Dear Emily

Dear Emily

Dear Emily, 

"Hope" is the thing with feathers—

But it did ask a crumb of me,

A tithe, too dear in bleakest times,

Yet paid in whispered secrecy.

It nestled close when skies were clear,

A gentle murmur soft and sweet,

But when the storm clouds gathered near,

Receded its warmth—subtle, fleet.

The moments in which I sought its embrace,

Found feathers shed on snowy ground,

Each one a blurred memory, a trace,

Of solace lost, seldom found.

Though the Bird demands its silent fee,

And often flies too swift on sight,

Still, in its flight, a truth there lies—

It leaves to teach us how to fight.

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.

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.