Lost in Thoughts

A little note from the times of pandemic... We sit within the sprawling indoors, dotted with potted plants, guarded by brooding walls. Cakes have been baked; kitchens demolished.  Experiments have been executed; Youtube tutorials exhausted.  Books have been re-read; fantasies birthed, lived, and laid to rest.  Old cartoons have been revisited; happy tears shed and assuaged with pillows. Yet that special midnight blue dress sits unworn, its silver buttons pristine and pretty. That sleek pair of shoes stare from its box, its lace never touched and sole unscathed. That tree beacons with its champagne blossoms- Its smell grand and guidy. Vermilion evenings streak the sky, a painting in a museum display. People float within message bubbles, pranks and parties hosted at virtual tabs in screen corners. Pledge to remember, the next time you go out, Slip into your favorite top, Wear your brightest lipstick, Stand a minute longer in the rain, Smile at the old granny that sells jasm...

Don’t let it go ‘Cause that dream is your show.  Go out there, Bask in the spotlights. If no stage, then Sing under the starlight Gleaming in the moonshine Your boundaries got no line. Drink in a thousand sights At dinner tables under chandelier lights Gleaming forks upon napkins, snow-white. If not, honey, then it’s alright. Set your own table Bold tablecloths trailing the dusk-lit ground  With truest of friends to dine around Wooden chairs and plastic cups The chatter, the music of divine As we sit and age like fine wine.  Be wild, Be free Be all that you want to be. Run to places off the map Chart new roads, one time, a lap As willing as the white winds Scared as you might be. You make your choices Shut out those miserable voices That tell you to sit and sip tea Step on your ship and sail the sea If not for treasure, Then for the breeze. Don’t let it go. ‘Cause your dream is your show.

Dearest Mortal, Can I ask you for something? Don’t refuse me. Please. Sometimes I can feel. Sometimes. It is but for a moment. An unanchored shard of memory from somewhere inside. A sharp prick of emotion that punctures in and radiates. A shock of nostalgia sweeps through. An old window, wooden and worn. A shaft of sunshine. Flecks of dust dancing and drowning. The sprawling outdoors with its languid lanes a squint away. I reach for it- an arm through the shaft, the slap of the summer wind and a familiar throb as a surprised skull meets the sturdy panel. I can feel it. Almost. Pebbles, staunch and shiny. Crunching beneath bare toes. Long, lined fingers. Ten in number. Square nails scrubby with dirt. One scab here, one scar there. Sinking and slipping with every step. Hollow clutters as a few slip down, tumbling into anonymity. A slight creak of spine as it stoops to pick one. Supple finger-pads  against queer lines that goes round and round the pebble. A slight frown as...

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...!

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...

This is to all the women out there. A dashing fashion icon in teens, who invests painstaking effort to do her eyebrows right, spend hours meditating in-front of wardrobes to pick out the perfect outfit for the evening, work out rigorously to etch stunning curves into their bodies...Are you the same now...or will you be the same after a few decades? Would you love yourself as much?...Just remember, for a woman, true redemption lies in her own self alone.                                               Lost she was, amidst the brown and grey, The harsh grey of the mist that hung, limp and forlorn, The slick brown of the thorns that leered at her from where they lay, Hope dwindling with every step, not knowing where, she walked on. A bitter smile twisted her...