When Breathe Has No Air

 The gasps get louder

The grasp gets tighter

The knuckles are white

Eyes open wide

Searching, seeking

The windows are left ajar

The stillness moving

The sole palm, 

spread out, 

Standing at guard

The noise is deafening

The screams silent

Gasp, gasp, 

Gasp gets louder

The grasp gets tighter

Relax, 

See, the lanky leaves

See, there is a wisp

Of breeze

Breathe

Breathe in, breathe out

Gasp, gasp,

Gasp gets shrill, piercing

The breath fans the face

Bent over

Breathe in breathe out

Breathe in,

Gasp, gasp 

The grasp is slack

The breath is released.

A Wanderer Who Lost Directions

 not every door is bolted

nor every window hinged

it is not the dust on the glass

or fog outside

the cold metal of a latch

or the rust on the rails

speak aloud

in a room full of damp spirits

croaking their protest 

seeking the touch of hands

curled in fists

nails digging in the soft flesh

of palms unrelenting 

holding the destiny captive

What does it take to exhale?

Does it make breaths taken in, disappear?

The fear

of being lost torments

the soul, 

always wandering in search.

Aborted Womb of Memories

 

The skin is tight, plump, 

no creases, no lines

no dark shadows.

The years went by

it stood steadfast

as semblance of eternity-

never fading

never shrinking

distant but constant,

a presence

felt than seen

I have been

living in the cusp- 

at the dusk 

of the days 

long set,

holding against the night.

And thus,

a new day was never born

from the aborted womb 

of memories.

Be The Flow

 it takes a drop to slither 

through pebbles uneven and rough

a drop to jumps ahead 

pulling the next and the next, 

in a trickle 

that finds it own path

streaming past the slope. 

from hiding behind the cracks

to jumping off the rocks

there lies a story

wet and wild 

and wandering -

the tale of a river, 

that learns to flow.

The Appointment

Not now

not yet

the moment is still throbbing

the corners still damp

the sun still heaving

the silence still speaking

talk to me when you listen

touch my hand with fingers dry

try

not to come with aspirations

walk in, just as you would

unannounced

startle me

wake me up

but before that, 

let my eyes droop

let my sight wash off

the grains of collective prism

and relish the blankness of vision 

let me not see

what is shown

let my senses navigate

touch - soft or coarse

smell - sweet or putrid

sound - reverberating or dead

do not chart a path ahead

or decide where to be

let us just arrive

somewhere

and hope

we meet

Staying Afloat

words are frivolous

silence is stifling

conversations void

letting go is a skill

holding on is a reflex

one step in front of the other

an inch on the seams 

one more knot to tie two ends

of being and becoming

of holding on and letting go

of chatter and quiet

of solitude and being alone

of knowing and realization

mechanism well rehearsed

propel the ship onwards

braving the wayward 

waves,

saves

what cannot be destroyed

yet deceives

and the deception wins

the knot tightens

and between the two shores

the ship ambles

but stays afloat

THE WAY I SEE IT

 

The way I see it -

And you don’t,

Fills the void, between our words

for me, it reverberates,

- the sound of each syllable, echoing

  till I see it walking up, 

  step by step,

  towards memory.

The way I see it -

And you don’t,

- Is the trick of the mirror

  that shows you what others see

  hiding in plain sight

 the self , the soul

 that has learnt the trapeze

 of hanging in balance,

 One tiny step 

 from the eternal fall.

The way I see it -

And, you don’t

Makes us who we are.

Two complete beings -

connected yet free.

The rainbow unfolds

with color of thoughts,

no white, 

no black 

or gray in between,

Our vision is colored

not homogenous 

or of one hue -

for it is me and you

that make up the we.