Beginnings

IMG_20181022_170813_BokehI laugh at you when you ask,
“Isn’t it a bit weird for a year to end on a Monday?
Like an ending performing a waltz with a beginning?”
I tell you, maybe it’s always been that way.
Because beginnings are a bit unexpected,
Beginnings are kind of subtle.
Beginnings sound a lot like
Your mother’s voice on the phone,
When you are nine hundred miles
Away from home.
Beginnings sound a lot like your first laughter
After you’ve been crying for seventy two hours.
Beginnings are like the Mondays on which
A year of three hundred and sixty five days ends,
Beginnings are the days you wake up to
Despite having wished you wouldn’t have to.
Beginnings are like picking that half read book
After four years
And starting it all over again.
Beginnings are like the new favourite song
For which you stop humming the previous one.
Beginnings are like walking away,
Like breaking away,
Like no longer waiting for an old lover
To walk in through that door.
Beginnings, I tell you, are at times
As tragic as endings;
And sometimes, even more.

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Unsaid

She could’ve added melody to your discordant notes

And could’ve been the song that takes you home.

She could’ve been your certainty

When all else went astray,

Been the creased photograph

to fill your empty frame.

But so much has remained unsaid for so long-

Time sent a gust of wind,

Yet the flame of fondness was never doused.

Only your words have learned

to hold on effortlessly

To the corners of your mouth.

Anwesha

17/9/2018

Freedom

IMG_20180815_125228_927

There’s freedom in the air,
There are anthems, there are flags-
Hearts drunk with patriotism,
Some voluntary, some imposed “nationalism”

And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind,
There’s the 11 year old girl who starved to her death,
There are Akhlaqs, there are Junaids,
There are Dabholkars, there are Pansares.
There’s a young man who,
While bleeding to his death,
Had to scream out his ethnicity-
Hoping somehow it could have his life spared.
Because after all, the language you speak,
Or the food you eat,
Or the faith you believe in,
Gives them the license to kill.

And while freedom wafted in the air,
And numerous flags smiled proudly down my street,
I kept wondering who is and who isn’t free.

Repose

IMG_20180622_211016_271I saw you in a quiet corner,
Away from the music, away from the laughter.
I walked up to you and asked
If it was Nietzsche on your mind,
For that’s the you I had known all along-
All nihilistic and dry.
But to my surprise, “A bit of Neruda,” was your reply.
I asked, “So, tonight you can write the saddest lines?
And I knew you could, when you looked away and smiled.
And there, away from the music, away from the laughter,
I found my repose, a calming shelter.
Let me have the burden of pretentious happiness off my shoulders,
I won’t let my reality lean on lies any longer.
Tonight I need no wisdom.
I need no reason for my being.
Let me just look into your eyes
And find a moment’s peace,
For, love, this world is a bit too loud for me.

Vigil

In a maze of fear-drenched words,
In a heart of hushed up love,
In a rhymeless poem,
And in a fragile shell,
Lies stagnant and still
A dwindling vigil.

Often forgetting itself,
Often revealing itself;
Stiffening itself against the storms,
Mending the strings already torn,
There it lies stagnant and still
An inane and dwindling vigil.

Looking Back

backI never want to, and yet I look back,

I hate it so, and yet I look back,

I know not what I yearn for, I just keep looking back,

I know not who’s looking ahead, I just look back.

Long forgotten, long forgiven,

All the pictures faded away,

But it’s only me, that keep looking that way.

Well, who’d know my plight,

Who’d know why I decide

To let go of all bans,

And just desperately keep looking back…

I Feel

A poem written after a long-long time, written in one of those moments when I come out of myself…

I feel like the cloud, grey with sorrow,

Heavy with tears, but doesn’t pour;

Who steps aside and lets the sun glow,

Who disappoints the rivers, oceans and more.

 

I feel like the child, bubbling with glee,

Under a scorching sun, yet set free;

Who prays for goodness in abundance,

Who suffers many a times for his ignorance.

 

I feel like the dust, rolling in the desert,

Going hither and thither without any effort;

Who’s trampled unseen and unknown,

Whose absence won’t even be mourned.

 

I feel like every other person, standing near me,

A heart to feel, a mind to think, and eyes to see;

Who dutifully carries along with life,

Who searches for the answers he’ll never find.