When she picked a brush to paint,
She has so much on her mind,
But nothing on her brain,
Her hands felt too numb.
Her thoughts couldn’t have raced faster,
Her heart was on the verge,
On the verge, to get withered,
But it held back before it succumbed.
Succumbed to her thoughts,
Cause they were bewildered and confused,
Or to her spirit, which was free, steady
Still waiting for an open path, to get a straight run.
Or to the mighty world,
Which doesn’t allow her to live on her own,
Search her own colors,
And paint in her life, a bright sun.
She has discerned this phase, as it was not new,
She tries to wipe it off,
But the screen is all inked,
With the color that she never knew.
She has never liked the irregularities,
And often she tries to make them perfect,
But this time she is getting no stroke,
No color to complete the painting she never drew.
Oh, never mind! She has always loved her colors,
They elucidate the meaning behind the things,
Blue sky wrapping up the passion,
Those red petals contouring glee.
Yellow, she has always loved it,
Those bright strips in the boring street,
She often uses those green strokes,
When she wants to get it all alive with that tree.
She has loved those dark shades too,
When she paints those dry branches,
Of the trunk with years long girth,
With its spread loose roots, daunted.
But today, she has lost her sense of colors,
Chaos is not letting her choose one,
She knows what she has in her mind,
But the mere way of articulation is nowhere to find.
She stood in front of her spoiled canvas,
Staring at the weird emptiness as it is akin,
The time ticks an hour,
And she knows, it will take more to think.
It went like two, three and more,
And she kept standing on the balcony,
Her canvas inked,
With the incomplete art undone.
She couldn’t think more,
And there, the winds came blowing in,
It spilled up the sheet further,
Which turned it uglier, more ruined.
With the winds, she felt the urge,
The urge to dip her fingers,
Into the jar of blue,
Which was kept among the tumblers.
She spread it all, each corner, each edge, each line,
From top to bottom,
She took out her wrath in the fixture,
And that was worth the dime.
Her fury, her rage, her resentment,
Which she was bearing with time,
Was all in the sheet that went blue,
As the clock ticked nine.
She knows now what she has to paint,
Her chaos alleviated,
With the unfathomable spirit
The color infused in her brain.
She picked the brush again,
And this time, dipped it in black,
With defiance, she drew those birds,
And a sky which outlives her ephemeral aims.
The small gate,
A swing to fling,
That’s all makes her place,
Her owned cage.
She has got used to it since she was a little birdie,
She has started loving it now,
Spending each passing day,
In a fixed routine.
Fluttering her wings inside the cage,
Eating those seeds and then,
Jumping in those small puddles of water,
Which often got filled in the curves of the base.
She has always been a frolicking soul,
Calmness, and composure,
She doesn’t know how these are defined.
However, she knows how to spell ferocity,
She is never a soul to be chained,
To be bound to a single place.
She has that urge,
Of playing with the far spread clouds.
She has the whim,
Of dangling the twigs
Make her music through those rumbling sounds.
What she wanted is to own is that place in the far off sky,
Above those equally ferocious clouds.
She has always known that she could tame them.
Spending each day inside those limiting bars,
Her curiosity trailed towards the higher slope.
With days passing she used to think of the parallel world,
Where the boundaries cease to exist,
Where your world has no pain but glee.
One day she planned and left for a stroll,
Peeking outside that rails of hers,
She got out somehow and flew.
She flew through the heights,
Exploring paths and trails,
Embellishing it all with her music,
She has never thought she could fly that high,
She could cry too loud with her spirits,
And get so near towards the end of the sky.
She flew over the fields,
She flew over the sea,
She took rest near the creek,
Sometimes near the beach.
She picked food from varied places
And savored the delicacies.
What she loved is the vividness of the cultures around,
The age old beliefs,
And those new sounds.
She met few companions,
Who shared with her their stories,
She wrote that in her memory,
And kept their images imprinted on her temples.
She has always believed that,
People often meet in journey multiple times.
As when they are introduced to you,
It’s the preamble to the story that is yet to be derived.
She knew she has to return to the cage again,
As she could not leave her owners in grief,
But she took it all,
Lived it all,
As a respite in brief.
Dark clouds all over the city today.
It’s so perfect for her,
She chooses the particular club for the day,
On the top of the hill.
She likes the interior and the sitting,
The walls, all painted in black,
The scrappy plaster coming out of the edges,
Of the bricks that were laid so imperfectly, unfitting.
Yes, she has always liked the imperfections,
The unfinished furniture,
The rugged covers of the couches,
The broken lining of the coffee mug,
The torn corner of the menu board,
The slanted lines of the windows and the doors,
The wrongly placed carpet on the floor,
The patterned, torn shirt of the bartender with his blue hair.
Everything is so her, brimming with randomness.
She sometimes thinks,
The only contribution to the world,
She has made yet, is increasing its entropy,
Which she did out of her whimsical actions and ways.
Nobody will know, as she will never say,
She will never reveal her hidden secrets,
Her thoughts, her props, her figures of the game,
She has always followed her own path,
The path that follows through the dungeons,
Through the mystic lanes.
She takes the same place in the balcony,
Where she get to have the clouds around,
All dressed up in black,
She takes out the pack,
And lights the flame.
She has to manage with this petty matchbox today,
As she has lost her lighter,
She grabbed it up from the streets,
Where she walked earlier to get here.
She stills thinks why are they petrified,
When she walked down the lane,
Is it about the dark covering which she wore?
Or the layers of arts on her skin,
Or about her eyes,
Which encloses a void,
Searching for its own depths.
She puts this thought away,
Lighting up a new flame,
She flicks the stick away,
She finds some strange pleasure in that,
Lighting up the matches and riffling them away.
She feels as she is the one,
Who has the power, the control,
She can burn it all
Or stall it half way,
Picking another one, again and again,
Lighting and riffling.
Some matches go far, some lands up nearby.
Fire is her element.
She has always believed,
Randomness and fire,
Isn’t that a brilliant combination to have?
She smirks as she thinks.
The burning stick has the fire for a fraction of second,
But it burns it all away,
When she flips it through her fingers,
Sometimes it blows off,
Sometimes the stick flails.
Sometimes it lands unburnt,
Sometimes turns to black trails.
Fire and randomness again.
She completes a pack,
She can now feed on the smoke around her,
The smoke she has liberated,
With some remains,
Which the weather has added in rage.
She watches her wrist,
It’s time for the game.
The clouds have cleared her view,
The thunders and lightening,
She can hear them fading far,
Fire and randomness.
In fraction of seconds,
Just like the riffling of the lit stick,
She smiles now,
As what she sees around are all fiery rumbles.
Fire and randomness.
She has done it all again.
There is this guy in the crowd,
Whom she meets daily,
He smiles with his crooked teeth,
And stumbles down the alley.
When she stands at the bus stop,
He leans over the supporting crutch,
And somehow manages to catch the bus,
The crowd stares at him as if they bear a grudge.
There is no single day,
When she fails to see him there,
In rains, in summer, in chilly snowy winds,
He struggles to catch the bus, taking him out of his snare.
She is now habitual to his face,
And his unbalanced pace,
She sometimes smiles back at him,
Sometimes, she wears a stern demeanor, unusual to her grace.
She can’t think of a reason,
What makes this man, so punctual, so keen?
To board the bus and reach his destination,
Struggling with his body, so insalubrious and lean.
Then often she switches her mind back,
To the heap of work, to her family, to her life,
She tries to compose her thoughts,
To the journey with hurdles, rife.
This chain of thoughts repeats every day,
There are new stories, new gossips, new tales,
But constant is the crooked smile of the man,
Who boards this bus every day.
Seasons passed by, so do years,
There in the same cogwheel,
She travels, she walks, she lives,
And the pictures roll as if there is some reel.
But, one fine day,
She notices something strange,
The bus-stop scene looks incomplete,
Missing are the crutches and the crooked-smile man.
Days passed by, so do seasons,
Without exchanging any smiles,
She boards the bus then,
Wondering about that man, riled.
One day she gathers her thought,
And asks people about the man,
The man who used to stand with the crutches,
The man who used to struggle to get into the bus lane.
To her surprise,
The people haven’t seen him any day.
Those who accompanied her in the bus for years,
Chuckle, as if she is telling them another tale.
They tell her,
That her tales are so unpredictable,
The characters are unique,
And the sequences are too realistic to be a fable.
The chain of thoughts repeats again,
There are new stories, new gossips, new tales,
The crooked smile of the man is replaced,
Now there is this school girl who accompanies her every day.
A new year comes with different meanings for everyone, here is one.
Tonight I am not gonna leave you,
Not even for those fraction of seconds,
When you blink your eyes,
When you adjust your pair of glasses,
When you take rhythmic deep breaths,
When you curl your hair with your fingers,
No, you won’t get even that fraction of your time,
It’s a special one for you and me,
Not because they celebrate the arriving year,
With those fireworks and gatherings
But because our years of togetherness starts today.
You were always caught in decisions.
And persistent urge,
After all those couple of years,
Finally we are here,
I can hold you in my arms,
Leaving behind those moments of hesitation and denial,
I can run finger through your hair,
I can play with them,
I can fondle you,
I can hold you tight,
I can stare at you for long,
I can hear your heart beating so close
I can see the glistening eyes of yours reflecting mine,
I can tickle you and hear your laugh.
Oh, how long I have waited for this day,
Will you understand,
The pain and sufferings,
I’ve gone through in past couple of years,
It’s like I was living apart,
From a detached part of my body,
Of my soul,
Waiting for it to complete my living.
There was not a single moment,
When I didn’t think about you,
Each single day I urged to see your face,
I wondered if you were alright,
Because I have always feared the world,
The world that detached us
The world that snatched you from me,
I had cried then,
I soaked in vain,
What else I could have done,
I was so helpless,
I couldn’t gather my courage then,
I was broken by the unrighteous blames,
They put on me,
I was turned to pieces,
The mere thought of detaching with you,
That came so harsh.
But I build my strength,
On the pillars of my immense love for you,
I honed my fierceness,
Because when you are up for the battle,
With the heartless world,
You have to pierce them hard to win,
And I won.
I won because the love always transcends the barrier,
No matter how large and stiff they form it.
And there we are tonight,
Below the shining sky,
You’ve always loved the stars,
But for me you stand above all,
You are the shining star of my life,
Which has always guided my way,
You are my source of happiness,
The spirit of my life.
I have always wanted to see you growing,
Learning those minute modalities of life,
But I won’t regret the past now,
As I have the present with me,
Tonight we will celebrate our togetherness,
To cover up past nine years that I have missed being a part of,
I don’t blame the court but the people who did it,
But then my love,
My beautiful princess,
We are together tonight,
And for the rest of the life.
I have you.
The best thing in my world.
The end of my sorrows,
The beginning of my dreams,
That I have dreamt of, all those nights.
Tonight, I will tell you the story of your mother.
As whom I have transcended in my life,
Oh, my little fairy,
I will tell you the story of vigor,
I will tell you the story of rage,
So that you may light the flame tonight,
Inside your soul,
That never ceases its flare.
“Take me away from here,
I don’t want to live in this nasty place anymore,”
She said to her sister,
But, she continued to cover her up with the quilt,
Both felt the chills,
The running air conditioners,
Or the disaster that numbed their nerves.
She asked the ward boy to increase the temperature,
Intensive Care Unit,
Waved the board outside.
She wished if she could grant her wish,
As she always did,
But how could she.
How could she make her disappear,
From this world ,
Where she herself is stuck for years?
She wondered if she could have an escape,
An escape to the world where still humanity exists,
An escape to the world where they can walk and laugh freely on the streets,
An escape to the world where no one bothers how they dressed, how they acted,
An escape to the world where they are not judged by the freedom of their thoughts against the unjust,
An escape to the world where they do not suffer the critical remarks on their blunt character,
An escape to the world where no one crumbles their dreams with the stiff hammer of realities,
An escape to the world where their bodies are treated with sanctity,
An escape to the world where they are not possessions to crave for,
An escape to the world where they are not mere objects for fulfilling their lust and desires,
An escape to the world where they are not intimidated by the devilish eyes of those hunters,
An escape to the world where their souls are still free and unhampered,
An escape to the world where everyone makes stand towards the injustice,
An escape to the world where they are not questioned for undone misdeeds,
An escape to the world where they are supported in the fight against the people who gave them scars,
An escape to the world where their excruciating pain is felt, with which they suffer, each passing hour,
An escape to the world where they are not harassed,
An escape to the world where they are not raped.
She wished, if she could have the one.
Covering her up,
She closed her eyes,
Her palms were cold.
Holding them tight,
“Sleep, my love.
We are not cowards,
We will not run,
We will fight.”
In a cold morning,
Sifting through her bed,
Still lurking behind the quilt,
She struggles to think of the day that awaits,
For her to run with wheels of the tramp,
To follow the sun, throughout,
And also, when it shreds down the ramp.
She always thinks about existence of humanity,
Is it a deed that strange,
That she could not figure out the generalities,
Of the journey, she is completing with each passing year,
What if she stops right there,
Inside her quilt,
Shunning the wheels fixed to those dragging gears,
What if she covers her up again and dream,
The dream that’s not a mystery,
Where there are answers for every scripted history,
Of the questions she has from the life,
The random, comforting dreams,
Where she doesn’t have to imply,
Her beliefs, her actions, her tolls, her trends,
Oh let’s not wake up, she thinks,
She closes her eyes again.
Scrolling her news feed,
She then got around to read,
A line there said,
There will be meteor shower in the eve.
The sky is always her passion,
The apex of her dreams,
Relieving her from worldly concussion.
In her semi-conscious sleep,
She dream of the sky,
She dream of him,
Those iterations enough to turn her high.
They have miles between them,
But the souls were close,
Staring at her screen in a closed chamber,
She craved for covering the distances,
But her apartment constrained.
They were talking then,
From the escape hole, that keep them intact,
He read her mind,
Her thoughts, her hidden enacts.
He asked her to secretly move inside her den.
Close your eyes,
The journey was about to begin.
She wanted a magic spell then,
And he did it fast,
Taking them to the land of their togetherness,
That was then miles far.
She felt the chills,
They moved on a count of three,
The room slowly vanished,
And they landed in the land of trees.
They were there,
On their countless nights,
That was a dreamland,
With far stretched field and fireflies.
Her urge to lay on her back in the grass was fulfilled,
A sense shivers her till she turns nil.
The vast sky was there,
The ceiling has disappeared,
His magic was true,
She was there with him, and begin the ceaseless stare.
They stared the sky,
The ceaseless meteor fall,
The hands were clutched tight,
The sky started to revolve.
The big dipper in the middle,
Below was the pole star,
His hands curling her waist,
Her happiness is beyond par.
He send her the songs,
Those took her even deep,
To the land where they met,
Where the nights weren’t for sleep.
She felt his smell,
He felt hers,
Though they were miles apart,
The magic traveled.
On the dining table,
She smiles as she eats,
The sound of the cutlery too seems a melody,
The heated dinner,
He had cooked for her,
The smell penetrates her mind,
As she was there against him,
When he played with the spoons.
‘So you know that too’, she had asked,
He then smirked,
Clutched her from the back and kissed,
‘I know this the best, rest I can manage when you are around,
I can walk on the waters,
I can fly in the sky,
I can reach down the ocean,
I can cheat the lingering fire,
Because all those are just the background,
In the picture of you and me.’
He then said she was his world,
Moving his bare hands on the vessel with glee.
He did this the best too,
She savors as she eat.
A drop falling from her eye,
That is not a cry,
That is not the wain,
But her thudding heart,
Reminding her of the hours insane.
It was just a month ago,
When they jumped from uphill,
Clutching each other’s fists tight,
She didn’t trust the hanging ropes or the belts,
But the grasp of his arms,
The pacifying smell.
They saw the river brimming,
As they looked away,
When they fell,
He then said,
He loved her,
For nights and the days,
On his hands was the ring,
He then slid it, through her way,
Her thudding heart then had no choice,
She knew that it will happen one day,
But this day,
Was it then chosen to turn divine?
Today is the day, when she turned twenty two,
She woke up at seven and caught his glimpse,
While arranging the table
He counted the candles with a wide grin,
Back down the memory lanes,
She had those years getting rewind,
She is a pretty daughter,
An insane girl,
She does anything that her mind says,
But never crumbled one,
She is reckless,
She hates the bars,
She dreams in day,
Nights are always her working hours.
Those were the ones that took her far,
She smiled at him and blew the candles, par,
Sunk into depths of her temple,
Looking down the bright sun,
Through the diaphanous plate,
Seventy first floor.
Nothing has changed in hours, but the sun is set,
Looking down the city lights,
Seventy first floor,
She sitting in her diner,
Staring at her studded finger,
The diamond that cannot be finer.
She then thinks,
That is what she dreamed of,
Dozing off in the last bench of her classroom,
Looking through the escape path to the woods,
With the clouds drizzling.
Oh, yes she did.
She owns the power now,
She owns her aspirations to succeed,
She has him,
She has her life,
Life, which had that mere dream.
Still the separation of his from hers,
Tickles a sensation,
Was that the pain?
She subdues it, by the supper,
The midnight supper,
The solitary supper,
The solitary midnight supper, in the rain.