Winds of Change

Winds of change are blowing

the sky is scarlet, 

sun, shamefaced

the dusk is melting

into a restless night

a night when no one will sleep

all eyes staring

at bright colored dreams

painted with promises

by the sellers

of hope and neigh.

Winds of change are blowing

the stark stare

is now watchful

despair is not acceptable, anymore

hands are raised

not to strike

but to hold-

shape their own destiny.

to make a choice

for a life

that will not wait for tomorrow

for the days gone by

are not past yet…

Winds of change are blowing

blood is not easily washed away

deceit is not forgotten

nor are falsehoods or bigotry

its time for taking stock

of each word uttered

and each word minced

of the theatre of silence

and mad cacophony

of acts and deeds

of shame and guilt

of white, black and grey…

Winds of change are blowing

and don't be surprised

if it blows out the light

that only burnt the darkness

and smeared the ashes around

obscuring the vision

with fog of dirt and murk

don't be surprised

if the embers are rekindled

and flames erupt

to burn down

castles of royalty and fame…

Winds of change are blowing

And, I am flowing with it

to a destination unnamed.

Time

time ticks,
tied to the wrist
in rhyme with
the pulse
I glance at it often
measuring, comparing
calculating
hours, minutes, seconds
distance, proximity, route

the throbbing pulse of time
holding me, propelling me,
puzzling me at times...
what is time?
an endless tunnel
that stretches from
nowhere to unknown?
a pulsating collection
of moments that linger
yet are beyond reach?
a breath drawn in
and released again,
in motion of life?
a distance
between two souls
that stands still
as ages go by?

or is it
the caress of known
callous palms
rough, but dear
the strange mingling
of breaths
attraction of the opposites
and distress of the aligned
time
it is said
never stands still
is it past, or passing?
Surviving in relics
buried with corpse
relished in memories...

the pulsating rhythm
tied to my wrist
tick, tick, tick
announces
every moment
as it appears
or disappears
i loose count
of moments
tied to the times
I live in.

Memories in March

Wasting words.

Wasting silence.

Humming in mind -

The memories are not quite memories,

They keep happening,

Continuously.

Not growing.

Not shrinking.

Not staying the same either!

What is seen,

Is a memory.

Whatever is not,

That too…

Everything is a commemoration

Of what has gone by...

And what is still passing.

Present is nothing,

Nor is past or future.

All is welded in one,

Static but revolving

In the confines of mind.

Talking in hushed tones-

Always.

Non stop.

Incessantly.

This medley of sounds-

Unheard.

Un-deciphered.

Un-fathomed.

Wasted words...

Wasted silence...

Resonating

Without purpose.

Without reason.

Without logic.

And yet,

It makes perfect sense -

Memories are the only ones

That survive death.

Beyond the breath,

Stretching all across-

Engulfing...

Embracing...

Encompassing...

Life.

Eternity.

Infinity.

Buzzing around-

Not wasting words,

Nor silence.

Blind Vision

I do not know what a blind can see

Blind to everything else, I see you.

I do not know the color of darkness

Black, grey, green or blue

In my foggy vision

No color seems true

I reach out and stumble

Not because I cannot see

But because you keep moving

From defined trajectory

I look for props,

my hands outstretched

with nothing to hold

in dark I tread

if at all you could once

look back and see

my blindness will illuminate

with bright ecstasy

My blindness is vast

Yours confined to me

I don’t see anything else

You see all but me

In this selective blindness

Your and mine

We have built our worlds

In strict confines

I do not want to break free

You know not you are held

We celebrate colors of captivity

Blind to everything else

I wait for the day

When my blindness is complete

I do not see my world, you

And rest in peace.

She

She could not speak

Not for herself

Nor could she keep quiet

Not when every voice was stifled

Rebellion was not her nature

Nor was silent surrender

She was alone

But part of a herd

that grazed on borrowed land

Groomed to be beheaded.

It was easy to give in

But how could she give up

A battle that she did not began

A struggle forced on her

Defeat, she could accept

But surrender, how could she? 

Her head held high

She marched to the alter

Ready for beheading

With a resolve to fight

Suddenly, the hand holding the ax

Shook

The ax fell with a thud

She walked ahead

With sparks in her eyes

She had won the day…

But the battle is far from over

Every step is a combat

Every breath defiance

She will survive,

Till she breathes,

Defies and strives

To keep the fire

kindled within. 

Tussle

A foreign flavour

A distinct aroma

Tickling

Beckoning

Follow?

Abandon?

Four walls

a roof

a window to peep out

And feet tied to bedposts,

Home?

Shelter?

Security or freedom

Stark slumber or restless belonging?

Destination or wayward discoveries?

Oh! The tussle!

Give up or give in?

A Ray of Hope

Between night and day

There lurks a ray

Scared of dark and light

Putting up a lone fight

To remain aloof and survive

Outside the realm of strife

That marks shine and moor

Persevering against the lure

of being adopted by the Sun

as a sparkle that can stun

bright twinkling stars

and timid moon with scars…

The night too can claim

the ray to be tame

and follow the Milky Way

to be lost in the spray

of white wave rippling through the sky!

Oh why! Oh why?

The ray cannot be its own

Survive, thrive, though forlorn

Can’t there be

Without the tapestry,

A life beyond the known-

a life that has borne

the struggle for it to be

What it could never be…

The choice of light or night

A battle that it could not fight

Nor give up too…

Because such rays, there are only few.