Lost in a sea of thoughts

There’s a boy on the tip of the shore,
Perched on a rock, wave kissed.
Like the rock, he’s there by chance.
The raucous waves wouldn’t give him a moment,
To drench in the gorgeous sight before,
Of a saffron sun bathed in seascape.
But the waves wouldn’t let him be.
They would bring ruckus, conchs and rubbish to him,
Like an anxious dog to its master.

A day passed. Actually a few did.

There’s the boy, same one as last time.
The rock’s way behind,
The water’s tepid and at knee length, from there. 
Adulthood’s embraced him,
Going by the hair on his sinewy wet legs.
Couldn’t really tell if it was the boisterous waves,
That had become well behaved
Or was it him who had begun to endear them?
He was musing on the same sight,
The sea was between.
Of a sun bathed seascape,
Adorning sepia strokes like a new tiara. 
He seemed calm in the chaos.

Like bread from a toaster,
Sun and moon kept popping out,
as days effluxed into weeks.

There’s the boy, wait, he’s a man.
The shore is a speck from where he is.
His face is a sore thumb sticking out from water,
He a flotsam in the heart of the sea.
Inundated by solitude and sea from all sides,
He for once misses the waves, that had kept him company.
He’s closer than ever before to the sight of his life,
But as far as he’s ever been from it.
The view from the shore was an artifice after all.
The sky and sea never got along.
The innocence that came with childhood,
covered the fault lines in everything beautiful.
The urge that came with age,
just activated them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Letter to a toddler

Your first words will be welcomed,
Like first streaks of light into a dark tunnel.
And your last words will be remembered,
Like last streaks of light from a dark tunnel.
What you manage to do between these words,
In short will go on to define your lifetime.

What will be celebrated as your innocence,
Will go on to become your ignorance.
What was loved as your energy,
Will be met with the crack of a whip called discipline.
Yeah, it is a funny place, this world;
Where every meaning will be in flux.
Sometimes the world would change and you wouldn’t,
And other times you would and the world wouldn’t.
As your reverence changes with relevance,
You’ll begin to learn that change in fact is constant.
And this, you’ll constantly try to come to terms with.
By the time you do; you would either be wise or old.

They will tame your free spirit,
In the name of concern.
They will bend your instincts,
In the altar of acceptance.
They will begin to ration your laughter,
For you to be taken seriously.
Only to nitpick on your lack of humour.
Their chisel wouldn’t let your rough edges be,
For your individuality isn’t the sculpture the herd would fancy.

Learn to see beyond expressions made,
Learn to hear beyond words spoken,
For impressions and intentions are a world apart.
When you fall, they’ll feel bad for you.
When you rise, they’ll feel badder.

They’ll come across as civilised creatures,
Till their primal instinct accosts them,
To contest as rats in a race for survival.

Never prostrate before a blind faith,
As credible as the endorsement seems.
Every time you question a faith,
They’ll call it a blasphemy, but do it.
Question. Question till your intellect nods,
As nothings weighs an ideology better.
And finally, preserve the child in you, my little one;
As hard as nature tries to age him into oblivion.
For only he will bring the difference to life,
Between existence and living.

To her, with love

I’ve heard her speak a million times;
Have I heard her, when she didn’t?

I’ve seen her flawless face a million times;
Have I seen her, with my eyes closed?

I’ve known her for more than a two hundred days;
How many in them did I know her value?

I’ve skipped a heartbeat over her;
Have I realised, she constitutes a piece of the heart itself?

I’ve dreamt of her while asleep;
Have I realised, life with her was the very dream?

I’ve hurt her in the name of honesty many a times;
How often has my honesty been bereft of ego?

I’ve always been forgiven, bigger person she is;
How many times have I overdrawn, in the name of love?

I’ve come away from her in search of my soul;
Have I realised,  she in fact was my soulmate?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Things like Green Peace

For me to practice vegetarianism,
You’re the collateral meat.
If I were to display literacy,
You’re my sheet.

The scaffolding to my shelter,
I fashion my homes out of you,

On the places you had yours.
For I never really took you seriously.

Maybe you could’ve been mobile,
With pangs or claws,
Too bad you’re turned up a standing duck,
Green and tall.

But then if you were,
You’d be tamed, petted or poached.
Just your consumption would’ve lost its holy sheen,
With your carcass oozing red and not green.

Like in the world of Tolkien, 
Maybe you must’ve learned to speak.
To intimidate and hit back,
Debate and converse.

Then I would’ve warred,
When words lost sanctity, peace lost patience.
For nothing covers the paucity of dignity,
Like destruction does, you see.
I do it all the time,
The right becoming the whim of the last man standing.

But then what else would I consume,
The condescended plant eater; 
The lesser evil of the two,
Air?
I know it is not fair,
But nothing ever that bent before Darwin’s delusion is.

 

 

 

Million faces of headless men

To dress a sheep a wolf, to find pack acceptance;
To be an outsider and remain unnoticed.
To be the tantalizing flower on a bee pursuit.
Sometimes the yin to the yang within;
The truth in a realm of bluff;
The mirage on the mirror.

Masks of a myriad stakes he adorns-   

Mask of indifference when intimidated;
Mask of patience to eke tolerance;
Mask of anger to earmark attention;
Mask of valor on a timid day;
Mask of resilience on the periphery of breakdown;
Mask of character on the query of strength.
Mask of love to flatter a beloved;
Mask of faith to sanctify disbelief;
Mask of concern to euphemize hurt;
Mask of diplomacy to find approval;
Mask of contentment when red with envy.


Is he its generic alter ego
Or it, his versatile one?
It is the oldest rhetoric there is,
Whether he wears the mask
Or it wears him?

The journey called Life



I was born into a story,
With little choice about my role or its running time,
There’s some magic in peeking  from the cliff of  an experience,
With little information about its culmination.
Some times sweet, some times bitter
And at times bitter sweet.

As they say,
Life is beauriful

When felt from the comforts of the own skin. 
For the magnificence of self embrace,
Can never be replicated in a thousand pats of approval.

Life to me is a continuous journey,
With foot trails alone to corroborate;

Meagre patches on the sands of time.
But viewed from the tower of destination one day;
Through the lenses of retrospect,

They would connect together backwards as dots that led me there,
Making more sense than they did,
When the thorns pierced through the feet,
Or when the legs grew numb.

That day the big picture would show itself to me;
One fashioned out of my wilful decisions,
Than wishful outcomes.

An indelible impression of me to leave behind.

 

 

 

Hot and Cold

Thought from the head tip;
To pamper the tongue tip.
You’re one of those devils;
That stayed back disguised.
Long after I thought you’d left.

Curse hazelnuts and chocolates;
Both my hypnosis spirals.
For I couldn’t resist you.
Despite your nefarious name
-“Devil’s Own”!

You’re now this mosaic incumbent;
rolling with every roll of my tongue.
You seem like a cat with nine lives;
Who just wouldn’t perish,
As hostile as I got on you.

You were cold when you came;
Leaving me with what I’m told is a “cold”,
When I’m not as much a human
as a bundle of perspiration;
With a temperature  of a freshly baked cookie.