The Silent Journey

If life is a road, mine is under a hot, burning sun. Peak afternoon.

There is shade in places, seats to rest, shelters at times to unburden and recuperate.

But a long road which seems unending. Winding, undulating, it simply goes on and on.

Each step taken on this is a milestone. A new memory. A part of me left behind in that moment.

Forgotten structures. Forgotten places. Half remembered faces. Blurred moments of colours and sounds.

Textures, textiles, stones, leaves, petals. Music, drums, strings, songs. Laughs, talks, sounds, voices, pitches. Whispers, cries, screams, talking silences.

Eyes. Of all colours. Deep, shallow. Happy, sad. Loving, hating. Calm, miserable. Eyes that lie. Eyes that are so full of love.

Eyes which then closed forever in an eternal sleep.

Gifts. Received and cherished. Cards. Words. Letters from a bygone era. Forgotten names. Weird diary entries.

Roads, alleys, houses - still standing where I left them behind. Just feet move ahead on the path, unrelenting. The journey goes on and on.

No roots. No beginnings. No end. Only the moments in between. नाशिवंत, चपल, मृगजळ

Baggage carried. Baggage discarded. Baggage lost. What a mess, this life!

A colourful, musical mess. Drama, pain, joy, crescendo, depths, flat tones. All consuming. But don't stop too long. Stopping creates roots. Uprooting is painful, so don't stop. Don't belong. Keep walking. Keep burning.

Forever detached. Ever peaceful.

Attachments bring pain. Open wounds which never heal. Invisible gout that screams on winter nights. Keep away, alone, aloof, protected.

If I come back for a few moments after death, what will I see?

Empty house, forgotten and discarded?

House full of mourners shedding pretend water from eyes which don't care?

One lone person truly mourning?

Or maybe, nobody would even notice that I am gone?

Life will still go on. The road which goes on and on, ever and ever anon.

Winding, undulating. Steep sometimes, smooth for a short distance. Full of boulders and pitfalls at times.

Under the burning afternoon sun. Leaving so much behind. Carrying so little. Keeping nothing at the end of the journey.

Wonder how it ends. Wonder when it will finally end! Hope that the next world has no pain. Hope that all pain gets left behind on earth. I pray there is no pain and no suffering, where I am going.

Duly forgotten in this world, hope I am left well alone in the next one too.

Till then we carry on. Strength by strength. Step by step. Ever learning. Ever silent. Never stopping.

Borrowed for a Day

Floor beneath my feet

Like a conveyor belt.

Feet hitting, missing

Hitting, missing

Hip-hopping, beep-booping

Shake-a-shake, shimmying.

Head butting

Hands swaying

Heart pulsing

Rhythms building.

Carried away on

This music divine.

Eyes are closed

Mind in a whirl

The only reality

Is the here and now

This moment in time

I refuse to see beyond.

Lemme, lemme, lemme

Borrow this for a day.

Gimme, gimme, gimme

This one escape.

As I shut out

Pain

Hurt

Remorse

Mourning

And my burning heart.

Let me heal

Let me forget

Let me jive

Let me move

Let this be.

No tomorrows here

No yesterdays

No today, even

Just this here and now

This one moment in time.

Lemme, lemme, lemme

Borrow this one day.

Gimme, gimme, gimme

This one moment.

A leaf out of

My past life

A chapter short

A past me - lost.

Shadows of those

Who left

Memories of those

Who dance elsewhere.

Hands are empty

I dance alone

Heart is full

Mind is blank.

Empty halls

Empty walls

Abandoned.

But I dance.

The music is loud

The beat is true

Free, lost, alone

Defeated, I dance.

The only reality

Is the here and now

This moment in time

I refuse to see beyond.

Reborn

Resuscitated

Tired

Surrendered

I dance.

No tomorrows here

No yesterdays

No today, even

Just this here and now

This one moment in time.

Lemme, lemme, lemme

Borrow this one day.

Gimme, gimme, gimme

This one moment.

Buried Deep

Triggers.

Old songs. Old photos. Old stories.

Buried deep inside a forgotten corner.

Triggered, out they all come. Soaring and flowing. Caught in a memory breeze. Swirling colours. Spinning wild. Now they shoot right at me. Out of control. Like a hurricane.

Hurling themselves, speedy rapid memories.

Hurting me.

Gone are those days. Gone are the streets. Gone those small, cozy corners. That state of mind is dead.

Slow were the walks. Time was crawling. Sunny were the days. Waiting for someone at a designated place and time. Pre-tech era. No mobiles or texts or smart tech. Just spotting them at a distance, seeing that anxious waiting expression. Seeing that bright smile when they finally see you.

Feeling lost without a wrist watch because that was the most reliable time keeper. Proudly owning multiple watches, to go with various clothes. Branded, non-branded, cheap imitations, formal watches, casual ones and also dressy-dainty ones. Bought in branded stores and from street vendors. The full range.

Simple local restaurants. Not chains. Each with its own speciality menu items. Hidden spots in the city which only we locals knew. No tourists, no internet to reveal these secrets to tourists.

Ambitions were within reach in those times. We didn't ask for much. Debates used to be healthy. Friendships didn't break over political discussions. We used to have brains.

Hours spent in just passing time at favourite places - Archies, Planet M, Crossword - with their soft music adding to the afternoon lull. There was no hurry to pick something, pay for it and rush out. We could stay there forvever and buy just a couple of greeting cards without being judged.

Greeting cards! The joy of making them. Writing more personal notes on store-bought ones. Giving and receiving simple wishes in colourful envelopes. The amount of joy experienced in that small piece of paper cannot be expressed in words. Each of us still has kept these cards from ages ago.

Watching movies before the multiplexes arrived. Gallery, stalls, front row.

That time before rampant consumerism. That time when we used to just walk up to friend's or family's house and knock to visit. No need to call or text and ask if they were available. We all were always happy to receive unexpected guests. Especially when a random crow cawed at the window and someone visited that day. We just wanted validation that the old wives were right. The crow heralds arrival of guests.

A large part of me still lives there and wants to be in that time. There was so much more I could have lived. There were so many things I could have done. There were so many places I could have visited. Alas!

Will life ever be easy going again? Old days are spent and dead. But can we at least hope for a new age which could have simpler joys, grounded dreams, genuine smiles, lighter hearts...?

All I hope for is regaining my trust in another human, not having to be alert at all times, having a peaceful and wholesome life, living out the rest of my days with genuine happiness.

Madness of Happy

While the throng rushes

Towards their escapes

I sit and ponder

Watch time pass me by

Crazy is me

Mine is a weariness

Unburdened by sorrow

I hear crescendos

While worlds are deaf

I see rainbows of 24 colours

While creatures of habit turn blind

There are worlds

Inside golden clouds

They have riverbeds, too

And still waters which reflect gold

Earth breathes, you know

If you stay still for just a moment

You will breathe

With her

Crazy is me

I belong in the indolent

Running is pointless

I would rather stay still

Calm in my wakefulness

Peaceful in sleep

I don't jump in joy

I don't cry in despair

I just stay calm

Flow in the freeflowing

Life-river

I love turbulent seas

But I live mirrored lakes

There are deep oceans inside me

But my surface is a cold sheet of ice

Crazy is me

Ever contrary

Ever reclusive

Ever inconstant, too

Skies ripple

Winds fall

People scream

But I sit and ponder

Let this life pass me by

Crazy is me

I thrive in calm

Who were they?

Empty hallways, crumbled walls, cracked floors, roofless structures. They used to be homes. Libraries. Arenas. Stadiums.

All we see now is ruin and destruction. Time. Time is what went over them.

Who were they? Those men, women and children? Pets and cattle.

Which birds nested in the trees and flew over those ancient skies? What flowers bloomed in their gardens? What fruit did their trees bear? What did they grow in their fields?

These living, breathing people walked the roads. They made cities and ran governments. They had a religion and a deity they worshipped. They had festivals and celebrations.

They lived just like us. In those houses which are now bereft of warmth and shelter. In what tragedy did the city fall? Was it war? Earthquakes? Volcanoes? Fires? Invading armies?

How I wish I could, just for a few moments, watch their life!

Visit their homes and eat their food. Live in that era. Study their customs. Wear their garb. Read their books.

What would my house look like thousand years from today? Would it even remain standing or would it stop existing completely? Will it fall into ruin, for future generations to graffiti my walls, take pictures and selfies in my roofless living room. Grass creeping out of the floor tiles. Kitchen utensils lying broken and bent. Would future archeologists study 2020 and beyond by looking inside the ruins of our homes and offices?

When I watch the ancient ruins, am I alone there? Are the ancient people still walking the earth unseen, unheard, unknown? Watching it all with wan faces and broken hearts? Or are their Souls free from their earthly binds already?

Will someone please lift this thick veil between past and present? Will I be allowed a glimpse into the past? Will I be able to look at the future?

My present is beset with bush fires, religious and political upheavals, hate crimes, murders, a pandemic, and terrorism. How soon till we are also just another civilization destroyed by the ravages of time? The pandemic looks like an innocent child, when compared to the pure hatred that humans have shown to be capable of.

The cancel culture. The misinformation. Slandering. Rumours. One community killing another. One race killing another. One country attacking another.

How long till it is all destroyed forever? How soon till we become total chaos and anarchy?

Maybe this time - oh powers that be! - finish the human race entirely. Rout us out of existence. Let the other beings survive. Let the planet breathe a sigh of relief. Let my planet breathe, finally!

We have created this pattern of destruction around us since thousands of years. Surely, someone is watching over us! There must an entity who sees what we are doing! Someone must be in charge of this Universe! Or is it just empty space and trillions of living creatures bent on killing each other and themselves?

Surely, that can't be the be-all and end-all of Life as we know it! Please tell me it isn't so!

Gaping Silences

Tides come and go,

Sands shift, waves dance.

Leaves fall and grow

Birds fly-die-fly.

People meet

Then walk away.

That's the thing about time.

It changes.

Hearty laughs, loud parties,

Shared shoulders, long talks,

Turn, oh so quickly, into

Gaping silences.

They creep upon us unseen

Unsaid resentments

Smiley faced disdain

Unspoken jealousies.

Incommunicado.

Gaping, staring, sad silences

Yawning chasms

Bottomless pools of regrets

Happy, merry times

Torn asunder.

Pieces disintegrate

Into ashes

Which are never reborn.

A funeral unattended

A mourning done alone.

Hiding heartbreaks

Behind a mask of ego.

Feelings of neglect

Bidden away with smiles

Gnawing bitterness

Pushed back with wit.

Unshed tears

Coming undone

At inopportune moments

Squared shoulders

And straight spines

Egos petted

Hearts beaten down.

And we learn to let go.

Whatever that even means

Does anybody really know?

Reduced to guilt trips

In surreptitious visits

To the attic of memories

Tucked away in musty corners.

Gaping Silences.

Twisted

Apocalypse

Comic strips

Super heroes

Magic and fantasy

Ghosts and spirits

End of the world

Crises

Stories

Tales

Parallel worlds

Ideas.

Do you really think these come outta logical, rational, analytical and thinking minds?

Naah! These come from twisted minds. Like the rope of the hangman, beautiful to look at. That fine line between, destruction and creation.

The world conditions us to be wooden blocks. Every classroom, though, has that one lunatic who is lost in their own world. The troubadour. The doodler. The painter. The flautist. The wanderer. Refusing to become a cube. Happy to be an amoeba.

The round pegs in square holes. The ones who break frames. The disruptive minds.

We make the world bearable. We are the creators. While you are busy making calculations, we balance with emotions. We make colourful art, on a dull grey canvas.  

We are the bright, printed umbrella, surrounded by black and boring conformity.

We are not going anywhere. We are the reason you exist. We are why life is worth living. We create your music. We create your art.

We create your escape.

We are the philosophers. We are the artistes. We are the quiet existence of your conscience. We help you survive. We are the reason you breathe.

We are the makers. We are the amoebas.