Time can never mend...

Its just that at times a void, a hole, a small one, refuses to be filled. its not a gaping hole, nor does it gnaw all day long; it does gnaw, it does haunt me. Times when it hits me, that a tiny part of me is lost. Meaning of words, songs, scenes, moments appear thwarted or remain remotely distant.

This is just an attempt at some juggling and something else too. A small stroll into lanes ive been away from, for some time now..its plagarism alright, but these are words that keep me company, and seem to have urged me, prodded me into doing this mish-mash stuff!

all i ever wanted..
was always obscure;
mebe hoping i would hear the words
you are so beautiful to me.

but then how could you be so heartless?
if i were a boy, could've done
a zillion things..

yes i did say you'll never see me again
guess i wasn't counting on the teardrops on my guitar.
nor aceept that it haunted me all the way home.

wherever you go
i'll always know
but its time to face the truth
and stay on being mute.

Solitude

moments we sometimes steal,
and relish and treasure;
an exposure to what we feel,
be it sheer pain or pleasure.

moments we happen to stumble upon
revealing a wide myriad of thoughts;
edging us to reflect, but move on
while unraveling life's, jumbled knots.

for some, the call comes often,
for many, it is never heard.
through the years it may lessen,
when you mind is safely fettered.

So the serpent dance, seems to be drawing to a close, or so I would like to think; the two headed one. I m not a Geminian for sure, but twin avatars entwined as one, I sure am. Or hoping to make it a ‘was’.

There is this sane, mature, ‘regular’ me who seems to be mellowing down with age, gracefully, the mind being more tuned to things, which are calming, which has more depth, things which make you both change or accept your ancestry, your beliefs , your self-procured knowledge about the world at large, and your own limitations, qualifications and reinstating the stance of, where I stand in the overall equation of things.

And then ofcourse there is this other part, the more sinister one, the more effervescent one, the more volatile one; the one over which I have not, much control, and at many instants of time, didn’t want to !! But now, I would think the game is over, the coins are to go back into their boxes, and the board closed shut. Keeping the lid shut, might work in snuffing out the serpentine form, from raising its hood, ever so often. Will it work in silencing the haunting sweet notes that seem to drift in from nowhere, making me dance to its tune, with abandon? Will it make the words that seem to rule my senses, vanish, and be banished away to a distant land? Will it still my restless soul, plagued by a dull throbbing ache, which seems to take ages, to fade away?

If it does, do I cease to be who I am? Atleast I would have a form, which does not play tricks, with my mind, heart and soul. A form which would be set, stable and cognizable; sans the allusions and delusions. A form which I better get used to; a ‘me’, I should begin to or try to, identify with more, and fasten myself to. As the snake sheds its coat, I assume at this point in my life, I rip off this second skin of mine, and slither into the maddening crowd. The coat that grows on me, with time, will tell…..

Hooded Girl...

Childhood trapped, gawd how it stifles,
Maidenhood lived and borne, behind veiled cells.

Eyes that seem, to probe and dare,
Speaks so much, with just a glare.

Innocence, wiped away and shredded.
Left with a weighing maturity, and dread.

If it is to shield and screen,
What is left to dream and preen?

The delicate neck, the quivering lips,
The flowing tresses, the swaying hips.

Concealed, are the thoughts- aborted;
Buried along with wishes- thwarted.

Childish whims, misty muses,
Dainty dreams n’ crazy fancies.

Curbed and Stowed away early,
You’re a mellowed woman, my girly.

As the rain drops fall,
The gentle pit-pat,
The slow drenching,
I go for the run.

As my curls dance,
Skin tickles and
Face being caressed,
Turn away.

When the rays ,
Warms, revives and
Thaws me;
Pull out the shades.

Walk on the grass;
Feel the verve,
Pulsate and throb.
Step onto the tiles.

As i behold the scene,
The splendour of it;
As it drugs n mesmerises,
Glance away.

Tentative,
Have always been.
Darting movements
As befits, a fish; I am.

As the bud yearns for the rays,
As the earth for the drops,
To bloom and thrive
So do I.

Few words from Tagore’s, which i guess would make some sense, somewhere...
“ He who can open the bud does it so simply.
He gives it a glance, and the life-sap stirs through its veins.
At his breath the flower spreads its wings and flutters in the wind.
Colours flush out like heart-longings, the perfume betrays a sweet secret.
He who can open the bud does it so simply.”

Softly...

The soft ball came thudding,
Hit me gently;
But the waves
Resounded, through the day.

The moment
The thud;
The memory
It revived.

The fuzzy cloud
Stayed, but for a while.
The moment(s) though
Etched, for an infinite time.
Realized.