Only one win matters...

Fragments build up within,
A sudden surge of energy fuels my soul

The walls, they want to melt away and let out these waves, 

Is it an explosion that awaits? 

Maybe, these are just noises and mere noises.

An on and off spell of calmness;

Showers of love and harmony. 

An equilibrium, I can't keep up with,

It keeps disappearing when I try to touch,

Is it my touch or am I just chasing a bubble? 

The bubble is fragile, not me. 

What I seek is hiding somewhere in a maze.

Oh the games, there are too many!

Only one win matters...

Now, I choose between the rights and lefts, 

My choices, my moves.

Play, play, play, 

Till the master move emerges 

And breaks down this stalemate. 

  

Only one win matters, 

To crack open the heart of possibilities,

So play, till you find the key. 

Play, till you see the maze vanish away...

Audio for this: https://soundcloud.com/neelanjana-barua/only-one-win-matters

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…

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…

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...

I am Black…

I stood behind as still as the wall,
A wall so full of puzzles and shadows…
I could never have that stage,
But their drama is flawed without my body.

I am that black canvas inside your thoughts,

One colour for many emotions…
Without me, light has no worth;
You’ll find no direction unless you surrender…
I’ll show you more than you wish to see;
And leave fine lines in your memory…
 

I am black; more than just a colour
I give shades to those blurred fragments of your mind…
Without me love isn’t as sensuous;
The Moon isn’t half stunning;
Without me, there wouldn’t be a ‘night’
 

My darkness frightens the mortals…
I am that silhouette of fears, wrath and pain;
That stranger who follows them everywhere they go…

 My presence haunts the prude,
But the poets call me their muse…
  
You can run away and abandon me…
But remember, I’m the one when you seek refuge;
I am that partial life in between your heartbeats;
The only destination beyond that ‘finishing line’…
         

Her Story (Part – I)...

She was living her own story,

Her characters mingled in perfect harmony…

But the scenes grew challenging every day,

Each day, new puzzle;

Same characters, perplexed expressions…

Her audience and their eager faces;

Don’t you know that feeling of longing to know & not know at the same time?

They could live with that anxiety.

But the clock was ticking, so was the restlessness…

“Are we there yet?” said the voices.

The old saga had to end,

The leading lady had her part coming…

< Spotlight >

She had so much on her mind,

Is she doing it right or just uttering those lines?

She desperately wanted to evolve, break away from the narration

Something extra-ordinary had to come along…

Will she be ready?

Will she give it a chance?

---------Intermission----------

I have it now…

I love this rush, I love this feeling;

This sense of power is emerging from somewhere deep

Although it’s yet to come alive, the fire has started…

Come now, forget those judgements,

We are done keeping scores.

In this course of lost & founds,

Nothing but freedom is my ultimate yearning…

There shall be no strings, but I’ll carry what’s mine.

Come along if you feel, we’ll be wanderers in time;

Build memoirs of yesterdays, throw colours on tomorrows,

And sometimes, we’ll paint them black & white…

Oh how this feeling of control surrenders to my soul!

Just like sea waves dashing against the rocks.

I call it equilibrium, even though it’s a passing one;

I have it now, settled like a butterfly on my palm…