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Kittu Mar 2017
Is it the work of karma of the day,
I tend to push people away.

Is it fear of hurt or hate?
I tend to push friends away.

Am I afraid to walk the mile,
Afraid to have my hands all tied.

Is it the work of life or fate,
I tend to push people in my life away.

I realized only a few days back,
This pressing question that has attacked.

Is it me and the people I attract?
Is it me alone at that?

Is it my aura or something I did?
Is it my past or past life instead?

I don't know the answers or the reasons behind.
If there is someone out there who can help me find.

Answers to these questions and questions they will remain.
Never to be answered, my stones of pain.
Kittu Nov 2014
Look at how fast they grow,
the last you saw them was in a pram,
and now they are as tall to walk on the ramp.

They were the ones to ask you what to do,
they looked for your guidance when they were two.

look how fast they have grown!
now they tell you what to do when you're on your own.

They look after you like you looked after them,
they are now the guardians that you were to them.

I'm talking about the little ones who used to crawl,
They would make you cry and gauge at your eye *****.

Each of them a menace for all ounce of their breath,
To pull your hair like they were meant to stretch!

They are my baby brothers who I had sworn to protect,
But now they are strong enough to fly out the nest.
Kittu Apr 2014
I rather walk alone,
Taking one step at a time.
Cutting the shrubs that hurt,
And leaving them behind.

I dont want an anchor,
I dont want a stick,
to help me walk,
nor pull me back,
or one that I have to drag.

I want air,
To breath in easy.
Stay there
to give me cool
when the way is rough.

I want a lose braid,
To twine,
without being afraid or scared.

I see people
tangled in a mesh,
with a heavy breath.

I see them.
Climb mountains and
reach peaks
with a heavy heart, torn apart.

Then people ask me.
Why not you?
Make me ask myself,
Why me?

But how can I?
I have seen,
The glass shatter,
The body cry,
The thread die,
And yet,
They ask me to try?
Kittu Apr 2014
I thought I knew myself,
I thought I understood.

This beating heart is all that stood,
screaming at me to make the jump.

But all the logic and reasoning,
Left me like a stump.

I reasoned out
I shifted around.
Trying to think
from all aspects I found.

But all the information created a mess,
As I swim-med through.
I parted and compared,
in a random logical order.

And then thought it all over some more,
And realized my heart was not in it anymore!

It was all 1's and 0's
and ideas were becoming heroes.
To rule my life without experience,
directly jumping to inference.

Why is my heart so silent?
I asked.
He said," The time has passed.
You have beaten me with logic at last.
I have no more to say to you.
Do as your logic asks you too."

"And if you ever think of me again.
It will be the time, when you have a friend.
Then I will beat loud and clear,
And logic will not dare to come near."
Kittu Aug 2013
Its not easy to be an artists parent,
it needs much more than patience.

An artist is a mass of amorphous air,
that needs understanding and care.

An artists parent who knows that,
becomes a saviour and confidente.

An artists parent who knows that not,
is doomed to a relationship as bare and draught.

Its not easy to be an artists parent,
its needs quiet deliberance.
Of when to push their creative child,
and when to let them be.
Of when their child needs inspiration,
or has a burst of creativity.

An artists parent is observant,
of the ups and downs that the creative faces.
Or when its tired of fighting the world,
and needs tender embraces.

An artists parent has full faith,
even when the artist is lost.
Because that is when the artist looks for anchors,
when his gaseos state finds it not.

Is it easy being a parent to any other?
An engineer or a doctor maybe?
Why? because he follows an age old path,
that was set for him when he was three?

Did you know that an artist is wild,
and has the ability to accept?
To look at you with unjudging eyes,
and understand you to his best.

Like everyone he has two sides,
unlike others he accepts both.
This gives him power,
to create a miracles on the move.

He his sensitive to emotions,
and can feel the mood.
His own and others around.

He knows what you mean,
when you say you feel alone,
because he has known it all life long.
[Inspired after a travelling conversation with a corporate power man. ]

He did not understand his artist daughter,
called insolent and defiant.

This made me angry, but i understood.
then patiently explained to him the points in this poem.

I dont know where he is now or if he heard a word I said.
But I explained all this to him with an honest heart,
and he complemented me on this....
Kittu Jul 2013
Is it too bad to say that I feel empty?
There are no memories of the two weeks that passed too soon.
its like the time had stopped,
Onlu flashes of surprise, laughter, hope, pain, respect, anxiety, guilt, sorrow, worry, gratitude, love, sharing,
Listening in speachless silence.

I feel like sand.
I feel no water inside me.
But I remember water falling on me.
I remember the green glint of the reflected sun.

And then the wind of time blew,
and the footprints lose their memory.

The sand wonders why?
All the water has to dry,
or get soaked up too deep, too quick.
That a thousand ploughs can't reep.
So it holds on against the wind,
But nothing will hold on till the end.

Forgive me if it fades away,
But the soaked water will stay,
To give me cool when the sun gets too hot.
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