Wednesday, October 23, 2013

And my Pen dances again...















Dear Pen, “What happened to your dance?” I asked.
With that faint moist nib, he began to glide down the blank paper
As though answering with a wink
Making that soothing sound of scribbles;
He drew slightly arched letters and said, “I do my best, lady.”

I dance in between those fingers when you’re lost,
Waiting patiently for every thought I’m meant to paint.
Don’t you see me throwing hints while you pause to pick that perfect word?
It’s me; it’s always me who gets your dreams
The world you want to paint, the story you hold so dear…

Sometimes, I’m your old fountain pen,
Sometimes, I’m just that blinking cursor,
Waiting patiently for every thought I’m meant to paint…

If only, I could peep inside your mind & let her trust me with your thoughts
We could write, sing and dance forever…

But she’s stuck with her own puzzles,
What she makes of this world and the people…

Ask her to drop that hat,
For magic is when Pen meets the paper.
Poetry is when thoughts are set free to wander…









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Monday, September 16, 2013

Seconds of happiness…


Only you will fight, only you will emerge
It’s your story & you’re here to make a long run.
A meaningful one, if not that long…

What you choose, is your gift or curse
And of course you knew, didn't you?

That fragile phase of ignorance you seek
Drifts you away or takes you closer to a whole new world.

You thought it’ll be green all along the way,
And that’s when your fantasy goes wrong…

The picture you sought, didn't match the one in mind
And then you begin to think, does this mismatch really matter?
Did we have to say it out aloud?
Couldn't we stay content with this one second?

Oh you want it all,
You want the magic, you want the drama

You’re trying to make everything count
But it’s only a fragment of happiness we earn out of these infinite seconds…





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Monday, May 6, 2013

Quite the afternoon...




This seemed like a fine afternoon to scribble down something.
After flipping through a few pages, I found that spot.

The clock kept ticking at a leisurely pace…
Maybe it's going to be ‘two thirty’ for a long time now…

It was an ordinary moment really;
The day was changing colours right under the Sun,
The air was filled with a concoction of noises;
The mild bustling of cars on the streets, carpenters at work,
Whistles of the pressure cooker, a running tap,
Dogs barking at the motorcycles on the streets,
Trees swaying with the gentle breeze,
And even the crickets were around...

I was in between my yawns and sighs,
My eyes set on the ceiling fan,
Staring & wondering if there's something to admire about it…
The dullness of this hour had this eerie soothing effect.

The sluggish hands of the clock barely made a move,
Minutes to seconds went by but time stood still.
Soon the Sun began to draw its curtains;
Its light kept fading with every move;
The clock timed the act and conveniently so...

Perhaps it’s going to be two-thirty for quite some time...

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