwine
Though they needed support
Desperately
Creeper is free
Tendril is drying
You are happy
And the wind is blowing rather slowly now
Isn’t that what you wanted?

sole sign
of a glow
inside the burning fire
of determination
to not shed red colour
even if the sky is unable to remain blue

As if
The water will carry
The boat full of pebbles
I collected
While waiting
For river in spate
To cool down

Now
The river is contained
Boat is floating
But my oars are broken
They are tied
To the promises made
By waves while settling down

Don’t be nice
Just because
There are compulsions
Life must be lived truthfully
Not pragmatically
Of course
One can’t be completely truthful
But fuzziness
Can be frugal

sparkling moments
like beads in the necklace
worn by you that night
when stars went away
on a holiday and the milky way
wasnt milky as much
as to show me the way
out of abyss of nothingness
but here i am
rescued
relieved
and rejuvenated
by a lightening

why do we climb a mountain
only to come down
cant we stay there
drain us of the oxygen
and then have a good excuse
to bury ourselves there
in the debris of smiles that were not

Sparkles in the solitary sky
Unrepentant river
Even the bank is not shy
Flow
Flow
Flow
Why do we ask,
If bubbles have the permission
To just fly
Fly
Fly
Fly

Tears and a torn sky
Wonder why
The banality of truthfulness
And covering of a mindful sigh
Isn’t there a place undefined
One doesn’t have to call
Yours nor my
Let us resolve
To keep quiet
No claim
No right
Flow will now stay its course
Far away in the dark sky
Tears and a torn sky
Wonder why

Walking over the same path
Isn’t easy
If the weeds have grown
All along
No, I will not clear the weeds
The flowering herbs
Must contain their dreams
The path will remain unkept
Someday
A sweeper of sighs
Will pass by this path
Who knows then
The stones will be cleaned
The weeds will be pruned
By then
These might get re classified
As ornamentals
In a Temple of tears