Deep within myself
Lies a different “me”
Who is untouched
By my nuances
My happiness, my sorrow.
He watches as I make mistakes
And the same mistakes
And the same mistakes again
Mistakes that lead to my happiness
Then sorrow.
But he remains silent
Sometimes he gives
Me subtle hints
A glimpse of a path
Untrodden
But filled with promise
I try to
Walk that path
But it’s difficult
Due to changing needs
That divulges me
From my path
I am trying to walk
That path even now
But God those screamers
Whose voice is so
Tempting to hear
They offer a clear path
Without hindrance
But Alas! After a short
While I found myself
Standing on the edge of a cliff
Compelled to make a decision
Not so with his path
Though I tread slow
Atop rugged terrain
Covered with fog
Always there is certainty
of a blessing nearby
gentle consoling voices
that inspire me
to go ahead
breaking the fog
but the screamers
never go away
And in the end
I am torn
Between paths
Only that
When I am forced
To jump from that cliff
I always find
The ocean
Whose tides
Return me to shore
To start over again
And the glimpse
Of his path
Beckon me once more
I do not know
What lies on the other
Side but still those blessings
and those soft whispers
of solace
Reinforce my hope
To move on.

What if Love was put in a time-machine
And rewinded back to the past?
What change would you like to see in it?
I for one, would eradicate its selfishness
Why love so few, when the whole world
Is in your hands? Isn’t it what the great men said?
I would also get rid of its leftovers
The pain, the sorrow that it leaves behind
Why not move on and love the next person
More dearly? Why linger?
Lastly, I would wipe off its memories
So that it cannot hurt anyone by reminding the past.
What do you say?

Remember when paper planes
glided through the air?
swirling and twirling away
in the autumn breeze.
countless pages of notebook neatly torn
and carefully given shape.
No avionics, no engines
just carefree flight of its own accord.
Oh the joy it was when they were
airborne, in classrooms, corridors,
and playgrounds. The battle for aerial
supremacy ensued as the tiffin bell rang.
The southern winds played with our
prized possessions and lifted them to glory.
diverse designs in all shapes and size adorned
the school atmosphere. Crafted by skilled hands
these beauties tumbled down to the earth
when the crimson Sun sank in the horizon and as
living memories framed in the portrait of time
and come next day, when thousand others
become airborne again under the smiling sun to
greet the wind, another day of adventure and fun
permanently added in our dream-books to offer us
a small token of freedom from our troubled lives.

If I be your teardrop
I'll never fall
for the fear of losing you.

I remember when your little hands
tended my hair, a blonde that I was
I nestled in your lap, watching you
You used to sing me a lullaby
and put me to sleep.
In the morning you changed my clothes
bathed me with tender hands
and decided on my next attire.
Ah! the intricacies of joy
How those days slipped off in
carefree laughter,
private talks
and mindless gossips
life was worth living every moment.

Now I lie in the flawed garden of youth,
a prisoner of time
suffocating under your new found ego
nurtured by your negligence
as mature shades of lipstick
taint those innocent lips.

For the better part
I would not know rain
or clouds or storm
but it seems you live by them.

I am a simple man
who laughs at flowers
and dance with butterflies.

Clouds are not my thing
I fail to understand
I fail to comprehend
as you see them.

Yes, if you do want to
tell about it,
tell of the pregnant mother
who bears life
with a crying thunder
Then I will talk

Why? why do you take them
literally, take them for granted
and fiddle with their emotions
in the wrong way.

Come out of your prison
and think a little different
you will see, your world
of storms fade away
by the blinding radiance
of the rainbow.

My thoughts have become clairvoyant
I stutter at words
nothing new on the horizon
no difference between shores
only cliched feelings
repeating inside
perhaps if the wind
stirs up a storm
it will bring
the promise of newness
in my barren, monochrome world...