Words are just broken meanings
Just constantly taking beatings.
Slowly they begin to die
More and more with every lie.
Always said and always misused
Till soon enough their souls are skewed
And they now mean nothing to you.

From silence springs to new life
All of the things I had chosen to forget
Page after page of words now burrowing into my mind

Promises to weather the difficult journey
With a vision of a sparkling future ahead
Shattered like crystal swept from a high shelf

Now I sit amidst a pile of broken glass
(The shards are awfully sharp)
Holding this piece, that piece, to the light

Even the fragments reflect so prettily
It was pretty dazzling when it was whole
How unfortunate that I have no glue

Love, the real kind, is never simple.
It is the one thing that makes life worth it in the end,
and something that wonderful and sought-after is never going to be easy to get.
You have to work for it.
Blood, sweat, and tears.
So if it’s easy, yeah maybe you won’t get broken.
But you won’t be truly happy, either.
You’ll be settling.
Don’t get me wrong,
There are lots of things in life that are totally acceptable to settle on.
Sure, Harvard was your dream school.
But you know what?
Going to your state school because its more affordable
Will still get you where you want to be in life.
And I know the hairdresser couldn't match the color you showed her,
But you are beautiful and can rock it anyway, so don’t worry.
But love?
Settling in love is like buying a pair of shoes that are a size too small,
Just because you thought they were pretty.
They may look nice,
But you are dying on the inside. I
f you had just held out a bit longer,
You would have found a pair just as beautiful that fit well, too.
Maybe that nice guy looks good on paper,
But if he doesn’t give you butterflies whenever he looks at you,
Don’t be with him.
You want someone who makes you fall for them every day,
Not just once.

The clock slowly ticks, ticking ticking ticking,
As time has come to a stop.
All we can hear is the ticking,
The ticking of the broken clocks.

We'll be lost in forever, over and over
Repeating our lives.
Memories are spilling over,
Hey, remember that time?

We met by accident,
Serendipity you could say.
I liked the way your eyes shined,
As you smiled that day.

But one problem led to another,
Nights blended into days.
What's the difference between midnight,
And the middle of the afternoon?

The clocks tick away the memories,
Tick Tick tick...

We dance across the realities,
Laugh at our lives.
We act so happily,
As our dreams are torn with time.

The clocks are ticking...
Every second is another year.
Everything was okay,
Everything began to disappear.

Hey do you remember?
Do you?
"Do I remember?
I can't say that I can..."

The clock slowly ticks, ticking, ticking, ticking...
And my memories of you begin to fade.
All I can remember is the ticking,
Our lives ticking away...
Tick tick tick...

Who are you?

The rain falls softly on the sleeping city…. Cloaked in the blanket of a monsoon lull…. A few stray dogs scamper for shelter as the first storm of the season colours the dawn a deeper crimson…..
The thunder rumbles from the north east…a deep slow sonorous sound coming from the underbellies of the moisture laden atmosphere…..
The soft drizzle forms a hazy blanket of morning mist around the city…..already stirring with the first signs of life…. The resurrection of the everyday work-a-day world…….
The musical tinkling of a bell echoes around as a pushcart brimming with flowers rushes down the street, hurrying to the market…fresh, preened and ready…to be sold to the highest bidder…
The soft music of the approaching storm inspires a boatman, out on the holy river, to sing…… his voice echoes over the bass of the thunder……a plaintive pleasant humming……the nuances of the bhatiali fill up the empty cracks in the morning……
The rain deepens…………the drizzle expands into the monsoons first downpour… pitter-patter sings the rain, reverberating off a thousand tin roofs……the sky darkens……enveloping the dawn in its grey being…..
Somewhere, someone tunes a harmonium…..clears a throat…a hand draws a curtain aside…..
The peaceful reassurance of the daily azaan spreads out from the mosque…..calling the faithful to prayer…..
The flower vendor…now setting up shop, attaching an extra strip of plastic sheet to fend off the rain…. Stops a moment and bows his head as the nearby tolling of a bell and the sound of a conch shell being blown announces the beginning of a new day in god’s abode….
A woman kneels down in a pew…..praying…..the calm of the church mirrored in her peaceful face…..
The rain looks down at the city……..now, half awake…slowly stretching its limbs……..stirring from the depths of a restless rest…………awakening to the jangling of a bread earner’s faith……
The shower relents……..probably giving in to all the Monday morning groans and grumbles emanating from a city forced back into consciousness…..
Finally, all that remains is the moisture on the flower vendor’s tarpaulin and the shadow of the boatman’s song on the rippled river…….