"Love Is..."

Love is...

The melody of their laughter.

It sounds like the best music to your ears.

Love is...

The exhilaration you feel

when they come running to 

share something that made them happy,

with you.

Love is...

The intense desire

to see them happy,

come what may.

Love is...

This night,

the moon,

the rustle of

the drooping leaves.

The painting in our mind-

 

painted in the colours outside.

Realizations and Limits.

Not everyday do you realize
that each ounce of discomfort
would pile up,
to form
a peak
so tall,
that, when it falls,
it actually just
inverts itself,
and a peak becomes
a trench.

The depth
is dark,
the depth
is deep.
It's a lonely place
in that pit,
only a dot of light
may or may not
be seen.





Why then,
even when
we know,
how deep
the darkness goes,
how empty,
the loneliness
envelopes the soul:

Why then,
not everyday do we realize,
that each ounce of that discomfort
makes a peak,
and the peak makes
a trench,
and a void,
full of a cacophony of silence
fills up the heart,
crushes the mind?

Tonight

The night tonight

Will stay forever.

The dark will not end

The lights will be enveloped.

Cries tonight

Will drown forever.

The screams will remain

The echoing  vestiges of pain.

Perhaps when you

Lose your way

A flame might just

Reignite.

Perhaps when you

Decide to stay

The nights might just

Hope for light.

But tonight, my dear,

The stars refuse

To twinkle with

The love that had been.

Tonight, my dear,

The clouds gather

A storm, as silent

As the turbulent sea.

Tonight, I weep

The days away.

Tonight, I wait.

Tonight, I long.

Melody and Candies

Light rains turning heavy,

Dew drops turning into bubbles,

The wisps of condensed moisture,

Are stacks of cotton balls!

And when you come along,

Imaginations seem reality,

The monsoon brings snow-flakes

And there are Dream-falls!

Pitter-patter comes down the life,

And I absorb each drop.

How beautiful when the sun shines,

And the ponds hold singing frogs!

A tip here, a tap there.

I compose a rhyme.

Even the sourest and the most bitter,

Taste like sweet-lime!

A puddle here, a paper-boat there,

We weave the sky into a blue-shawl.

In the warmth of nature and the frozen dreams,

In smiles and tears, plays the melody of life's song!

In Search, In Vain.

There are the stars in a cluster,
Wild flowers in the wild forest.
There are the leaves, hyper-sensitive,
And, there are those who never understand.

There are so many of the coffee beans in each cup,
Ground first, then brewed.
There is such a rich aroma around them,
And, there are those who never understand.

There are millions of shades and a multitude of colours,
Soothing to the eyes, and infuriating to the mind.
There are thousands of shapes, symmetrical or not,
And, there are those who never understand.

There is so much to see, so much to give.
There is beauty to behold, love to be sowed.

And, there are those,
Who never understand.

The Vividness of the Unreal.

From the dark wooden arch of the narrow opening to the lonely turret, also made of dark wood, standing on the third step of the winding wooden stair-case, I could see the beautiful amalgamation of bright colours.

The lush and refreshing green of the grass, the bright golden yellow flowers, with petals shaped like the rays of the sun, a few wing-tailed brilliant-blue butterflies.

The sky was a cloudless azure, clear as the colours I could see (and as clear as clear could possibly be).

A loud, happy chattering of families with little children, seated on numerous white tables and chairs, gathered as if for an occasion, emanated through the lightly fragrant air. But, I couldn’t figure out what occasion.

The children would duck under the tables, hide and laugh like a thousand chimes chiming together. The adults sat bantering and match-making, with tea in lightly decorated porcelain cups. The women dressed in flowing and comfortable gowns, the men, in light-coloured coats and cotton pants.

From within the lonely turret, among the dark wood inside and the brightness outside, I could see myself, except for my face. My hands, they were gloved with creamy-white satin-silk-cotton, lightly laced with delicately embroidered flowers and leaves. I was dressed in an off-white flowing gown of the same comfortable fabric. It was beautiful. Whatever I was dressed in, for whatever the occasion.

I wasn’t very old. I must be around 12.

Just as I was about to climb up the stair-case, a very familiar, and expected voice of another 12 year old called out my name and I turned.

Years passed by and I visited the turret and the grass with the differently shaped yellow flowers often. It never changed. The colours were always as vivid as they had been the first time. The dark wood impeccably maintained. The only difference was, the people kept reducing, and so did the white tables and chairs. The loud and happy chattering grew fainter with time.

Today, I was standing on the same stair, the third one, on the spiralling wooden stair-case, watching the scene from the same arched opening. Today, too, the sky was the clear azure, the grass- refreshing green, the flowers- bright golden-yellow. But there were no bright-blue wing-tailed butterflies, and absolutely no one outside. Not even the white tables and chairs. Nothing animate.

Today, I stepped out of the turret. For the first time ever, in all these years. I looked at my hands, clothed in the same gloves. Myself, clothed in the same off-white gown. The fabric shone a bit in the warm and soft sunlight.

And then, I heard the distant hooves of a stallion. To my right, and about a few miles away, I could vaguely see the shiny black of the stallion, walking away from me. There was no one on his back. No one, I could see, around him. I watched him until he walked so far away that I could no longer see an outline.

And I waited.

I yearned within.

What for, I never knew.

Eight years have passed since I’d first come here.

The Window.

It's cold outside.
It's frozen inside.
The window on my bed-side
Always changes colours.

It was bright blue in the morning.
Golden yellow in the noon.
Lush green in the evening,
Turning to midnight blue.

I can see
A dust full of stars,
When the stallions gallop by,
In the blazing sun.

I can't see
A twinkle in the Knight's armour,
But, emotions
In his eyes, undone.

I can feel
The breeze
And the storm
Through the thick glass.

I can touch
The carriages,
Dark ebony,
That go past.




But, the window lies.

The blanket on me says
It's a wall of bricks,

Not a glimpse of the outside.

Undying Innocence.

Wouldn't it be
As bright as the cherry
On your birthday cake,
(I wanted to slick off, before you cut it)
My little, cherished dream?


As fluttery, as pretty
As the wing-tailed butterfly,
A splash of blue, a tinge of black

My little, cherished dream.


Wouldn't it be
As the chilly and sparkling snowflakes
On a gold-hued wintry afternoon,
(I've only imagined of, being inspired)
My little, cherished dream?


As wooly, as sweet
As the cotton candy,
Spinned and spinned, like yarn

My little, cherished dream.




A million stars, a million moons,
Thousand suns, and thousand balloons!

Yellow flowers in green meadows,
Chocolates bundled at my door!


My little, cherished dream
Turning plural with every dawn,
Yet still remaining,

My little, cherished dreams.

"Unfathomable He".

The drops, they drop,
The rains, they rain.

The tears, they tear.
The screams in the shadowed lane.



Alone he walks,
With memories and immaterial memoirs.

His own shadow trying to leap out
Ahead of him.

No one in the whole wide world
Ever saw what he really is.

Perhaps, even the mirror on the wall
Deceived him.



"There were murmurs, there were whispers.
But the source, where was it?

Then, there were words, there were sounds.
But, the music, where was it?

There were promises, there was soothing.
But the assurance, where was it?"



Forever in search of answers to questions
Unknown,

He walked, and he determinedly
Walked alone.



And, the drops,
They dropped.

The rains,
They rained.

The tears,
They teared.

His search, his quest,
Remained, in vain.

Long Time, No See!

Has been quite a long time since I last 'wrote' an actual post.

There are so many things I could have opined on, when I couldn't find a platform or ears! And now, finally, when I did realize, that this could very well be a platform, I'm not sure what I want to opine on.



On Happiness:

I've realized,
If it's a known quote, "You can make others happy, when you yourself, are happy", why can't the converse be applied?

"When you make others happy, you can also be happy".

Someone had questioned me,
"But how can you make others happy, if you are sad?"

Well, why not? When I'm sad, I'll strive to make someone else happy, and in their happiness, I shall gain my satisfaction. Yeah, that's, Being Selfish On A Higher Level, And For The Greater Good. Oh, and Unconditional Love.

I've also come to terms with the Power of Decision.

Even if the situation around expects you to be sad, let down, depressed...every thing possibly negative, you decide to be happy, in stead. That helps. That actually does.

Then again, that does not mean we simply negate all the negatives and make everything look positive. Negativity is there, and it's there for a purpose. But when you can, you try to decide to be happy. Happiness, is a perspective.



On Changes:

Yeah, my favourite part.

If you aren't under constant flux, you aren't growing.

One of my classmates said to me,

"You've changed a lot since the past two years! How come?"

"Just a realization. :)"

"Something happened in your life?"

I just shrugged.

They think, "A new love life?" "A new achievement?" "Something big!"

When the truth is,

A new love life?
Definitely. I fell in love with myself.

A new achievement?
That sure is.

Something big!
When you stop categorizing situations as 'big' and 'small', you'll know, each thing is significant in itself. :)







Okay, I feel like I'm preaching here! But, I say this from experience. Honest. =/

When am I getting my Nobel for this? :P

"Midnight Fantasies".

A little late,
into the night,
we slip,
with hazy dreams.

With the break
 of the dawn,
on the eye-lids,
we see the vividness
of those very mid-night fantasies.

Each night, a haze
metamorphosing into
vivid clarity.

Each dawn, another haze
building up. 

Contradictions unto thyself.

The silence bounds off the walls.

The vacuum inside is full of dust.

The midnight sky holds

A burning blue inferno.

The fire is frozen.

The curtains, shut,

Bellow in the still air.

The walls crumble to dust.

The silence travels out

In the dusty vacuum.

The full moon is fully shadowed.

The new moon is a white orb

In the infernal heavens.

Pathetic Fallacy.

That rain.

You love.

Those pebbles.

You love.

The butterflies you fly

your dreams with.

The fireflies you light

your eyes with.

The moon.

How distant?

The stars.

Give them a listen.

The feel of the Wintry chill in the Summer.

The ever-lasting laughter, like the melody of the Thunder.

The rain.

You love.

The clouds.

We soar on.

Those pebbles.

You love.

The streams.
We float on.

The feel of the Breeze.

In the sticky, hot Summer.

The ever lasting belief.

Getting even firmer.

A Pre-Summer Afternoon's Irritation.

It is such a drowsing-ly hot day!

Like a sedated sleep with a heavy head.

The heat waves acting 

like lullabies, and 

silently killing vivacity.

The dryness of the air -

sucking away the moisture

of our very blood,

like drunk mosquitoes -

in overwhelming numbers,

swarming above our decaying brains!

The worst thing about 

the entire day is -

the obligation of the towering

amount of work,

that's actually of the size

not more than my middle finger!

That Girl With The Pink Hand-kerchief

Every other moment,

another sneeze.

Her nose flowing,

infecting the breeze.

A sniff or two,

and perpetual 'complainds'.

Just hope the cold

doesn't affect her brain!

A shudder or a tremble,

a few grumbles.

She's got such a cold in the warm weather,

not even December!

An apology

with every bombardment of bacteria.

We can empathize, 

oh yeah!

Another 'aaschoo!',

another blotch.

The pink hand-kerchief smiles and whispers,

"forget me not!"

That girl with the pink hand-kerchief,

she's the red nosed reindeer of our lot!

In Retrospect.

You called out that name
Ever so often

In your dreams

In your waking hours.

Looked up the meaning

In every dictionary available

Tried finding more

Through search engines less conventional.

That call,

Never answered.

That meaning,

Never registered.

That finding,

Never found.

Rising Beyond Reality.

It has never been about

Wanting and needing,

As much as it has been

Beyond dreaming.

The moment where

You hesitate,

That's the moment

You never shall falter.

Reality is what they

Think of as real.

Yet, thinking is

A way of imagination.

Where the fantasies begin to ebb

Due to those impositions,

There shall you rise

Beyond the mortal comprehension.

Sureness is one thing,

While absoluteness is another.

Yet, the absoluteness in sureness

Can be one complete entity.

The belief in ideas

Never shall recede,

As long as you believe

It never will.

"Don't part with your illusions.

When they are gone, you may still exist,

But you have ceased to live." (Mark Twain)

NOTE: "Absolution" or "Absoluteness".

Better to Live.

How do you know?
How do I hide?
In a world full of splinters,
It seems better to die.

And yet, here I stand,
Trying to be 'the hero in the strife'.
No, I need no support,
Nor anyone by my side.

And yet, here I stand,
Trying to be 'the icon of solitude',
And, I shall, and I will,
It seems better to live, live and let others try. :)

Words and Vent.

Words.
In anger, in hurt.
Humour, at the wrong time.
Orders and requests.
Genuine and fake.


Somehow, they make a LOT of difference, to me.

Even when an apparently common phrase comes up from someone least expected, they trigger memories.


They never realize, and how could they, even;
I never confess, I shouldn't.






Then there are words that don't trigger 'memories',
Yet, leave scars behind.
Scars, that don't really heal with time.


I try, not holding on to the words that hurt,
But, the words that smile.
Yet, I find, there's nowhere to vent,
Nowhere to hide those tears by looking up at the sky.







That sky, with a million stars in it, studded,
Who knows? They may be looking down on us.
Would we want them to be affected
Whispering to them, of our tears?


Tears, they roll down when they can,
Gives us a lightness.
But, what of them, those drops of pearl,
They might have a feeling of being abandoned.



And the words resonate-

"You cannot please everyone every time."





I'm lost.

For words.

At the moment.

Poet and Protagonist.

The early sun and the setting,
The chilling breeze and the occasional warmth,
In the April rain, the lone stallion-
Galloping in the wilderness,
Longs in the memories
Of the one that gave him pride and honour,
along with his knighthood.

That knight,
Who fought with valour and loved fiercely,
May the vastness of Eternity remember them....

(Composed on February 10, 2012).

First Stitches Ever. =/

I've always had a sort of phobia of needles and knives on the skin. Like, surgery, injections...you get the drift.

And, had always hoped I wouldn't have to face it, EVER.

But, well, there's a first time for everything. (In this case, hopefully, 'the first and the last time').

It so happened-

Morning, around 09:15hrs of the 6th of February, 2012. Had just got up, and was mildly sleepy, disoriented. (What d'you expect after having sleep for just a span of four hours, anyway?! It was NOT my fault. The sleepiness, I mean).

My room-mate asked me to go keep the dustbins down. I nodded in agreement. There was one pink dustbin and two plastic bags (all the three full). The garbage truck was evidently in a hurry (I didn't see it, the others were screaming about it, and considering, it missed the dustbins, anyway), so, I picked up all the three, and started descending the steps.

My habit dictates a comparatively fast descent, and, on the third last step, I slipped. BUT, I regained my balance, and reached the last step. THEN, there was a sudden imbalance and disorientation, and the next thing I know, the pink dustbin was lying to my left, in a similar stance.

Still, for the sake of responsibility, I didn't bother checking what hurt, and 'safely' placed the three things near the gate. Coming back, was feeling dizzy, so sat down on the very same staircase. A little blotch of rust colour, that smelled like blood, on the track-pant on my right knee, made me even dizzier. I wasn't feeling any physical pain, anyway, just the dizziness.

Enter the room-mate who'd given me the job.

"What's wrong? Why're you sitting here like this? And what was that sound? Did you fall off the stairs? Or, did you drop the bin?"

"Fell, yeah..."

"What?! Are you hurt? I've TOLD you millions over, not to speed down the staircase like that! But, you NEVER listen, do you!"

"My knees, probably scratches..."

"Show me!"

Then, there was a collective gasp and horror-struck faces surrounding me. I didn't even look at the source of it all.

"It's almost half an inch deep!"

"Why isn't there any blood?!"

"If it would have happened to me, I'd be howling in pain!"

The next thing, there were paper tapes on the wound, and I was being rushed to a near-by general hospital.

"Will need stitches" - The doctor.

NOW I was completely aware. 'Stitches'? Did he just say 'Stitches'? That meant needles, and injections, and....NO!!!



Step one-
Clean up. Didn't hurt a bit. Just a little burning sensation.

Step two-

The most painful in the whole procedure. Anaesthesia injection!!

"Is it over yet?" I asked.
"
"Err, no, just a few more minutes."

Step three-

The stitches. Not a feeling.

Step four-

Tetanus injection. That hurt.




Anyway, in all the above steps, except the fourth one, my friends remained by my side, distracting me, making me laugh. Touche. :)

A few comments by the Doc-

"People 'cry' (not literally) in such cases, and you're laughing (literally)".

"Thank YOU," when I'd thanked him while leaving. :P




Observations-

During the 'stitching' procedure, a needle got bent.

My skin is hard, apparently.

Just THREE stitches. =/ Disappointing, in a way.



Conclusions-

Helped facing my fear.

Helped me realize the value of friends. (Special mention to all present- Rucha Nair, Komal Patil, Kritina Ramteke, Rohan Shinde, Sohan Shinde, Chandrashekhar Thakur, Sonnal Tambe, Prachi Warade). Expression of genuine gratitude. :)




Aftermath-

'Joblessness is the mother of all invention'.





Future-

Eight days trying to keep that knee from bending much.




Overview-

What an experience, sir ji! :D

The Solitaire Diamond.

The coffee spilled over the wooden floor,
One - two, one - three drops at a time.
The wrist watch was heard ticking,
And the solitaire diamond cast speckles all over.

The bustling street was bustling with silence,
The glass walls unbreakable.
The cold shared itself with the warmth of the sun,
A few scarlet petals lay scattered.

They had once seen balloons across that street,
Different shapes, different colours.
There had once been an old lady at the florists',
Smiling every time she saw a yellow rose.

Now, he saw, the brown drops dried up on the wooden floor,
And she sees the solitaire diamond casting speckles all over.

'The New Legacy Begins'

Note: The following is a poetry composed for the advertisement of the Ibanez Darkstone Guitar Series.

The silence of the tombstones

Bounding off the dark vacuum;

Fragmented wholes

And metal meets mud.

A string or six, echo in bits

The dirge and the hymn

The deed and the sin.

Erstwhile, the music of the whole,

The music of the soul,

Now cometh, the music of the Darkstone.

The New Legacy Begins.

Hope in Posthumous.

Composed on January 15, 2012.

The visions of fascinating grandeur

And natural beauty, these eyes have seen.

They lie, uncluttered and 'uncategorized',

Behind closed long-lashed lids, within.

Smiles and excitement, sorrow and despair,

Trying their very best to touch others.

They lie withheld, they lie anonymous,

They lie on yellowing parchment, crumbling at the corners.

These ears, they love listening-

The stories, the differences.

At times, when a voice long held, expresses,

With intent ears, they are seldom met.

And, thus, the quietness, ever present,

Is all that manifests.

Perhaps a day, along the far future,

In history, posthumously, it would be read.

Unearthing the Earth.

Composed on January 12, 2012. Inspired by the sight of the Dutch Cemetery, Cochin.

The coldness reflected off the greying tombstones.

The barren branch sheltered no crow.

Decaying memories buried beneath the decayed ground.

Carcasses of dreamed love, life hoped.

Unearthing the earth, secrets lie naked.

Death is not the dead end,

it is just an illusion of life abducted.

Photo courtesy: Google (hindu.com)

'Once bitten, twice shy'.

Composed on December 21, 2011.

You know you are in it.
You know you want to.
Then, what stops you,
What disarms you?

You were always so,
Impulse ruled your actions.
A walking contradiction,
When they called you a 'thinker'.

The smallest of things hurt,
But you never let it show.
Every time you wanted to talk,
The words were too slow.

And yet, today, you are afraid.
Afraid of climbing up the stairs.
For the further up you go, you know,
The further down you would lie.