My Demons

Fighting the demons inside
every moment
in a never ending war-
split into tiny battles
fought across an overgrown body!
Winning each battle
is essential-
if no for survival - for sanity.
The white flag of peace
ignored
for it is no longer white-
dark patches of colored memories
thick moss of recollection of
acts of desperation
better forgotten
smear its contours.

These rejected pieces of
peace offerings
then chase the mind
as it runs in circles
within the confined space of
cells and membranes.

The mad rush of adrenaline
the craving to bite the forbidden apple
over and over again
a restless crusade for some unknown cause...
Pause,
the mind cries for a pause,
a brief pause...

The cries are responded to
with monitored doses of
desperate concoctions
that lull senses to black slumber
dark and deep.
But, for how long?

The languid body wakes up
to the call of demons.
The fight resumes all over again!!

A different lullaby!!

Upheavals
small and big
rock me to sleep.

I close my eyes
to destruction
and death-
every time, the tsunami
sweeps away
homes, families, dignity.

Every time someone robs us
of hard earned money,
or long preserved rights-
I pull up the sheet
higher above my head,
and block the light.

Every now and then
when I loose control
and give in to the devil
in my head-
I pop some pills
and lull my senses to deep sleep.

I have learnt to snore
at every disturbing thought,
still neither leaves-
the thoughts,
nor disturbance!

I urge to fly....

Once in a while
there is an urge to fly....
to be free of gravity
keeping roots tied to the ground
to be away from branches
spreading as shackles
to be detached from fruits
borne as destiny.

Once in a while
there is an urge to fly....
and experience oblivion
shapeless and nonconformist
purse the mystery of horizon
where the unmet meet
and to know how difficult it is
to give up, that one never had!!

Tricks of Survival

Moments tick.

Minutes pass.

Hours go by.

With closed eyes

I see the world as I want it to be.

Amidst rusty surroundings,

I feel the touch of soft petals

caressing my callous palms

scarred and coarse

for holding a tight rein

on things struggling to get out of control…

Fantasies soothe,

Imagination propels

to live yet another day.

Resurrecting hope

-          its there…

All that I want is just a step away,

a little stretch and there it is!

And, in anticipation I stretch my hands

grope, fumble and stretch a bit more…

And when futility of it all is blindingly bright,

I close my eyes

And, see the world as I want it to be.

Slowly,

Moments tick,

Minutes pass,

Hours go by,

I survive.

Clarity in Mist

Clarity of vision
and, the serenity of a misty evening-
a heady cocktail of the obvious,
and delicate mystery!

I clean my glasses
and perch them on the nose
turned red from cold and damp air.

Sleep weary eyes peer through
the recently cleaned transparent surface
bearing imprint of the fingers
that relived them of moist fog

What do I see?

A winding road
that passes through
the fine lines
of my fingertips.
My world is in my grip, literally!

In Between...

In between two lines
there is a meaning
waiting to be deciphered

In between two hands
there is a space
used to being manipulated

In between two eyes
there is a perspective
fighting to be unadulterated

In between two words
there is a pause
holding its own, to be differentiated

In between two lives
there is a being
surviving to be liberated

Frustration

The inevitable happens.
it has to.
we all know,
and accept-
except
the wait
between what is there,
and what is destined to be
stretches indefinitely.
the breath that is caught
is released, slightly delayed,
with human intervention-
the white robed men interfering
in the domain of the omnipresent!
but then like Bhisma
they can only delay the end-
influencing death.
and, till they negotiate this deal,
live.
pulse
breath
heart rate
saturation levels in blood-
statistics of life
that one survives
as a numberplate.
living,
because death is delayed.
a life relayed
in drips and tricks
of an inexact science
that only thrives
in the wait between
what there is and what has to be!

The Kleptomaniac

Small change

A pen

Comb, someday

Or even wet tissues…

Anything could get her excited.

The adrenaline pumped.

The surge of desire,

the undeniable urge,

to reach out and hold-

and keep.

She could not resist.

She took,

and kept it hidden.

She kept on

giving in to these sudden urges

to own things

that did not belong to her.

She took without asking.

And then one day,

I caught her red handed

with my book,

and, hell broke loose.

A caught a thief -

a habitual lifter.

Punishment was inevitable.

But magnanimity dawned.

I let go of her.

Actually, if I punished her,

brought her public embarrassment,

disrobed her of the normalcy with which she lived her life,

I could have been accused of stealing-

her innocence

her simplicity

her plain honesty

with which she accepted her urge

and, did not shy away from it-

Like I do, everyday!