Friday 13 October 2023

The Echoes of Lost Leaves

The Echoes of Lost Leaves

I miss the Leaves on my Boughs, shedding now and forever.
I cradle the memories that I wish I’d sowed never.

Nurtured within my heart, but I question how,
Watched them changing colours; falling off, a cruel fate,
Plucked away, a pain that's hard to abate.

Parts of my life, they were, now in disarray,
Irreplaceable, in every way.

For I am a Tree, now barren and still,
Grounded well, but with time to fill.

Is this life, a Tree bereft of Leaves?
Standing in ‘solitude,’ in a world that deceives?

Each Leaf, a promised ‘trust,’
in the season of need and glee,
Now scattered by the winds –
I stand a Barren Tree,
Yearning for loyalty’s decree.


Monday 30 August 2021

Bounds


Bounds

To ones I don't see
Maybe goodbyes were said
Laters were promised
And to some, entire chapters were left unfinished

I'm only peri-poning the best times
And happiness, is what I chose
when I started carving lines.

Letting The Now be in my eyes for as long it can,
before the past consumes it. 

Much like daughter of earth,
I must be shielded, and I'll do it myself.

The Younger One need not stay back.
I'm the artist of my own 'Rekhayein'
Beyond them, is beyond an option for anyone.

To ones I don't see... No more. 
Bid farewells to,
Just know that they're mostly permanent.

Maybe you aren't the ten-headed man,
but neither were you the Rama I seek.

Geomatrap


Geometrap

In a circle I feel like a dot,
A dot in the corner
Maybe inside a rectangle?

And then the paper gets scrapped
I'm put on a new one.
This time in the center.
And then the circle grows offset.
I'm pushed to the corner yet again.

Crumpled again, another paper lands in the bin 
Amongst million other tries.
A piece that will never perfect.

Stuck in a loop - the dot
Wants to be a line, something more
Like a circle or a square. 

Something engaging, 
More striking. More noticeable.
But can't be, unless he changes himself.

A piece that will never perfect.
Stuck in the limbo, 
Amongst millions of balls of paper,
And more to come.

Still healing

Still Healing

So sore,
Even after years,
It is still healing...

Bewildered and astray,
Doesn't know what it's feeling!

Wounded yet fluttering, 
Why does it still think of fleeing?

Afraid the little bird,
From the miseries, 
Is still grieving!

Afraid the little bird,
Is not just a bird.
But just as delicate,
And with cries unheard.

It is weak but it strives,
It also makes me feel,
And keeps me alive.

Albeit, it's time to let it heal,
Before I ever again let it feel.
Hoping the little bird,
Will eventually regain its zeal.

Flight


Flight

I guess I fell
But I really can't tell
cotton or concrete
Either way, I am not well

My dare is truth,
And my truth is sweet
But still makes me sour
in my throat.

So much to gain
Equally much to lose
When life battles loneliness
for me it's always pain

It's precious: I'm scared
But also confident.

They've escaped the cocoons
And I'm not hungry.

They're not feared, 
Blooming into something new.
But I am, my life is –
After all not so easy. 

I don't know what to do
Or say.
I can cry maybe in my own failure
And dismay.

Racing with myself

Racing with myself


I'm racing with myself,


But I'm not in a hurry.
Part of me is focused,
Only on the life's worries.


Rest of me wanders
Like rovers on Mars,
Racing at the speed of 120
All while sitting idle for hours.


Shaky limbs, spinning vision,
Wobbly steps, throbbing head
A wretched sense of world, 
Surrendering to crazy delusions.


Restless and tired,
Bothered by why
I'm so differently wired?


All of the world's problems,
They seem on my shoulders, 
Be it so tiny like rocks, 
Or as big as boulders.


I feel trapped in the mind
by the self I am racing with,
Why am I so blind
To these schemes I can't unwind?


I feel tired and out of control 
Powerless and uninspired
Funneling down this deep sinkhole.


Nothing helps, I tried –
so arduous it is to shift my thoughts!
I tend to keep fighting them 
But isn't that all they seek?
To see me like this;
Racing to my last breath, 
sick and exhausted?


I am in Curnow's shoes now,
Lack of desire, lack of will,
An unmanageable distraction,
But channeling creativity still.


To all who feel like pawns,
in the games of their brains,
Know this –
You'll soon be unchained.

Sunday 8 December 2019

The Spell

The Spell

Feels like a Dream,
Sweet like an Apple,
Forbidden but it Gleams,
Ravishing, irresistible,
The urge to nibble.

Breathtaking – so fragrant,
Ambrosial its every morsel,
Lasting like its petrichor
Gentle but potent, so strong
Is the spell cast on me?!

Sunken deep in its warmth,
Cozy like the feeling of fall;
Astray my senses; risqué intentions,
Not so cold, I'd still need a shawl.