Lost in Thoughts

I might, to you mean nothing, A mere speck of dust you brush aside, A lost trail your feet never tried, Yet, I am your everything. I am that light, Prancing through a blind man's iris, A sole spectrum of bliss, Alighting his path, lending sight. I am that sound, Picking its way through one deaf ear, An unheard church bell chimming a song so dear Unravelling rhythms long drowned. I am that stream, Trickling through one tender heart, Soothing that soul ripped and torn apart, Wiping blemishes off to a gleam. I am that spark, That sets aflame a dry, dead wood, Letting it sizzle & sputter as much as it could, To create its own subtle mark. I am the source and the strife, I am that very fate in disguise, In the end, when all your dreams scatter, It's only I that will matter. When your life tumbles down many a steep slope, Wield me as a warrior his sword, Slashing through tyranny that life may accord, I am that chance, your last one, Indeed I a

To me, every person is but a magnificent mosaic, perfect in their own imperfect sense. We break over and over again. Each time a different piece- a new shape, a finer edge, a bizarre shade. We break -in a million different ways until one point where everything fits in-Every one of those million pieces fits in, with such precise perfection that the final picture is nothing less than a masterpiece. A beholder's day-dream. The essence of that pleasure though lies in waiting. Of shedding tears but never dissolving; of breaking but never crumbling; of losing but never giving up. One day the sun will shine, the very rays that glared down at you shall light you up, lending every color of yours its own rainbow, you shall then be your own masterpiece. But till then learn to wait; to endure; to live...!

Sunrise in my tea-cup, Its vivid pink tinting the pastel brown, A tranquil wisp of steam curling up, Shimmering and threatning to drown. A soothing stillness sinks in, As I lean against the window pane, Watching the dark winding lane, With its puffing jogger & his aching shin. Then, I grow afraid -to breathe , Lest this magic should cease! Gingerly, my fingers shift the cup a little, Making barely a ripple. I don't know for how long I stand there, With the tea in my hands growing cold, As my heart sighs with the wind & lays bare, I watch my soul gently unfold. My watch ticks in, pulling me back with a jerk, Letting this bizarre spell vaporize, I hastily drain my cup with its sunrise, And rush to work.

Don't be that person who longs for the rains during yellow summers and cowers, wincing under his umbrella when the grey skies open up. Let the drops freckle every inch of your skin; let them run down your nose and sneak through your lips, their earthly taste tingling the tips of your tongue. Run a hand through your damp hair, tangled & matted with clear flecks, whirl around, scattering a million of them helter skelter. Laugh-laugh through the dampness blanketing you, loud and clear enough for the wind to deliver- somewhere miles afar, to an unknown someone, who thinks, he might, never again smile. Jump around, splash about, fling your umbrellas away. It's raining. It can mean just one thing- Go out; get wet. Don't go scowling about in summers. Get tanned. Turn your skin this magnificent warm brown, glistening with sweat.  Feel the sun on your skin, as it seers it way through burning away your darkness and insecurities. Be your own sunshine- bright, boundless and be