Swings of a rhapsodic mind

The smog blinds me obstructing my vision. Yet, I gaze at the sky, I see it in pain. It speaks of no promise, it has got a dampened soul. I look for it's reflections, The lone writer struggles over his typewriter, His cigarettes reduce his hopes into ashes. And the air captures his whispers, "How do I let her go?", he scribbles for the third time. The creased bedsheets by his window speaks of her lingering presence. He smells her in each inch of his skin, Yet, why does the city not leave him at ease! He looks at the lanes, devoid of hope He lights another smoke, pulls in puff of despair He was rotting in that city which had lost it's soul. I pull my hair together and hum a tune, I think and I rethink until my thought overpowers. I stand on the lanes leading to his home, I look at him parched by his window. And I free him from his past afflictions, I free him from her lingering smell, I free him from his tormented thoughts, For I, I carry the soul

I weave stories burried underneath my skin, I exist somewhere between fact and fiction. The day goes by giving me pale memories. The sun settles on my broken window sills yet again Asking me what it takes to dream? I disappear into paperbacks, ah! that musty smell Voices, I hear voices battle in my head One voice leads to other and there is no turning back, And yet I stand at the fringes, that's where I have always belonged. I paint my world in colours, all bright and bold. But I know how dull colours can be! I have seen them, been through them, But, I know what it takes to dream. What it takes to love yourself with no conditions attached. What it takes to fly and get hurt and fly again, What it takes to sing songs without worrying of getting judged, What it takes to be me, what it takes to be not anyone else, And that is why I have built my world in between fact and fiction. For each penny worth pain, there is a dollar to repay, For each broken promise, there is

We are always caught between transience and permanence. A part of us wants to die each day, yet another part craves for a new bright day. All that happens with us is all that was destined to be, yet do we realise this, how meaningful meaninglessness can be! So I was standing basking under the sun when a sound startled me, it was my grandpa's friend riding his age old bicycle which has been his faithful friend. I wondered what keeps this old man going, his limbs no more have the strength to carry on, nor does his freckled skin talk of radiance but yet he looks so charming when he rides his bicycle. He has this look of content and calm on his face. So I walk up to him and open my palms for I know that this morning I have been one of those lucky ones who would have a share of the candies he carry. Well, startling right? An old man carrying candies! Well, he owns no shop and earns a meagre amount of money enough to fulfil his needs but each day he invests ten bucks to buy candies and

Someday I will write a letter, Oh yes, I have planned it since long. I was in high school and I had begun to dream, I wanted to write a letter and to sign it with love. But I set those papers on fire. Why? Well, I fumbled for words Words that could paint my tears and yet not drown them And I scribbled with dried ink, Canvassing my soul but could I yet write one? My hands froze, my eyes went hazy, "Oh look at her, what a pity!", they mocked. But little did it matter or perhaps it did matter then, But bit by bit those patches of dried ink began to flow I wrote words which transformed into sentences. Sentences that got a lease of life, And I wrote a letter. I looked at it, folded it and put it in my drawer And one sunny day I set it ablaze My heart fluttered and my throat had a lump But little did it matter, little did I care. It, I felt was not written with love, So, I sat at my desk And tried writing one But voices within me fought and the fight ate me

As she turns the ruffled pages of  her childhood, vivid scenes come roaring and she wonders how quick did time fly! She looks at her grandpa busy with his morning newspaper, reading bits of news with an unfaltering attention. Well, this has been a scene which never changed and somehow that has always assured her of permanence out of the world's transitoriness. She could still be that kid who could pester her grandpa for stories. This morning it was a story about a gap toothed girl who refused to let go off her tooth so much so that she had to be told a story. The story runs as: Mr MOUSE WHO FINDS THE TOOTH It was one fine morning like two decades back when a girl for the first time felt her tooth was shaking. She was driven out of her wits and she ran to her grandpa as she trusted him more than anyone else. He took his torch and like an expert dentist examined her tooth and said, " Kid, looks like we will soon get a new tooth". And she was aghast, how could she possib

Another morning without you by my side, Another silent night slips by. And in between days and months and rolling years, I struggle between what to hold and what to let go. When did things go dim ? When did I stop listening my heart ring? Well, enough of those blame games Enough of towering promises All in the sand, all in the sea; I see it pass. Yet, did I cease existing? Who cares right? I was existing like the smog that blinds, Like the whirl of a tempest yet calm from outside. But, who cares right? All that they wanted to know was how bad it felt Was it a filthy sore or could my heart still melt Between what remain unasked and what remained unsaid I tore my heart open and she saw how it bled, But no more did she felt the pain. No more did it matter. She had nothing to listen I had everything to tell Well, but who cares right? As long as I act smart and fool the world, I would be left to my own. So, I decided to turn the rules of the game. I sew my heart, it

I hid my pain rotting within, I feared it's suffocating stench. I wanted your wounds to heal Just as I hoped mine to fade . You fell for your wounds and I fell for your pain. After all, I have always been true to pain. With every breath under the sky, I have died by bits, And I am dying continuously without any fail. I was born with a curse which refuses to leave my skin, My skin, well it hides well! My inner world is scattered in bits, but do I give up?, I ask myself. Where do I run to , if running away could cure me of my curse! But I was not born to run out of it, I was born to live with it. I stand transfixed, gazing at the far horizon And with the last bit of sunrays on my hair And the wind on my skin I dream and I keep on dreaming! My dreamscape is all that I have for myself.

The past came whirling to her eyes. She remembered it all.How strange life could be, it at times give you blisters which refuse to heal, she thought. It was a mellow summer afternoon, she was fiddling with her cell phone when she heard her uncle call out her name, he wanted her to click a photo for him. Well, she was taken aback. Her uncle out of all people was someone who didn't like to pose for photographs. And he winked at her adding that it was her duty to make it a memorable one for him. Well, a decent photo got captured and she transferred it to his phone. She stared at the same photograph today, neatly framed adorning a wall. The garland adorning it had been replaced but she could only smell despair, the scented jasmines had withered in grief. Two years, it had been two years without him by her side. She knew she couldn't have him back, nor could she anymore click his photographs. He wanted it to be memorable, little did she know he would himself turn into a memory. B

You wanted me to be a faded ink stain in those worn out pages of ruffled memory, I was not born to be a blot, I was born to weave magic. You chose to cross a desert thinking we wouldn't cross paths But look, I can still blow through your skin in a heartbeat. Time, you thought would wipe my memory But your heart knows not what it is like to forget, I am a blister to your wound, A lingering smell clinging by your skin. I feed on your soul, I tread on your dreams. I can cross mountains, swim through oceans And yet not be seen! Moonlight streams through my hair, the ocean feels my heartbeats I walk through sand ribs, soft,yet enough to disrupt your existence. The empty shells by the rocks would hum you my story Come someday leaving the world behind, would you?

It was in the year 2001, when I had visited Darjeeling with my parents during my annual vacation at school. I was a kid back then and what remains as a part of the trip are hazy memories of locations and people. From the bits and parts that I remember, I remember getting lost while coming out of the hotel with my parents where we had checked in. It was someone amidst the crowd who had captured my attention, and I, without realising had lost the grip of my mother's hand. I kept staring at the person and with timid steps approached him. He had perfect rounded eyes which were a contrast to his shabby appearance, but what kept me glued to him was his smile. His smile had the radiance that could melt hearts. I saw a board near his legs which roughly translates as, " Help me, I can't see you but can feel the warmth of your gesture." So, he had lost his vision but his smile spoke a thousand stories that he held in his heart. He was blind to colours but possibly could feel

As I walked on the road unaware of where the world was headed towards, something caught my attention. It was a dead tree standing erect by the road. What interested me was the way it had been dying a slow death whereas the world around him was yet so green. My eyes lingered towards it's branches, there I saw leaves caught in transition, they were neither green to contain life nor brown to talk of despair. The colour was a shade of yellow with specks of dull green . Did the green in them yet had hope to continue being alive? I asked myself. Then I saw something which moved my heart for the tree, it was home to birds. Little chirpy birds seeked shelter in its dead trunk. How strange life could be, that tree housed life yet couldn't forsee it's end. A cool morning breeze made its dry branch rattle and one of its branches snapped. I could see a man hurry past the road. Before I could actually take hold of what was happening, I saw him drag that branch along with him and my mi

Probably between yesterday and today what has changed has not been able to bring about a paradigm shift in what I used to be. What can a new year do to me! The major dilemma that i have always faced as an introvert is "saying hello". I come out at times as an arrogant person, for people see my reclusiveness while approaching them and I don't really blame them for that. This is how I have been always and this won't change this year as well. What can a new year do to me! Rather than thinking of what changes I want in me, I would like to figure out what things I would like to keep on holding to this year as well. What can a new year do to me! I would like to continue to be hopeful against hope, to rise each time life hits me hard. To love everyone but not expect anything in return. To continue being friends with people I call "my people". Last year was special and I had some special people around, I would want to continue being around them. This is defin