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...

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...