Let It Go

On cloudy days, when gloom prevails
and shoulders sag with the weight 
of the world and its many folds
When you stand alone
watching the world revolve 
Crumbling, tumbling. Breaking and tearing,
Remember to let it go. 
Let it go.
Breathe. 
Don’t let the tears stop.
Let it flow.
Cup your palms and collect what remains of
broken hearts and shattered dreams.
Let the pain seep through your pores and
drain yourself inside out.
And just when you think you are done,
Pull yourself out and head back into the whirl because
The world won’t stop spinning if you get dizzy,
So hold on to what remains because
This is not the end. Never will be.

And remember,
Time will heal as it always does
the scars will fade as they always do
and the memories? They will just float away.

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.

Implode

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.

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.

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. 

London Revisited

So here I am, on a cloudy Monday, seated on an old wooden bench facing the Thames. I feel different things- excited, exhilarated, nervous, scared, happy. I am all of these now.

This is my second time in London. I came here last year, but as a tourist. This time, I am a student. And what a difference it makes! My last visit to London was experienced through the camera lens. Like any other tourist, I walked around constantly capturing anything and everything I saw. Old buildings, the iconic black taxis, the bright red telephone booths..even lamp posts! I did what a tourist in London is supposed to do- go to the millennium bridge, see the national gallery, walk through Hyde park, take pictures in front of the Big Ben and London eye. And of course wait in a crowd of hundreds to take blurry pictures of the change of guard at the Buckingham palace. I did all those things and I really enjoyed it too.
But this time, I'm FEELING London. I can feel the fast pulse of the city, I can see its colourful diversity, I can smell ambition around me. A lot of things which I didn't notice in my first visit are revealing themselves to me now.

Today morning I walked out with plans of buying some stuff for my room and then changed my mind and decided to just walk around. I didn't have any place in mind so I just..walked. If certain streets seemed interesting then I explored them. I got into random buildings, did a lot of people watching. Followed some around when I wasn't sure where I was going. Heard interesting snippets of bankers contemplating on whether to eat couscous or not…
At one point I was caught in an oncoming rush of people in suits. Smart bankers and investors in greys and blacks and blues. Women, ready to take on the world, rushing to their offices in their nikes and Adidas with the heels stuffed into their bags. Steaming coffee from Costa in one hand and sandwich in the other, they marched on to the face the gloomy Monday. And I came back to my cozy room.

I think I like this city. Maybe because I blend in here. I can be one of the many walking around, without explaining why.

I

Fiery,
I swam across bloody oceans
seeking that elusive shore
where dreams run free
and I am just me.
Where gentle curves and rough edges
do not determine fate
Where sacred bodies do not contain imprisoned minds.
I prayed for footprints that do not trample,
Eyes which do not degrade.
Hands outstretched, I waited for
winds which carry freedom
and my ears strained for
laughter that didn’t stifle hidden pain.
But all in vain because
Masks slipped as they
snatched the books and confiscated my pen.
Then they laughed and said
‘This, dear girl, is not your place’
So now you find me,
plucked out of the womb, or buried under the sand,
In unhappy unions with bruises as bands.
Soul shattered, body battered,
I walk over the flames of a thousand burning suns,
With nothing to show but battle scars and
faded dreams in empty eyes,
looking for that place where

I am.