The Distance

Shivering, on a scorching hot day, I was sitting in the AC coach of my train,

Covering myself with a blanket and simply waiting for cups of tea, my ultimate respite.

Far off from the maddening crowd of cities, the train halted near a forest.

I saw outside my window, a couple, sweating and toiling hard in the sun

The lady took water from her bottle, I know naught if it was hot or cold
But her eyes were evident that the thirst was quenched.

Though they were very near to me, but the distance between us was enormous.

I was looking for some shield to block the ingress of the chilling air

And they were relying on a white cloth to impede the sultry waves.

Oblivious of my existence, they were gazing at my coach

While I was envisaging the distant dreams of those brimming eyes.

As the train gained momentum, the eyes also moved on till the train and the couple were out of vision

Eternity

My skepticism for the eternity of the word ‘eternal’,

May be it’s a mere perception, or for that matter a repercussion.

Eternal assurance, eternal promise, eternal invitation,

I have only discovered hollowness and futility to hear these

For I’ve witnessed the culmination, beginning leading to an end

Everything dwindling and disappearing in the air

Never ever to be uttered or to happen again

A feeling of eternity that was just momentary

At the Crossroads Again

I found myself standing at the crossroads.

Yesterday I was delighted to have picked up all the marbles that I left behind long back.

But today I was only left with the latest ones.

When I looked inside the stole I found them still struggling to settle down.

I never realize when did the marbles lying in my stole slipped away.

Owning hardly any of the marbles, now I wonder how would these have felt after being overlooked.

The art of keeping the ‘possessions safely’ isn’t an easy task it seems.

The staring eyes

I could only offer an artificial smile to the eyes staring at me,
Not for any offence but simply for what I wore on an occasion.

I was clean bold when another bouncer came from inquisitive eyes looking for an attire that would have drawn the attention of many.

My words just halted at the tip of my tongue, ‘what if I say I was least bothered to see any such thing’?

That reminded me of my father’s mantra, ‘You need to be presentable wherever you go’.

But I am yet to know which eyes to be followed,

The ones which may simply ignore me when I feel to be at the cloud nine

Or the ones that might praise me at a time when my own eyes might inquire …… who are you?

Nothing belongs to me

The bed will be owned by someone else who will reside here once I leave, it doesn’t belong me.

Everyone is allowed to use the pair of table and chair, so there arises no question of ownership.

The elmirah in the room had always been a part of the wall, so how can I own it.

Half of books in the rack are gifted by friends and the rest I would gift to friends, none of these are mine.

I don’t even remember which of the utensils my aunt gave me when I left her place, and which ones belong to my friends here.

The office chair keeps changing every day. I many a times tried to put a tag, but never succeeded. The chairs are intelligent enough to know that they only belong to the office.

The computer has been a real mess. Every now and then, new keyboard, new monitor, new battery, new CPU, none of these ever belonged to the poor machine, so let alone their belongingness with me.

So what is it that is holding me back?

Is it the fear of losing these belongings or the resistance to be attached to the unseen and the unknown?

The Lamp

My friend wanted to lit the lamp to curtail the darkness surrounding me but I moved away for I was scared of the heat of the lamp ....

Still in the womb

Still in the womb, I struggle
Tossing, toiling to come out.
Still in the warmth, the coziness
Secure in the womb.
To come out wouldn't be a birth -
It would be rather a resurrection.
The pain of labour do not bother me,
Though I wonder how to
And who would cut the umbilical cords.
For I have to pass through the process
Of detachment
Countless, countless times.
Once I am through, I hope,
I will crawl, I will stand,
I will walk, I will run -
I will grow wings and fly away.

Walking down the lonely road

Walking down the lonely road there was a feeling of melancholy

There wasn’t anyone who could listen to my words

And no one either to share his words with me

This feeling of loneliness persisted till I heard a voice that came from within me

It said, ‘my dear let’s hear each others’ words’

You share yours with me and let me tell my stories to you

And if we do not listen to each other

The road would hear our words for sure….

For the road would always be with us ‘anywhere and everywhere’.