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Little Screens

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A car crushed like a fly, People trapped in, half alive. Momentarily united- The sight is compelling enough To pull us from our hand-held screens Whispered prayers Collective gasps and clicking tongues Gratefulness spreads, as always Upon witnessing suffering Sickening humans. Will they see the sun tomorrow? A forgettable blip in the sands of time No care, no worries We’re back to our little screens. Theres a cat that can speak- As a child lays dead upon the beach Tears, temporary Drones and walls and islam and cows Yet another thing to outrage upon now For a second there.. we do care Even if it’s through our hand-held screens But it makes us infantile, as always Hashtags for every damn story Glorified mediocrity Various cloaks for an illusion of goodness Is there any room for anything real? No care, no worries   We’re back to our little screens. Click sized thoughts and bit sized emotions And A million clicks for the same clips
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That Yellow Evening

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For the past few months every evening had brought with it not only a sense of thickening gloom but an impending doom. I always prided myself on never getting bored. I always had something to do, and something to think. Especially the latter. My mind and thoughts had always been my best friend. But now, they had turned their back on me. Without them, I would have been merely alone. But with them taunting me, I was in a haunted hell. I am not quite sure how it all began. But soon twilight would bring up a new story in my head. Sometimes it was an imaginary tale of losing a loved one to a ghastly end. Sometimes it was strange sensations in my body that I imagined to an extreme, again meeting a ghastly end. I was usually quite disconnected to my body, and thus prone to psychosomatic symptoms. I knew that. But now, I started noticing every little sensation, and it was not pretty. Sometimes I was able to see the humour in it. Once, I was working on my laptop, in a lobby. Spiralling
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Strings

What is this- on my neck? Ugly, and heavy- string of beads It reeks of resentment- And Drips with disillusionment Unnoticed, these bitter beads have started to adorn me. Is this the price I’m paying, for chasing the blameless pearls?
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The Cocoon

The cocoon dangles calmly- Silent, amid much din Vile, with a strange beauty Concealing power within. All larvae are not alike- They build cocoons or chrysalis, to be the moth or butterfly, post their metamorphosis. Life is a cocoon, An unseen fight, yet, a boon. Would every being achieve The freedom it seeks? Or Would it die, struggling as it lived, bleeding. Did someone sweep it, reckless, down the drain, or Coax it out too soon? Was it a tortured transformation, or just a quirk of fate? From life it gets a sweet release. Yet The larva never saw what could have been. Written in March, 2016
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The Cloud

Written in January, 2016.  The rainbow slowly emerged- Arousing joy that was fragile or apathy for it ’ s magic As I watched from behind the cloud. I turned to the copper Star, That was to the rain a shroud, to the sky, a warm kiss encaged in this kaleidoscopic abyss. Like an ocean there was a sound, ‘ twas fast cars, journey bound, And a little sprinkler moved, Adding to this palette a groove. I turned back to the rainbow, To see   the celestial link, and frown in disguise    the glowing colours, and translucent side the pretty fable, and compelling lie. I wept with the dying crescent, I pleaded for the happy veil, I beseeched the fog to go, Yet all that did was the rainbow.
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To leap

He stood at the precipice, With unblinking vacant eyes, The water shimmering far below, His face had the eerie calmness Of having weathered a storm. "Don't jump", Startled, he looked at me, And for a moment those eyes, Had a strange wonder. Then vacant again and the lips firm, "You don't understand", said he     "Please, talk to me", I implored He opened his mouth with soundless words. "Just pause…Nothing is ever lost. It will surely pass. Just come back to this side, and we'll talk"       He gave a sudden smile that lit up his eyes "Thank you" he said as he extended his hand, And asked if I knew the story of Pandora's box "Yes", I said with relief, his hand in mine Tugging at him to climb back, He looked me straight in the eye and said, "But, what if there's no hope in the end…?" And in the blink of an eternal moment, He let go and leaped -
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Going Home

Frightened she came crying into the world, Bringing smiles all around She'd  come a long way, Ventured through the dark To find her home She journeyed through life with a quest, To find a place to belong She searched far and wide, Ventured through the dark To search for her home Every place held valleys of promise, Boldly, she faced the unknown, With hope ever present in her heart, But was met with a cold glare, from everywhere, “ This isn ’ t your home, you must search some more ” And as she kept walking, time went on, Finding her on a lonely moment, Teary, and begging for a sense of the Grand Plan The elusive home that she failed to understand. Was it a place of no fear? Was it a person, an emotion, a creation or an action? Drained, she looked up to see the vision, “ It just is. you- you are ” , It said gently to her. Nature doesn ’ t figure it out, but flows. She looked with tired eyes, willing to surrender.
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