Saturday, 26 October 2013

In Conversation With Old Age

I looked old age in the eye,
caressed her many wrinkles and
let a tear slide by
I took her frail hand in mine and asked,
Are you ready yet'?
‘I’ve always been’ she replied
‘I’ve lived my days and known my nights
Seen the world and felt it in my bone.
I’ve chased dreams over valleys and
swum rivers to find love.
Oh and I’ve loved and laughed
and shed tears in pain too.
So I have lived and
I am ready.
But you, dear child, are not.
Your clear skin and agile bones have blinded you to life
and her deceptive ways.
You’ve taken for granted every sprightly step
Too drunk in youth, you don’t realize that
This Won’t Last.
Your steps will become slower, your breaths sharper
stabbing at your heart everyway
Eyes cloud, ears fail and soon
you will begin to trust yourself a little less each day.
And then, when your memory begins to fade,
you will remember-
this wasn’t the case.
But now,
All doors have closed and
there’s no where left to go.

Thursday, 24 October 2013


Blinded in Bliss,
I traded my dreams for yours because
The world ended
where you began
Your pleasure my only goal,
I stacked old wishes in dusty corners
where you’d never look and
In imagined futures I saw us:
I was yours and
You belonged to the world
But I built sand castles too soon
on shaky grounds
where the winds never cease
and illusions don’t exist.
On a summer day you left,
my shattered spirit in tow
while I came apart,
one dream at a time.

Sunday, 20 October 2013

Before I forget...

Before half remembered thoughts become me and
you become just another face 
Before the last streaks of memory fade away 
taking with it your name
Before I forget,
Let me remember love
as it was supposed to be
Me and you
Before blanks spaces invade
and nostalgia becomes an empty frame,
Come, make yourself known.

Wednesday, 16 October 2013

On the subject of writing...

It’s been long since I’ve written anything significant. The truth is, I am afraid. Afraid of not living up to what I wish for myself. It sounds silly, I know, but there is a reason. I cannot begin to describe how much I value writing, as a mode of expression and as a creative outlet. I’ve always been in awe of how we can take random words and string it together to create something so meaningful that it can move hearts and etch itself in ones memory. The right words together can make magic. It can spark love and break hearts too. Just play around with words, and you can elicit any emotion you want in the reader and in yourself too.

This realization of the power of words is precisely what keeps me from writing. Frankly, I am terrified. Of words. And yet,I constantly feel this intense need to write something, Anything. But I’m always waiting for that perfect beginning, for that spectacular end. It’s like, I can’t start without knowing for sure where I am going. But that’s not how writing has worked for me so far. Writing has always been an organic process for me. Before this, I never consciously thought about writing. I just grabbed on these ‘sparks’ blindly and then didn't let go till I managed to get something out of it. Lately, I've been missing these sparks. either because I was too late to capture them, or because once I got them, I didn't hold on tight enough…Or maybe I don’t see them at all.

This inability to write has made me generally unhappy. I've had words reach till my finger tips and then trace their way back without any explanation as to why. It’s frustrating and exhausting. At times I sit with a pen between my fingers, or the laptop in front of me, coaxing the words- the right words- to reveal themselves to me. They make brief appearances and then, just like that, they disappear. Leaving me hanging, lost for words.

Maybe I’ve waited long enough for them to approach me. Maybe it’s time I go looking for them- in conversations with friends, chance encounters with strangers on the subway, between thoughts over a solitary cup of coffee, under strange skies where everything is capable of being that spark. I am sure I’ll catch up with them. Soon enough.