Still Waters Run Deep....

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 cli...

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...

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?

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

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.