Morphosis

Born, not so long ago, was a simple human being

wandering vast unowned wilds, belonging to nothing.

No race, no caste, no colour, no religion, no creed.

No touch of envy,no upmanship, he did not know greed.

Then was born, not so long ago, within him a sign-

of belonging, of owning, of following, of distancing.

Now he had a name. He lived by a limping blind faith.

Wanting everyone and everything to be like him,to be his.

Forgetting all the colours and laughters he was born with.

Letting go of simple melodies,shying away from happinesses.

Morphed into a ghost.Dead. No love left within nor any dread.

He wandered again. Leaving behind him a thick trail of red.

The Ephemeral

By the mirror she stands, her profile ever so bright

streaming through a curtain, the early morning light;

dancing on her smiling face, romancing her sleepy eyes

I look at her, she slowly turns around, the clock stops.

This silence,her beauty- overlasting the everlasting.

Tic-toc, tic-toc; clock in the corner comes back to life.

The silence fades,light birghtens; filling up the room;

she turns, mirror simmers - ready to engulf her beauty.

I look at her face, she looks back - i am falling in love.

And then, from nowhere, the darkness creeps in slowly

The Light is gone and gone are the dance and romance;

her engulfed beauty was ephemeral, mirror had no chance.

The light, everything bright; nothing lasted except change.

Before it sleeps again; life always wakes up from the trance.

The Bulletproof Convertible

Walking down the corners of La Paz streets, these two boys were not so young. Wont call them old either. Not having seen many seasons, yet seasoned by time and hardships. Before Bolivia, they had their share of middle east - Syria, Lebanon and Iraq, lil bit of palestine. They were living a dream. Living a process of being on a way to be christened "bravest and the best". They were nearing end of their station assignment. To be back home in a quarter. They were best of buddies, having shared lots of time - good and bad together, and always lived to tell and recollect it.


When it all started for them, they were young boys. Dreamy eyed, hopeful, all positive young boys. They wanted to make a difference. They wanted to live for a cause. For them, the whole world deserved good things that life had to offer.One world, one race. No barriers, no strings. One of them loved cars. The convertibles. Ones which will go roofless at push of a button. With bright sunshine filling it and breeze through hair when at top cruise. He could not afford to own one, but dreamt of buying one. A second hand will do. He was a realist. The other one was little sane. He had his feet firmly attached. But he also knew dreams and how important to everyone their dreams were. But he never missed a laugh at his friend. He joked , " what will you do with a convertible if you were fired upon?". And reply was always the same - "You got to choose. You can either live inside a bulletproof chirokee or drive a convertible. Cant ever get both."


Today they were here. Having left behind all the talks of that other world, they were in middle of something different. Every day an event, every moment a life changing decision. In the name of doing good things for people who were not priviliged or equipped enough to handle the crisis that had unfolded in their own backyards. These boys were messengers of Messiah. They were the anchor of all hope that was left. With these boys and others around, these people felt safe. Felt protected and believed no unknown fire would split them up into parts. But this was an illusion. Like that of a colorful butterfly flying up into sky through a sunlit black crevice. Making it enriched, leaving a bright trail behind for sometime. Untill it soares up high, vanishiung in the light. Leaving everything behind as it was. Dark, damp and colorless.


One day marching orders came. Peace was restored and they had to vacate. They said goodbyes. To locals they had befriended - shopkeepers, peddlars, truckies and others. Everyone was happy. These people, governments, allies, troops and these two boys. Finally their da has come. To be back with honour and pride of having done so much and to be able to start of afresh. Being assured of the fact that those people were safe and happy too. The other one joked , " May be bulletproof convertibles exist. Look at what we are leaving them with. A safe, secure and peaceful place which was not that untill now. They can feel the breeze and sunshine now and yet live without fears of being shot at". Even while they were talking and packing, a roar went off. Fresh bouts of insurgency and attacks. All march were put on halt and everyone was back to station duty. Sine die. Two boys still had their souvenirs in the hand. Half unwrapped gifts they got from locals. They wont need to pack those anyways. They knew they were going to stay. Untill ever. They knew that bulletproof convertibles were a myth afterall. It was not one world. You either had to live whole of your life driving a bulletproof chirokee, fearing what might happen next or you just had sunshine and breeze. And these two were different parts of this same "one world".

A wet drop and dry sky

Always a shadow near by me from since then,
Never knew who & why; an amazing endless joy.
She always was there, I always looked for her
Then in came travelling she, from nowhere known
All I ever wanted - bringing me peace & trance.
Touching, talking, whispering and flying high
She came, she stayed - a wet drop on a dry sky.

Sand and Sandstone

Just when you thought, you were left fencing it all alone;
to fight this unending darkness, to brave the seething battle
to go - from nowhere,to none, for nothing- a mission forlorn.
A sweeping tale of hopeless trail, a burning desire burnt forever.

That story written for you, you thought that was just a story.
You believed light never comes, never comes something that is gone.
For how wrong you have been, I cant tell you even if I wish to.
Do you remember! there is yet another story I kept to be told.
A tale of another trail. All bright and hopeful, not dark and cold.

Today, on a looney high tide night, riding the pull of silver ball,
my thoughts surf up and beyond- to touch and splash you warm.
Then I recede like a calm wave of saline, only to come back again.
Being million specks of wet sand coming together to sculpt you on.
We are just one-a wave of saline, some wet sand and a sandstone.

Where are you?

It was a cloudy morning. Very cloudy. Raining heavily and no sign of sunshine. I overlooked the weather. Thought of it as just another routine thing. But I did not miss the irony of what was happening. I am looking for you. Cant see you, cant sense your presence. Somewhere you are lurking. Not standing in front of me, no where near even. But definitely not an apparition. You were, you are and you will always be real. These clouds wont live long. Rains will stop and they will fade away. There will be sunlight. We all know it. Seasons change. I am waiting for the next season. I am waiting for the bright day. Together, we can see sun shine. I do not mind going to Egypt then. Pyramids, you know, have always enamored me. Bettered my senses and challenged the within.

You have braved this rain all alone. I am sad I was not there. But this is not the last rain. This is not the last storm. They keep coming. For every sunshine, there always is a dark day. But it does get bright if we hold on. Just tell me where you are. I will come right now. I know you dont like dark days and I know you hate being in clouds. I want to come right now but you choose not to let me in. Next rains, we will be together. even you cant stop me then. We might take a small walk and show you all those places I had promised you. When we will be together, you wont feel clouds and darkness. You wont ever want that to end. We will turn it all bright. Together, for ever.

Taste of Life

I ate bittergourds today. Thought of you while I was eating. I still remember how you forced me into eating bittergourds everyday. Trying to tell me how good it was for me and for my spirit. The child that I was, I would get convinced and try it. But throw it all out very next moment. Did not I use to tell you so often I had a sweet tongue. That I liked sweets. But no! you wont ever listen. Not that it made any difference. I would keep on eating sweets, you would keep on chasing me. I always thought you ate all the sweets yourself and left over bittergourd was meant for me.

Long time since I tasted any of that. Was lucky to find some yesterday. I ordered it made specially. Got it made precisely the way you would have liked it. Ate a plate full. I was surprised. It was sweet in taste. Sweeter then all the sweets you used to hide from me. Sweeter than all the sweets I thought you kept for yourself and ate it when I was not around. They tell me I cant eat sweets anymore. I see it all around. I have enough money to buy it. I do not even need to steal. I earn now. But they tell me I cant eat sweets now. Not good for me and my spirit, they say. I can hear you cry today. Hear myself always ignoring your chides.But don’t cry. I don’t miss eating sweets. These bittergourds taste so good. I wonder why I did not like them years ago? When I had it served and ready everytime. I would throw them and keep on thinking about all the sweets you kept for yourself to eat. Now I doubt if you ever kept those sweets for yourself.

What a fool I was. You liked gourds more than sweets and it took me 20 years to realise this. Today, when they tell me I cant eat sweets, I understand what you meant back then. You were right. There are other things sweeter than sweets. When I come back next summer, will you cook for me again? This time you wont need to convince me. I will eat whatever you cook. Even if it does not taste sweet. Why don’t you let me know when you are cooking again? Make it before summer. Post summer, I will be gone again. For a long time. Traceless in my self created humdrums and labyrinths. Let me taste life once more, before I loose it all again.