Trapped Thoughts
Blotted ink drops
splattered in haste
Thoughts plenty
burned in her mind
left for seekers to find
I write to feel better
When a phrase or moment inspires me, I want to weave a web of words around it. I feel compelled to act, like I am in the midst of a crisis, and that I must put myself to use; because if I don’t, I’ll miss this train of thought forever, the words tugging at me will flee, and I’ll be left to mourn this precious loss.
You
As time passes, I find myself missing you. Especially on rainy mornings, when I sit by the window and watch the sheets of rain pelleting the glass screens.
My tepid thoughts have already raced to reach you. Every ticking second is consumed by an overwhelming need to hear your silvery voice, to return to the days when we, uh you talked, to hear you call my name, and to revel in your laughter caused by somehow teasing me.
I’m captivated by every word you utter, even if it’s incredibly trivial. I remember envisioning the characters as you describe them, immersing myself in the sorcery you conjure, like I’m a character too, living in your imaginary world for those minutes. When you pause to check if I am there, I sigh and nod into the telephone, longing to restore the waterfall. The waterfall of your words, clinging onto the hope, that the elixir of your voice quenching my thirst will continue to last.
I, often, find myself on the verge of this empty road, like an echo trapped without an escape.
You, I miss you.!
A stranger’s heartfelt smile – someone I don’t know who is delighted by something in their lives and smiles as wide as the sky.
I’m not sure why they are pleased, but I can tell they are and that makes my heart flutter a little.
It’s true that we are all part of one cosmos and that we’re all scattered bits and pieces looming on earth not to find one but many soulmates.!
Trinkets
I try not to buy them even when their glimmer and sheen titillate me. These enamored trinkets are lovely to touch and fascinating to look at. Closing down on this urge to ask my husband to buy for me, I remind myself that the novelty of these objects is hidden in an inaccessible store. A store that’s far far away from my own city and once brought home with me, they become mere ornaments left on the shelves to dust.
With no one to appreciate their beauty.
With no one to fall in love with them at first sight. And with no one to feel the need to touch them.
Instead, it brings more joy to watch them in my gallery, a distant memory palace, in a frozen moment. So they can be this once-in-a-while grandeur and not my day-to-day drudgery.
When I come out in the morning, I see a grown man, shirtless, bending on the windowsill, holding a joint in one hand, and blowing puffs of smoke. He reminds me of a coworker, who smoked, did his share of work, and never said much. No one could persuade him to stay or say more than what he willed.
He was distant even with his presence, quiet even with his words, and I guess he preferred it to constant chatter and company. I knew this man from many moons ago; we are not in touch; but somehow his face is still buried in the depths of my grey cells. I could see him as he is looking far into the horizon, seeing something spectacular that I could never access with my faculties.
As I am immersed in my own thoughts, the man in the window is smoking and clearly, lost in his.
There are mornings
when the alarm blazes
and yet I continue to sleep in
There are nights when dreams hold me tight
despite espresso endless chasing
Even days where my circadian rhythm has no place
And then there’s times
When nothing jolts me up
like finding your side of the bed cold and empty.
There will always be someone to criticize your every move in life.
I’m curious about what you’re going to do.
Will you stop walking entirely? Will you take a path that leads away from them? Or Will you walk confidently because you believe in what you do?
I’ve managed to walk all three, except for the last one.
And I can tell you not to be me.!
Time – you beautiful beast
When things are moving fast
when you feel you are being dragged
as the world is spinning hard around you
Try not to give into the urge
Instead find your ground
Close your mind to the blinding light
breathe, again, again, again
and repeat after me
You are allowed to break
You can, for once, shut down
Back to being bare
like a child in your mother’s arms
No action required
No consequences
Just the idea of a possibility
Remember the kite
with its host somewhere far away
relying on the aimless winds
but soaring, soaring high in the skies
You can be this colorful kite too
And when things seem a bit okay
When you finally find a familiar hand
Come back then
to lead
to fight
to contemplate
but until then
you can afford to sleep
breathe and be everything else
breathe and nothing else
not the world
nor the quickening heart
brazenwings
The beauty of company is nothing more than a warm quilt draped carelessly over your feet on a cold night.
You won’t understand how much more comfortable it is unless you despise the cold.
One constantly talks about roots. Roots to our civilizations, institutions, and, most commonly, a tree. What I have not seen them or anyone talk about is the roots of a leaf.
While everyone is enamored with the blooms of a flower, my heart has always been drawn to the pleasingly green leaves. Maybe it’s because I feel like one of them, like I belong to them and they belong to me, like we are a tribe. Unlike the flowers, which are treated like diamonds for the poor. But not with a leaf, no one sees it but each leaf is special. Each has a unique dent – its own shape, color, and texture. Only the tree can distinguish between its many leaves, like how the dolphin trainers identify the dolphins in their pod by the shape of their fins. I sometimes touch a leaf with the outside of my finger and feel its slight vibrations touch me back.
Each season brings about a change in them, and one day they’d end up swirling with the wind holding hands.
That’s the whole and diverse life of a leaf, and it all starts at the spot where it’s born (a root, you might say), in the thin and delicate tendril but within the strong grip of its veins.
If anything, I’d be a leaf too.
Something green, but ready to turn brown; ready to fall and ready to hold the wind’s mighty hand; I’d fly a little, straddle the skies, and take in the views before the wind rustles me and carries me to the soft ground. People passing by may trample me not knowing I’m there, their busy steps may stomp on me, not knowing I’d mind.
I would, perhaps, wonder on those lonely nights if I would have been happier on the tree; but if I were meant to stick, wouldn’t I have grown roots too.?
once a full flower
Maybe it has been forever since we spoke to each other. All I know about you now are the vague, distant recollections of our time together.
I sometimes revisit our walks, those long conversations, your fingers gingerly brushing mine. What I wouldn’t give is to blow life into those lithe, dead moments.
Remember when I asked you which flowers you liked?
And you said petals—the tender touch of the colorful petals. I was surprised that you could be so thoughtful.
I wonder when the spiral began. It was late by the time we realized we were going to break after all.
The vows of eternity fell strewn across my broken heart, like dried leaves scattered on a freshly earthed corpse.
I wish you were here to get me through it. But again, if you were here…
I must have questioned myself a million times as to why it had to be this way. You could have simply turned and looked at me, one last time.
Would looking at me stop your steps, as I had hoped? If you tried, could you have rewired the time?!
With you taking after your dreams, I suppose you forgot about the girl who now spends her time plucking petals from once-full flowers.
I thank the trees that touch me for they replenish my tired soul – the after-effects of socializing
I thank the people who cherish me for allowing me to embrace my flawed self, whether loud and vibrant or serene, like words on blank pages.
I thank the places where I go, for they shape me into who I am—whole and utterly complete.!
I feel like I am floating within the confines of time, moving in the direction in which I am lugged. Caught in a dream, bound to act at all times as directed by a madman. I wonder if the lapses are my real experiences. Either I am waking up from a dream or dredging deeper into a murky swamp, the more I wiggle to free myself.
Everything in the Universe flows to a point where everything is changed, yet nothing has changed
Swetha
Why do I write?
- To express in all honesty what goes on in my mind
- To catch a train of thought
- To freeze an intense feeling
- To relive this lost now once again when I turn the pages someday in the future