Depth

How deep are your thoughts? How deep is your knowledge? How deep is your commitment? How deep are your feelings? How deep is your insight?

Have a feeling that I have been slowly, but surely growing shallower by the day. Have been one, to always stress upon this ‘depth’ factor. Would always like to adhere fast to it, and have to an extent. But then there are times when you can sense your shallowness, cockiness, frivolity mocking at you from afar, or maybe not so far. When you tend to waddle and wobble in ‘shallow waters’ for reasons beyond my realms of comprehension. When you refuse to, or there is this reluctance to leave the play-pen, while being totally aware of the futility of the whole exercise or play or foolery.

Depth would equate to entrenchment. Firmness. Strength. What I am – pliable, not rigid. Solid, not stiff. Rooted, not immovable!! So, based on this self-analysis I see myself, as a swaying grass, touched by the breeze, scorched by the sun and drenched by the rains, and still hold on fast to my ground, held by my strong roots which run deep!


(who said writing is not a cathartic tool!)

Impetuous

Impetuous wanna be;
spell it out?
wild rush of adrenaline
screeches to a halt.

clenched fists
lips drawn thin;
puckered brows
silent screams.

tumultuous moments
comes to naught.
rage at self
and at, what.

sense
blame
swear
stay.

Dil hai tho phir dard hoga….
Goes the lyrics;
Dil.
where is it?
See no trace….


When does it rise from its slumber,
When does it take form, in a flash
When does it dance in merriment,
When does it turn fragile, as glass?

When does it wilt and swoon,
When does the pain seep in,
When does the hollow echoes boom,
When does the aching silence fill in?

Comfortably numb.

No signs of discomfort or pain
No alarming variations.
No blocks or 'chokes' detected.
Normal ECG.
Diagnosis - Condition of the heart, perfect.
(or so it seems...)

Motley thoughts

Geometrical precision, in folding napkins, laying the table, slicing the fish, rolling out the rotis, or be it the everyday dosa!!! Phew had my share, and gasp for some loads of imperfection! Led me to think, how the 'quirk' in me always tend to be drawn by the slightly askew blade of grass, the slightly offshade leaf, the slanting or irregular writing, what always draws my attention or rather interest has been something not precise, not definite, not what you would expect something to be. And this line of thought further led me to come to terms with the fact, as to why the groove in which I am expected to stay put, becomes a rut, soon! Maybe, mebe, the 'creative', 'artistic' streak in me screams for more shades, more hues, more muddle, more swirls, more zing!!! God save me!! :)

Not in my DNA definitely......
But,
as i pluck at the strings,
eyes sting,
blurs for a while,
an ache,
that seems to stay
deep down,
and as i pluck at the strings,
seems to surface
afresh,
memories washing ashore,
words
in mid air,
said and unsaid,
as i pluck at the strings,
of my leaden heart....

Power of words...

" I am restless. I am athirst for far-away things.
My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim
distance.
O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am
bound in this spot evermore.

I am eager and wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange land.
Thy breath comes to me whispering an impossible hope.
Thy tongue is known to my heart as its very own.
O Far-to-seek, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I know not the way, that I have not
the winged horse.

I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
In the sunny haze of the languid hours, what vast vision of thine
takes shape in the blue of the sky!
O Farthest end, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that the gates are shut everywhere in
the house where I dwell alone!"

Tagore (The Gardener)

If it can be so soul stirring in English, cannot but imagine, how it would be in Bengali, the original!