Love fairy

Fly her back to me, my love fairy,

fly her happy, mind it, but don't worry.

Fly her over the oceans, pacific and blue,

fly her over the snows, but keep her like dew.

Fly her over the countries, cities far away,

fly her over the clouds, but don't loose her way.

Fly her back into my arms, my little princess,

fly her safe, mind it, but don't stress.

Flotsam

The pawns are moving,

the dice keeps rolling,

a man in solitary house cries.

Pot that I emptied of past,

is waiting in the line for future,

baked throats are never quenched.

My mind a blade of grass,

words form like dew drops,

silence sways with the breeze.

The flotsam appears here,

from the shoreline of thoughts,

sea is clean leaving debri behind.

Pre Monsoon

Wait.

A big black cloud on a sunny day,

a gust of cold wind in the evening,

I watch the clouds and wait for her,

rains are when we want to be together.

Listen.

The raindrops falling on mango leaves,

her floating wet footsteps on the red verandah,

Sparrows in the water taking a bath,

Kids near the stream with paper boats.

Laugh.

The pre-monsoon showers with tumultuous pomp,

hitting sideways on the window panes,

everyone in a rush to avoid the outpour,

The ones who get hit, soaked and tickled.

Quiet.

Days and night roll into each other,

watching and listening and getting drenched.

She stretches her arms and looks above,

I see her dance and colors of rainbow.

She wakes up from a dreamless sleep,

Empty bed to stare, no one to caress her hair.

Missing his cuddle, just a pillow to huddle.

Morning coffee to brew, memories in a stew.

Walks away to office, with a nice flying kiss.

A lonely silly boy in a land far away,

Waits in the window, watching his beau.

Her lips so red, makes the morning Sun fade.

His insides in a curl, missing his pretty girl.

Still in a trance, treasuring her parting glance.

The year drags ,
to the end and November.
She gets married.

Bridge

She came along and beckoned the dreams, of places to go, people to meet,
Another weary traveler I said, playing peek-a-boo, with her metal steed.

She asked questions, how far to go and with questions, answers should follow,
I collected symbols, unaware and if you wonder, definitions become hollow.

The thumps roared and they fizzled, some better roads and some not nice,
The solstices rose and equinoxes fell, sometimes together and alone otherwise.

The roads we took and the talks we shared espied the same destiny,
The math she did and the score I wrote chimed the same harmony.

Time travelers that we are, seeing a road in the rear and another ahead,
We sit still in the present, bridging the gap and minding the head.

Longing...

Once my father bought me an air balloon and I clutched it firmly. Amidst the festivities all around, my fist loosened up. The balloon kept going high up till I saw the last glimpse of that red dot through my watery eyes. I wouldn’t do with the replacement balloon my father got, I wanted the same one. And the longing began. Time replaced the balloon with situations, opportunities, the misty mountains and a lost grandfather. A variance of longings alike the various fears gripped me. I understood that the ultimate fear is that of death and rest all are the variations of it but then what about the longing?

God does not play dice..

There are some places which cannot be reached by thought. Some say we need to experience them.
God may not be playing dice but God is playing something for sure. How much ever "probable" this "reality" seems to be, the game is definitely on. My move chief?

We are never conscious about the magnitude and magnificence of the things happening all around us in the background. Like the beautiful Sunrise in Matrix after the night the war ended, the jacarandas in full bloom in blistering heat, thousands of network elements silently working in closets to enable the communication. Just another day huh?

The forms will lead you to the formless and back again to find it in every form. Coming back from a journey with loads of gifts. She smiles once again and I am aware, now.

The myth of Sisyphus

I hold onto it like the closely guarded secret, close to my heart and closed fist. Probably it has to do something with the fact that it does not exist or it is so feeble, fragile that if you just let out a whisper, it will vanish in the thin air. It keeps them amused though.

They look at Sisyphus and are happy to know that he finds happiness, in the absurdity. But Sisyphus had nothing to do with it, the happiness part nor the absurdity. He was just another Mongolian horse, running around. And I believe he did it because it made them happy, by believing that he was happy, fulfilled. The myth of Sisyphus lives on.

With time, like galaxies the distance between people keeps expanding. Having some matter helps it slow down (or reverse probably?).

You have to be very careful with wisdom at times; irrationality might dub you as an irrational.

One evening I saw,
Sun withdrawing its rays-
a lonely child sulks.

There was this dream again and the message strange yet familiar, "follow the white rabbit". Many follow the material, few the immaterial.

She would never pluck a flower from her garden and her reason was much more amusing. She said the flowers looked beautiful on the plants. I saw all the beautiful flowers from her garden blossom and wilt on the branches they swung and sang in their natural tendencies. And so it went for her love as well. It was never consummated. She never decorated it with any semblance of togetherness or union.

I would never believe her till that day. I happened to open one such corner of my mind and it felt like entering a room locked up for centuries. The flowers inside here were hers and the fragrance was so deep and reverberating that I dropped to knees. I lost myself in that agonizing rapture and understood her love for once. I should have not opened the room, she never meant me to.

Another horizon beckons and you run for it. Then another and you run till you realize that you have been running in circles. You might start to believe that this is absurd? But trust me, it isn't, running is a very good exercise; running is a very good experience. Is it a Verb? I guess it should be Noun; an endless cycle of personal reincarnations.

Déjà vu, they changed the Matrix yesterday. Where there was a big pothole, they filled it up with finely grounded stone dust and I had a great great fall. It dented Mastani’s precious and pearly fuel tank and my aura of invincibility with it. The fall left bruises on my hand and leg and somewhere deep on my psyche. I wondered; the cellular level evolution is not keeping pace with the social and intellectual evolutions happening around. A standalone gene will not survive but a mime might. Mind is running at a phenomenal pace, crossing big hurdles and going guns in leaps and bounds. Body can’t keep up with it, looks feeble. We need implants, we need Cyborgs.

For now, I guess bruises are good. I asked few of my friends about when was the last time they got bruises. None could remember. Biology heals itself and I gave it a challenge. If you don’t use it, you loose it.

That which does not kill us makes us stronger – Nietzsche.

I wish to tell you, so much, heartfelt tales and more,

The longings, wishful dreaming and emotions downpour.

I smell your breaths still fragrant, your sounds reverberate,

A flash of hope, in grasping reach, seemingly inveterate.

My sweet love, you are my paradox and yet simplified,

The forms we took, together, complex and yet vitrified.

So complicated are the compromises, we suffer, we render,

Like jewelry, decorating the wounds, still tender.

He disappeared right in front of my eyes. A flash of bright light and I am back again to my darkness. The foreboding of events is much scarier than the events themselves. I knew that I am turning a corner and his glimpse will fade slowly from corner of my eyes.

He still smiles peacefully. His premonitions are about happiness and about purpose fulfilled. He knows that the path is never strewn with virtues unexpressed.