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Rosy Life

All day long, I stand by and watch as your day unfolds. You know I am here, but you are okay with pushing me into the background, merging me with the paraphernalia. You are a messy guy; clothes helter-skelter, a dripping sink, unwashed kettle. You give me the creeps at times. But I see you love your books, not one page is askew or dogeared.
But your food habits are another story. Dude, you need not eat that moldy, three-day-old pizza! Just order a new one and dump this one in the bin. In fact, in your absence even the pup, your furry monster has rejected it. You need to think things through. Clearly, the dog and I are not enough. So maybe do yourself a favor and call that girl? Perhaps she can get you new pizza or clean your room?
The smell is starting to get to me. It's pungent already. Arrgh!
And please give that pile of fur a bath. Are you guys ganging up on me and want me to asphyxiate on your stench? Come on guys, I thought I was here because you wanted me to be a part of…

The Eternal Tree

Bury me deep and grow a tree, Bearing fruits, bitter-sweet like me. And when it’s flowers bloom, In its lingering fragrance, You’ll remember me, And I’ll be truly free!

The idea of dying or death is daunting. How, when, where, why it’ll happen, we don’t know, but we try to make it our business to understand. We work as hard as we can to delay it, avoid it and even ignore it. We prepare for this event as if we can plan it. But when it comes and how it arrives, is always shocking, taking us by surprise, often leaving us in the wake of pain, debt and unresolved bits. We cannot accept that we don’t really hold the reins of life.
We grow anxious, are over cautious, take every precaution possible. We never see it as ‘freeing.’ So steeped are we in the material worlds, defending our cocoons and comforts that the idea of death, though a very natural and an eventual outcome, gives us sleepless nights. We fret, frown, fiddle, never sitting still, waging a futile war.
Clearly, I am going through a …

Bound and Unbound.

Image Courtesy: Shutterstock
Frayed edges. Fading verse. Withering, yellow, moth-eaten being. Blotchy, dusty and falling apart at the seams, Bound no more having bound many woe-begotten dreams.
Dried ink set in time, crumbling to dust. Drunk with secrets from days of yore.
Fragile, delicate, radiating power, An unfolding menagerie of words, fiction, lies, some truths, Papercuts galore.

Letters to the Unbeloved #10

Dear You,
You know right, its that face of yours, that expression that always gets me – the one where you want to be practical, angry and the man who cares a damn all at once, you’d melt away, giving in to your heart. That’s the most lovable part of you. I came to fall in love with that face and that simple heart. For a no-nonsense man of the world, you had a softer side. Your brooding looks coupled with a tad bit of cynicism, made you more humane. There was a chaotic calmness about you that drew me to you.
But, your constant niceties have now lost their charm and let others invade our world. What was innocent naivety is just foolhardiness now. It was you who once told that me that I am your world, far removed from the chaos of reality. But you have blurred the lines. You vowed to let of go of the toxicity and yet, today all it takes is a few tears and you are ready to let go of the past, ready to repeat the same mistakes.
Let me be clear; I won’t participate any longer. Today, I w…

Note to Self

Right now, everything matters and nothing does. The whys, the whos, the whens, and the whats. It will hurt. You will feel winded. And if you don’t, I’d be amazed. Every nerve in your body will be alive and kicking. They will feel everything and nothing; the ones that don’t need attention and the ones that cry out loud. You will be numb, and you won’t do anything about either of them. They will stew, just like you.
In that big head of yours, a thousand thoughts will plan a marathon and forget to take off. One might do, and you’d feel as if your head will explode. Your stomach will hurt and so will your throat for that lack of gumption, and the missing voice and words.
You’d look over a ledge and want to take the plunge, yet, give it up for another day. Walking away, you will imagine how you would look splattered all over the pavement, the colors of your insides splashed all over. But no one will know what these colors feel or say. Today, it will seem like too much.
You will head out o…

I Wonder What Ants do on Rainy Days…

Source: Google Images
On days when the sun has abandoned us, hiding behind the grey, moody clouds. Do they sit inside their hills and wonder out loud? Do they stare outside at the rain, measuring the raindrops, letting thoughts splotch all over? Does the earthy petrichor take them down the memory lane? Or are they content with what nature has to offer? It is a part of their lives, isn’t it? They dredge up foods daily, diligently build their hills, even if it is to serve their queen, only to enjoy it on days like this, no? Maybe they do take stock of things, of their bearings. They ought to sleep it off, take a day to rest or do they lament on the lost time?
Unlike me.
When I gaze out, a gazillion thoughts fly by; some worthy of the pen, some so disturbing that I often question my sanity. I like the grey skies though. They seem like textured canvases waiting for me to scribble something. The lazy raindrops wetting the streets below and casting a temporary stain on window ledges bring a…