Thursday, November 14, 2013
|At Taj Mahal, Agra, India, October 2013|
He is afraid that she will say good bye from the other side of the glass. And he will keep on waiting. Life will tap him on the shoulder and whisper that he waited a wait that never was. Don’t go away, his eyes say. But, on days like these, even that is too much to ask. He considers burning the letters for the warmth that they once gave. Because the flame of every candle he burns dies before the night ends. If only, burning memories was as easy. All he wishes is for a candle that burns all night. Especially when the night is long and full of terrors. A wishful thinking, but he doesn’t understand.
One seldom laughs. And one always cries.
One seldom lives. And one always dies.
Light, with all its ferocity, skill and speed, struggling through millions miles of nothingness and emptiness, takes eight minutes to kiss the earth. He does not how to give up because the same light has touched him every day. He does shiver because the winds of winter have finally come. Often, he is only a touch away from crumbling, but he doesn’t know it. Tenacious is the word. It is the only word which makes sense today.
The season of autumn paid me a visit and left all the trees in my garden bereft of leaves, flowers and hope. Only the thorns survived. That and a few unanswered questions. It painted my life with the color of dusk and filled it with the sound of things falling apart. A page from a book of thousand pages engraved with emptiness is ruffling in the silent wind. “Sometimes, when you pull someone closer, you are pushing them away”. So, I stand where I am. A sad feeling in the heart is a good thing once in a while. It means heart is where it should be.
The sea will drown all the beautiful moments.
And, the stories written on sand will be washed away.
Layers of time and weight of distance will float,
But, buried deep into the sands, my footprints will stay.
Sometimes, we are not in the cocoon, we are the cocoon. We are the ones holding us back. But, we still came this far. Struggle will breed courage. And we will finally know what we are. Our memories will be so beautiful. Who knew? It was courage that brought us here. It is courage that will see us through. I know that flowers of hope will bloom again. Do you?
P.S - The title taken from a dialogue from the movie " The New World"
Saturday, October 5, 2013
|Chittorgarh, Rajasthan, March 2013|
A single soul sailing in the sea,
Stares at the horizon again and again.
The faint fire of orange sun lingers on.
Witnesses his screams and a salty rain.
And she sits there for a long time beside me. “Still there. Still there. Gone.” And she turns her head towards me. But my mind is far away, looking at a photograph of us, which was taken a long time ago in future. The corners of the page show signs of age, but the smiles are still fresh. Snow is falling behind us and our footprints on the white floor still speak of our journey together. I still wonder why we didn’t hold your hands that day. The space between us is still visible in the photograph, unfazed by time and memory.
He knows she will come closer. Just not today.
In another universe, an old doctor is saying to his young patient. “If I’d ask you about Love, you will probably quote a sonnet, but, you have never looked at a woman and felt totally vulnerable. You don’t’ know about real loss, because that only occurs when you love someone more than you love yourself. The young man just sits there and says nothing. The perils a young man has to go through. He goes back and writes :
I have written a song,
Which I don’t want you to hear.
It has too much of ‘us’ in it.
It will clear everything unclear.
And again that familiar feeling weighs on him. Tough to explain. Tougher to write. Impossible to utter. A reminder of a moment which never arrived. When feelings, which once flowed, have turned into frost. You know that you loved once. And now it is lost. He remembers the sea. The sea keeps on receding, but it always arrives. I will not wait by the shore. I will be the shore. You kiss me everyday, I whisper to the sea. But, he wishes more.
The hands may shake, but the heart knows best. Sometimes, life does feel like an unbroken chain of sad songs. Some sighs are louder than words and heavier than stars. All we are is dust in the wind, life tries to convince me. Are we? I ask. For once, I would like to be the wind that saw past the rocks and mountains. It blew. Because that was what it knew. The day never forgives the night for taking away its light. The destiny of small stones is to sink in the river. But the big stones change the course of the flow. And few souls are meant to be become braver by every blow. It is time to be back in the cage and fight.
If Life is a person,
How does he smile?
Does he have crooked teeth?
And mockery is his style?
Another young man stands on his desk and shouts ‘O Captain! My Captain!’. Courage seeps inside us without a sound and for the first time we become a person we were always meant to be. Our life starts from that day.
P.S - There are references to dialogues and scenes from the movies, Good Will Hunting, Dead Poets Society and Before Midnight. Song 'Dust in the Wind' is By Kansas. Photo Credit: Me
Thursday, August 22, 2013
|Udaipur, Rajasthan, India, April 2013|
No one died and no one lived.
Such was the wonder of this strange war.
We both were alone, in our own corners.
Tried to come near, but remained so far.
My eyes are red. They are always red. Not for the lack of sleep, though. These eyes have seen too many dreams never taking wings. I try to dive deep into my eyes, but I close them soon enough, afraid of getting lost in the unseen and unknown paths which I keep hidden from myself. We blink too often. Hesitate. The roads of the outside world are long, hard and treacherous. The paths within our hearts are worse. Hidden paths have hidden wonders, I say to myself. I listen to my heart beat from sunrise to sunset and fail to decipher its meaning. I lean gently on the windows and watch clouds confiding their big little secrets to the cold glass. I climb the slippery boulders and stand atop and search the answers in the lightning and thunder. All I receive is a shrug from the wind.
I am a bird fluttering its wings for a long time, looking for a branch that can hold the weight of my own high hopes from me. I am a dry leaf, denied the comforts of sleep between the pages of a book with a happy ending, and swept relentlessly by the winds of time. I am a blind man looking for its cane in the middle of the road. I am riding a wave without a name. I am a sea waiting for its shore.
I look for the answers in the beautiful blank pages you gifted me. In my mind, I write a thousand words on them. Words of hope, courage and optimism. But, there is no poetry between us, says the paper to the pen. These words crawl unseen and I am only left to hear the sounds of the fluttering pages in the soft wind. Your address is still written in the corner of the page. I hope that you receive these unwritten words, even if I keep them safe here with me. Perhaps, a few answers are only flowers yet to bloom. They will be revealed in its own time at its own pace. For now, I walk a confident walk, revealing a brave face.
The verse is still incomplete.
The colors are yet to be done
My eyes are yet to give up, and
The blue and brown are yet to be one.
1. There is no poetry between us... Song by Gary Jules.
2. Carry on my wayward son. ..Song by Kansas
3. Photo Credit : Me
Sunday, January 20, 2013
|Outside Dilli Haat, India|
Days, when you are not here feel like pointed needles. Pricking me through out the day. Not piercing enough to drip blood. But, a constant reminder nonetheless. I walk bare foot on a cold floor on a shivering day. The chill burns my toes and starts climbing up through the legs. Before it reaches my heart, I say your name and remember your face. The warmth of your absence soothes me. And, then I wonder what your presence would be like..
Your touch gives me hope.
Fear of the unknown, I still walk through.
Because, I am surrounded by everything. But you.
I see you seating on an empty bench under a sad sky.
Saved by your innocence, you are not wet. Rain is Dry.
You walk slowly and the light breeze rustle the leaves sleeping on the pavement. We walk through the memory lanes alighted by space shining between us. The Time Traveler's wife has brought us closer. Its a connection between two souls. The connection between the shadows and lights. And the passion which that connection ignites.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
|The walk that heals. The tree that sings. The silence which speaks. And the tranquility that it brings.|
I would like to listen to the stories you have not shared. When you walked on honest paths and you found pebbles beneath your feet. When the space around you was so heavy, all you could hear was your own heart beat. The beautiful stories behind your beautiful sad poems. The color of rainbow before they were painted so. I want to see all the myriad expressions that a beautiful face can take. The stories of ache and fears and tears. We will pick those thorns and burn them one by one. Until all you are left with are only flowers and their fragrances.
With your heart lighter than air, we will write our Dreams on dry leaves. Dry leaves are lighter and they travel easily. But they are fragile and get easily blown away too. We will collect them all and keep them safe in between the pages of our favorite books. Among the stories of starry nights and cloudy skies, there will be dreams of rain and rainbows, waiting for us to been seen and realized. Our dreams of smiles sleeping happily among the laughter and tears of the book.
But, till the time we touch our future, we have a lot of moments to steal. Beautiful things to discover and reveal. A lot of walks to take on lonely streets with the lake on one side and a row of tall trees on the other. In harmony with shade and sunshine. Now and Always.
P.S - Title taken from this beautiful song from The Passenger called Golden Thread
The photo taken on a beautiful evening in Plitvice National Park, Croatia. Dated - 12.11.2011
The photo taken on a beautiful evening in Plitvice National Park, Croatia. Dated - 12.11.2011
- HAUSLE BULAND