I

I am here, again

Restless and doubtful

I question my existence, my identity, my spirit

Again

Am I just a dot on a piece of paper?

A small, inconsequential, defective dot

Or am I more than that?

A fly, maybe

The one that irritates you,

And you shoo it away every time

Am I a honeybee?

The one that scares you

But you still run after its nectar

Who am I, really?

A human being – am I one?

Am I the one, who feels superior to every other creature on the planet? 

Am I more influential than a dot, a fly, or a honeybee?

If yes, then why am I here, again?

Why do I feel feeble, exhausted, and powerless?

Was I running too fast, all this while?

Was I aiming too big, beyond my will? 

Maybe it is time to close my eyes and rest

And ponder over my actions done in haste

Today

My expectations have dissolved me into nothingness

I feel nothing more than a dot on a piece of paper

A small, inconsequential, defective dot

But one day, I will grow out of this emptiness

Into the world of my liking

Where I will march slowly, and expect less

I will be born right in the next phase

Until then, I pause

Within my dot, I rest

                                                                        

Our walk

You walk

I walk

Life goes on

Creating memories all along

You stop

I walk on

That empty bench

This bench no longer sustains our vulnerabilities. 

This bench does not speak to us anymore.

I find you

In stillness and in motion

In darkness and in light

I find you

You are so naive

Leaf kites

My leaf kites are filled with memories,

With feelings never being told,

If they fly to you, catch them quick,

Else they already have a place in my balcony.

Love veins

You say 'Everything is impermanent'

I say 'Put my heart on the litmus leaf'

You may look at the colours fading away,

While I, at the love veins staying alive, forever.

The Clouds

That morning, she woke up to the sound of thunder

Her trembling hands reached out to his woolen jacket

Enveloped in his warmth, she walked to the verandah

To collect the tiny photo frames hanging atop the window sash

She brought them all in, and cleared the rain droplets off them

She placed them on the small side rack in her drawing room

The pictures brought back happy memories of their time together

She picked up her beloved’s picture and kissed it

The day marked their 70^th marriage anniversary

Blue

Blue is her favourite colour
It is also the warmest of all
But as the wind blows
Blue changes its colour 
It fades and washes away in the rains

In parts, it looks dull
It looks beaten and stained
It no longer remains warm
Yet she finds it soothing
Yet she feels some undeniable association
She wonders if blue is just her favourite colour

A half-baked cake

I baked a perfect heart-shaped raspberry cake today.

It came out soft, creamy, fluffy and spongy.

You ought to be familiar with its colour and aroma.

Much to your delight, it still reveals the same zest for life!

Its contour is colourful and confident

Its natural silkiness melts up the soreness inside.

This time the frozen berries on the top jazzed it up a bit.

And, the lily flowers on the tray have made up for the lost scent.

Yes, that’s the story of one half of the cake.

Let’s keep the other half for some other day.

As yet, it’s unprocessed and half-baked!

Residual Love

You love green apples, I love red ones

You prefer continental, I like Indian

You hog and jog, I sleep and skip

You focus on the destination, I enjoy the ride

You listen to Gwen Stefani, I hum Ghazal notes

You adore winter holidays, I am a bright summer girl

You always get lost in my eyes, I can’t ever track your heart

Yet one part of me in you loves the red apples

Yet one part of you in me sings - ‘I know, we’re cool’

When colours don’t beam

The window pane has a slew of colours, today

I cannot see outside of it anymore.

Open the door please,
Don't you hear me knocking?

Rat-tat-tat

Aren’t you familiar with the sound of this knock?

Don’t you remember you once taught me to knock?

You helped me to make this perfect sound of knock

The kind of thud that is unique and rhythmic!

I had learned this sound by heart

Thought you, too, followed the same

Why are you taking this long to open the door?

Open the door please,
Don’t you hear me knocking?

Rat-tat-tat

When you finally decide to open the door

You might not find me around, anymore

But there is one thing waiting for you to recover

From that cabinet next to your bookshelf

Your birthday gift that I missed last month

A branded box of ear waxing strips!

The November Rain

So firm was the handshake 

That it held a million promises

Much like the softness of that cold November morning  

Some soft, some firm

And the tale grew a little long

You wrote and I sang along - 'The November Song'

I believed in what you wrote

So did the thrust in my throat

Knowing your words had no meaning, no depth

I still kept singing along

I wondered when the skies wept

I wondered when the roads were wet 

I wondered what still sketched the rainbow up there!

Did you also wonder sometimes, somewhat?

The mystery of rains and the bow of colours

So fascinating it is, that it draws a vibrant bond

Unknowingly we both sing along – 'The November Song'

I, in my world. You, in your world.

And, the universal chorus in our world!