We are pushed everyday

I have died many times in the white wilderness.

A heartbreak, a numb hand, a fiery tear from the gentle flames of a bonfire.
Death is preparing us, every day with its shadowy hiss.

If we're quite enough, we can be comforted by the gatekeeper.
But if we thrash & slither, the mountains will swallow you.

Death in White Winter, up in the clouds, in the mountains. What a way to go!

I see you scanning me, and let me tell you
It’s not a nice feeling to being ‘Seen’

The weather’s nice, what about that makes you see through my clothes?
Is it too much to yearn for some contact of sunlight on my skin, just as you do?

I’d like for you to be seen the way I feel seen
Trust me, you wouldn’t like being judged
It would be an alien concept in your world
You'd feel VIOLATED!

I hope for a day when you can stop thinking
That you govern my body

It IS my vessel after all. But a mere vessel.

With every 'woosh,' each blade left behind,
My admiration for the giant fan grew and grew...
Until the windmill, itself felt as big as the earth.
I held her hand and inched towards big, menacing slabs of steel swishing past us.

Her grip tightened around my wrist as well.
I could tell she was embarrassed to admit that this was a terrible detour.

My dad stood by our Santro, like a distant observer. A gentle guide.

I have a million memories, so many that I can just pick and play and replay it in my head, whenever I want to.

~

In reality, she's gone now, so has the menacing wind monster and so has the gentle, young man.

But in my reality, they'll always live.

Nostalgia is the worst.

I know I mustn't dwell in times that seem simpler, for what I go through now is future nostalgia fodder.

"But can we help it?", I wondered as I pressed play on one of my favourite old Tamil songs.

It is called "Ninaikka Therintha Maname Unakku Marakka Theriyatha"

Join me on my mood, won't you?

I was on my way back home, holding my phone in my clammy palms, skipping stone along the way.
Suddenly I had to squint.
What was that shiny thing, on the ground, between the grass?
Something glimmered and I almost lost it when the clouds blanketed the sun.
I waited, stiff, afraid I'd lose my vantage point.
Slowly the clouds parted and I managed to find it again.

The eyes, of a girl, knowing eyes looked back at me. She was worried, I could tell.
I wanted to reach out and pull her out of the earth.
But at the bink of an eye, something happened.
I suddenly saw the same eyes staring at me with the sky at the back of her head.
I try to look behind me, but there is no space.
I roll my eyes to the side and all I see is darkness.

I look up to see the girl is now gone. I was gone.

All I could do right now, was wait.
Wait for me to come back so I can switch.

If I can.

THE VOID:
Times are strange.
Nothing excites me and all I do is shuffle.
Between responsibilities piling up and
Not wanting to grow up, I am torn.
I don't remember why I wake up anymore.

Don't get me wrong, this is hardly a self-deprecating poem.

Because I know when the clock strikes 1800 hrs, my ride will arrive.

HIM:
He is about 60 years old and I have been riding with him in search of housing.
He is my broker.
To hear him banter and smile and truly enjoy his job.
Not as part of his job description, but because he is happy.

Almost makes me not want to find the perfect house, oddly.

Because to find happiness in you, you must find happiness in others.

Then for the rest of the evening, I am not unhappy anymore.