THE KNOWN STRANGER......

A little girl gazing in innocent surprise,
at the tiny little wonders called butterflies;
Sitting on the balcony with gay abondon,
her balloons dissappearing into the curtains of the sun.

Talking to her dolls, crying in their pain
taking off her raincoat and dancing in the rain;
Waiting at her window for an angel with a wand,
thirsting for stories with ghosts of another land.

A secret dairy that guarded her sweet-16 wishes,
gazing for hours at her would-be curly tresses;
A best friend who breathed only when she did,
pain pinched only when cream dripped through the lid........

Now cosy in her private little shallop,
and then tossed around among unexpected waves;
Confused with so many masks swarming around;
Hallucinating with new emotions now in her abound......

So softly she had treaded- I was surprised I heard her,
Like faraway summer was her laughter,
Like a drowning ripple was her smile,
tender were her eyes, and her colourless touch fragile.

Into my moments of solitude she peeped,
like a known stranger forgotten in the crowd;
In her eyes I could read lines of a nostalgic prose,
in her hand she held many a long-pressed rose.

I knew she was me,
she knew I d forgotten her,
Yet I could still feel on my cheeks her tears,
And then I found my smile on her face,
Laughing at me and all my fears.....

'IN COLD BLOOD'..... and some gibberish

3 years back, during the may-june vacations of college, when the days were spent staring at the rain or hooking up with a new book, I somehow ended up with this book called 'Unsolved crime stories'. Real life ones.I had randomly picked it up to kill time at a boring function, but by the time I had finished the story of Marie Roget, I was addicted to it like a drug.The effect that these real life crime stories had on me was totally unexpected. Of course, I had been a huge fan of Nancy Drew in my childhood and of late had loved Agatha Cristie and Mary Higgins Clarke books. But somehow, the fact that what I fed my mind now werent fictional but something that had actually happened, to living people, at another time and another place, had a denser impact on me. What I read here was crueler, gorier, than any fiction I had come across. What I went through was disbilief, and then an unsinkable distrust, and then disgust. A part of me had frozen, and I know it would never see warmth or melt.
I so vividly remember the evening I had finished the last letter of the last story. I found myself floating like a zombie as I got ready to leave for music class, hardly feeling my own feet. As it happens with every book or even every line I read, my imagination very innocently opened up unseen doors and i was drifting among a milloin voices, a million places, a million screams, and a million white silences.
It was a cloudy, dense evening and as I walked towards the main road, the sun began to set and a fuzzy orange light enveloped everything. And strangely, the road that is almost always filled with a few passerbys, was totally empty. I somehow expected to be swallowed any minute by the strange light around me. What was I feeling? stronger? Wary? Harder? Courageous? Disinterested? Spiritual? What was it ?
And recently ( 2 or 3 hours back), I finished this book called 'In cold blood' by Truman Capote. It is also a true life story that had happened some 50 years back.
And, just as I had done 3 years back, I googled in on the people and saw how they looked like.
Just as it had happened 3 years, I am going to sleep with the light on in my room. And just as I had done 3 years back, I am going to keep checking the door every time I get up ( which is often, when the wound is still raw on my mind's skin).
Maybe I am over reacting. After all, what I experienced was through a book. The people in it, living breathing people like you and me, had actually gone through it... In real life...
At such moments, when I feel unsteady, one thought keeps humming itself in my head. The whole Universe is your Home, you dont have to be scared of anything. Very comforting. But is being at home the same as being treated at home?
Am I wantingly steering myself towards distrust and isolation? But isnt everyone doing that in one way or the other?
Seriously, where is our Home headed to ?
????????? :(:(:(

..........

It is a strange and silent night. The sky is hauntingly pink and empty after an incessant rain. I look at the sky and I fall in love with it immediately, coz thats how my heart feels now - totally pink and totally empty.
The most frustrating thing is that I cant find a way of escaping from the deafening din inside me to the tangible silence outside. God. I ve never stood at the edge of a steep cliff and dived into the ocean some 1000ft below; but now I know exactly how it would feel like.
5 years.... 5 long years of my life. Ckp was like my secomd home, and I've treated it like nothing else but my home. I have loved it, hated it, been amused by it, gone through mornings when I just dint want to step into it, and stayed there past dusk not wanting to step out of it.
I have laughed, cried, loved, learnt, danced, hoped, hated, achieved, and dreamed in its green lap. The rusty orange-brown leaves that eternally tumble around have sometimes created shadows in my dreams. Its green arms have embraced my tears and inspired life in me.
Like delightful spring lovely people came into my life. The breeze of time is breezing by and its time to move on- but the fragrances shall linger on, to remind me of their presence, and to remind me of what I am because of them. There are no regrets, no grudges, no untold yearnings. Only one thing mercilessly makes me numb; those few, precious relationships, that have remained as relationships only in my mind........
It is hard to watch realities melt into memories. But actually think about it- reality exists for that one particular moment that it has to. Memories last for a life time. Can there ever be a minute when the mind is free from its shodows?
These 5 long years were probably just a moment, a tiny speck in the endless saga of that amusing thing called time. And for nothing, absolutely nothing in the world, would I have exchanged this 'moment' for another.....
Much love......

TIMELESS LOVE.....

Time is the greatest saint. It goes on and on and on to reach eternity. Nothing and nobody can stop it, slow it down, hasten it, or turn it back from its path. It moves on in its own sweet desired pace, ticking away to glory.
The only truly worthy competitor it has is love. Love and only love. Love is content in itself. It neither has to prove itself nor struggle for recognition. Just like time. And ultimately, it is love that wins. No matter for how long the tireless legs of time keep on walking to reach the ultimate, it is love that outgrows time, outlives time. Through the blue fires of millions and millions of mornings and the dark stillness of numberless nights.Through green springs , sparkling summers, painful autumns, and numb winters. Through many a hide and seek game of the souls. It rises far above the horizons of time. Love transcends time.
Actually, neither of them try to compete with each other, because time is the saint, and love is innocent. But ultimately, it is love that stands- above time, away from time, every time. When timelessness descends and the whole creation dissolves, only Love will survive; as a dry drop of tear at God's feet, as a faint whiff of fragrance of a petal pressed between yellowed pages, as a silvery mist of gathered emotions, as a forgotten melody humming away itself in timelessness......

Choices

What tires a traveller
more than his ardous journey
and the millions of steps yet to take;
are the simplest of choices that he has to make....

Standing at such a point,
my heart is lost and listless;
Oh! woe is my emotional being
unable to trigger my unsung songs
How, for EVERYTHING, my heart longs....

Could I suck in every rose's fragrance?
Could I dance to every single tune ?
Could I slep on every blade of grass?
Could I lose myself in every mind's dune?

........

The golden-blue tint of dawn,

or the ashen hue of night;

the sky is eternal

but not the way we see;

Beneath all the colours

I am pure white,

the colours could change

but I remain me.

Sometimes it rains

and the still waters scatter,

the reflection changes

but it does not matter;

its just a reflection

if you ll only see;

my heart is still the same

and I am still me.....