Somebody

  

Yesterday it was,

that I sat by this window.

To write something special,

for that somebody who I hoped

would turn to be my somebody special.

I was stumbling,

at a loss were words.

My hands were trembling,

at a loss was a heart.

Yet for all it was

deep inside I knew

That the stumbles and trembles

were all of a bubbling heart.

Of a mind that wanted to scream

my feelings for you.

An ode,

a verse

or a chapter

I didn’t know what to write,

the word unwritten speaketh louder.

Today I find myself,

sitting by the same window sill,

the green fields that they were outside,

stands all parched.

The fury of God it seems

not just landed the curse on me.

It spread everywhere I went.

I still want to write,

though I’m still unsure what to write.

All I know

is that person

did want me no more

as her someone special.

I was stumbling,

at a loss were words.

My hands were trembling,

at a loss was a heart.

Yet for all it was

deep inside I knew

That the stumbles and trembles

were all of a broken heart.

Of a mind that wanted to scream

my hatred for you.

The feeling for you,

masqueraded  as much to the world,

as much to myself.

Not an ode,

not a verse,

nor a chapter,

all that flashed in front of me

Was one word of hate.

The one expression of hatred.

Inside I knew,

I was lying to myself.

But always was I a deceiver.

The letter lies unfinished,

Burned to a pile of ash

In my mind and soul.

Forget me, my angel

He that cannot forgive others, breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass if he would ever reach heaven; for everyone has need to be forgiven.

George Herbert

Forget me, my angel.

Forgive me for my deeds

and forget me for my sins.

Walk the path of life,

as like tomorrow a mile

as like the next hundred years one long mile.

I won’t cross thy path,

wouldn’t dream of hindering thy growth.

Look never to your sides,

they becometh your peers.

As peers as competitors,

they are, but a threat.

Never look your sides,

never pause a moment for a fallen peer,

for, the world won’t ask if you’re late,

it’s not the latecomer who leadeth the world.

it’s not the bourgeois who leadeth the world.              

Never look over your shoulders my angel,

never a pause, never a glance.

I stand there alone,

watching you go far and high.

I stand there, a meek reminder,

of the heritage of yesterday

you so deem to shed.

History is a cunning rascal,

he followeth you who is the leader.

The heritage is past, even for history.

Traditions relented, history said to forget it.

Even he doesn’t pause to offer me a shade.

The very me who he chased,

till you, my angel,

till you who took over.

Create your destiny,

rewrite history my love.

You are the power to rewrite.

Just  don’t pause,

just don’t waver.

And remember, not to look back

Over thy shoulder.

After all, all I did was to give birth to you my angel.

Forget me, my angel.

Forgive me for my deeds

And forget me for my sins.

The Light At The End of a Tunnel

As the darkness envelops all around me,

a darkness so blinding,

I close my eyes.

A silence so loud,

I find my hands wrapped around my ears.

A pace so frightening

I shut off my senses.

And wait for a new dawn,

A fresh lease of life.

I tell myself,

this is a phase of life.

This is a phase of life,

like any other.

And this too will pass,

like any other.

For as the shamans say,

bright light cometh

at the end of any tunnel.

Slowly I free my ears

from the wrath of my hands.

I can hear chatter.

Yes, chatter it is.

I force my eyelids open,

I see rays of light in a sea of darkness.

I am not alone, in this dark dark world.

There are little kids,

the stage of life where darkness has no meaning,

where the shades of life are brighter than the brightest.

There are old men,

the stage of life where one looks back and sighs

and claims there is no more brightness in life anymore.

Where do I fall

I do not know.

Maybe, I do not wish to know.

And then, right then,

Just when my thoughts seem to convulse around me,

is when my train,

the vehicle in my sojourn,

rips across the darkness,

and emerges out the dark tunnel

into the brightness of the day.

I was right,

there was indeed,

bright light cometh the end of the tunnel.

Fading Mehendi

Mehendi as it fades,

is a sight no pretty.

Same was with her,

as she brought her face down

and cast her vision on her delicate hands.

Yes the mehendi was there,

but no, the mehendi was not.

Just a month ago,

was the dream wedding.

Adorned in her regal costume,

holding the hands of the man she loved,

as they stepped out,

into the glory of the basking sun.

It was then the war broke out,

those enemies attacked their motherland.

The dutiful soldier he was,

he had to report back for duty.

He hugged her

and told her he had to go back.

Back to the frontier,

back to the forefront.

The parting was tough,

but it was inevitable.

The brave face she put up,

was all a façade,

For she was all tears inside.

And it was the day before,

the news reached,

that he was martyred.

That she was no longer

the wife of a brave soldier.

But instead, there she was

the widow of a martyred warrior.

The sun that shone bright

on the day of their union

that sun had gone,

replaced by the wrath

of the untimely monsoons.

The rains quenched the thirst

of the grounds and grass so parched.

As she waited to receive

what precious little of him was left,

the mehendi adorning her hands

was fading into oblivion.

She stood there,

all alone in a savage world.

Not the wife of a brave soldier,

but the widow of a martyred warrior.

The Fruitless Wait

You didn’t turn up.

As the train chugged,

leaving behind the station platform,

the hawkers and vendors stay back,

counting the business they got

from the train just departing.

Fresh in anticipation,

about the next train to arrive

As the one after that

and the one after that

and the one after.

They have a hope,

a hope that hinges on the train coming next.

But for me,

out of patience

out of hope,

this was the train I took.

Whether it turns out,

to be a trip to glory,

or one to obscurity

only time will tell.

But I did wait on the precipice

before I boarded for my voyage.

I did wait for you,

I waited in the hope

that you will come to the station

that you will take me somewhere.

To live the life we so much dreamt,

to live the life, you always promised.

I kept my part of the bargain,

leaving everyone behind,

I came to the station

and I waited.

For you to arrive

And for us to depart.

An hour turned into two,

and two into four.

There I was standing solitary

among a crowd of humanity

with tickets in hand

and destinations in mind.

I was numb,

no ticket in hand,

no end in thought.

All I wanted

was for me to be with you.

And then it dawned,

painfully indeed

that you weren’t coming.

Refused to accept it I did

but truth was truth indeed,

whether I liked it or not.

And here I find myself on this train,

no ticket in hand,

no end in thought,

and no destination in mind.

These tracks will lead me

to where my destiny awaits.

Whether it turns out

to be a trip to glory,

or one to obscurity

Only time will tell.

But I did wait on the precipice

before I boarded for my voyage.

Goodbye my friend,

goodbye indeed.

Goodbye forever.

One More Fall

Once again it is that time of the year,

the vibrant colors of fall,

and the grounded and unkempt foliage,

does little by itself to hide the path.

The path to her final destination,

hopefully one day,

my final destination as well.

God does what he can,

to cover my path with leaves.

As this year, so the previous.

The leaves are dry,

never the memories.

I will never forget,

the path to her dusty abode,

even if she wants me to.

Eons from now,

we will be together once again,

in some other world she resides.

The same way we were,

in this world she resided

Yesterday.

She is dead,

I will be dead tomorrow,

but the feeling, that never dies.

As I tread the familiar ground,

the ground no one wants to be familiar with,

my heart starts to get heavy,

I know, I can sense,

her stony grave aching for his heart.

Of all the seasons the creator envisioned,

this, for me, is the worst.

This, for me, will remain the worst.

September has passed,

October does prevail.

As the trees punctuated the mellow of the winds abound,

I turned around,

leaving a bouquet of flowers,

a few drops of tears,

and a memory of lifetime,

on her feet.

Or rather on the epitaph,

that marked her feet.

Your memories are older,

by one more fall.

I turned around,

back to the road which led me here.

Come I will next fall, if alive.

Else before, if not.

A Toast To Remember

Perched upon a rock so high,

watching down on the seas so sly.

I held in my right hand,

a glass of wine.

The final remnants

of a bottle of bliss

that was my friend for the night.

As I hold the wine in hand,

I’m reminded of what I miss.

The presence of me alone,

all but me, the stars and the sea

that means a world is absent for me,

on this starry night

as I stand

perched upon a rock so high,

watching down on the seas so sly.

Missing someone is precious,

a priceless feel hard to replicate.

He is a world away today,

yet he is so close.

So much close,

that I can feel his touch,

that I can smell his essence.

And coming he is indeed in the morn,

wait for me to join he said,

take me to places he said.

And toast me a memory

that we’ll cherish for life he said.

The tide was rolling in high,

as I flicked my hand to look at my watch,

I realized with a smile

that the time he arrived

was drawing nigh.

The sun will rise tomorrow,

and he’ll be here then.

And then as I promised him my love,

after the sun does set,

we’ll come together at this very vantage.

Perched upon a rock so high,

watching down on the seas so sly,

with a glass of wine in one hand of mine,

his fist of love gripped taut,

in the other.

The glass of wine in hand

was half empty.

Oh wait, allow me to correct,

the glass of wine in hand,

was still half full.

Rains

As I look out the window,

of the metro train,

the journey I am a part of,

rather the sojourn is a part of me.

The monsoon is here alright,

the drops of rain show no mercy

as they pound the roof of my coach.

I sigh at the sight,

my station is a few minutes away.

I know the rains won’t abate

when the train pulls into my stop.

The files in my hand will be drenched,

the office reports I take home daily to read.

Oh and what about the chocolates

I got for my kid?

He sure won’t be happy

if I bring them home

as drenched as it can get.

My trousers, my wallet

everything’ll get wet.

I cursed the rain,

couldn’t you have come a bit later?

And I cursed myself,

for not taking my umbrella to work that morn.

My eyes fell on the girl sitting opposite my seat,

she had this charm in her eyes,

seeing the raindrops fall to ground.

And when I looked at her closely,

I realized it was someone I knew.

It was me who it was.

The only thing different from then

is the clock.

Rains were heaven-sent back in the days.

The first day of the monsoon

vivid in my memories,

as I used to run out of my house to get drenched,

the incessant scolding of my parents unheeded.

The sweet smell of the rain

and the total drenching in her glory

was worth the punishment to come.

Or so, was the thought.

Getting drenched on way back from school,

was a ritual as religious as any other.

There was never a question,

the umbrella tucked in my school bag

by a loving mother.

But the umbrella seldom used to get wet,

the drench was all absorbed by me with glee.

Notebooks and textbooks would get wet,

no, I did not care.

There’d be lollipops in the pocket,

that the raindrops would attempt to dissolve,

but never mind the rains,

the drenched lollipops never tasted any diminished

than their originals.

The train slowed approaching my station,

I awoke from my reverie.

The smile I had on my face

was as close it came to the monsoon glee.

But there still was the rain,

there still was a case for my office files to get wet.

Not to mention the chocolates in my pocket.

As I stepped out of the train doors

into the torrent,

the smile was gone

and all I was doing

was running to save the files and the chocolates

running to save them

from the gift of nature.

And running out the station,

leaving a carefree part of me far behind.