To love is to let go

To love is to let go

And yet, to love is to want with all your heart

The one person, to complete you

Funny, how it can mean sharing their joy

And basking in their excitement

While feeling bereaved

Oh that bittersweet twitch that is love

To love is to let go

But how can I tell my heart

The one who fills it with sunshine

Needs to be free, to be the sun

That two free birds

Are meant to be apart

To love is to let go

While the opposites reconcile

Great joy at their happiness

And deep sorrow at your loss

The need to be one, together

And to be one, alone,

Selfless. And selfish

To love is to let go

Watch them run to you

And also step away

With their back to you

Let go

No matter how hard

Where the words lie

On the other side
Of that great wide Arch
Lie all the words
Piled together sky high
A veritable treasure trove
Of all the nouns, verbs
Adjectives you use
To bare your soul
Your thoughts and emotions
Some true, some fiction
Some imply, others infer
Questions and answers
To everything you ever wanted
So how do you get past
The great wide Arch
Across the invisible seams
That separate the two worlds
Like Rowling’s archway, the Veil
Transparent black curtains
Separate the words
With the unread
For if you don’t read
You won’t get the words
But if you don’t have the words
How do you read?
Simple, with a rope
Tie one word to another
Form a chain and pass it through
The Veil that stops you
Hook it to the mountain you seek
And slowly entice
You get one, the others follow
Like a hungry but scared
Badgered roadside animal
Used to a harsh life
The words, come
Scared of misuse
Of inflicting pain and misery
Of breaking bonds
Razor sharp, their ends
At the end of the day
Why get the blame
For being the perpetrator
When at fault here
Is the Mastermind

In search

Down the rabbit hole

I jumped in search

Of the voice, lost

Long back amidst

The chaos of every

Day’s monotony

Of feelings felt

But left unturned

Of thoughts thought

But left unpenned

Of the myriad opinions

Left to oneself

And the burning

Sagacious questions

Swallowed down without a care

For it’s easier

To go numb

And shut down the mind

The heart and soul

To shield

From the vagaries of life

From the cruel hands of fate

And the painful desperation

Of actions going wrong

And injustices being wrought

Of despair haunting every corner

Or hurt lurking under the skin

Just waiting to be sniffed out

From their glory holes

And turn every normal beating heart

Heavy.

For it’s easier, the ignorance

Than the raw nerves

Exposed to everything

Untoward.

But what a pity

For to truly build a fort

Must you lock in

Your self

And everything happy,

Hope, love, and change.

How was your day?

How was your day

You complain

I never ask

You narrate the top headlines

The unruly maid

The unkempt help

The untimely call

The unnecessary gossip

The untidy laundry

The unhappy husband

The unseen sorrow

The unwell joys

The undoing of your mind

And if time permits

The tidings of the neighbors

Of siblings, cousins and nephews

Of promises broken and words unkept

Of those long lost

And the silent goodbyes

In my mind

I narrate the same

With words

Punctuated by silence

And then you complain

I never speak

Someday

Regularly
We clean up
The debris
Around
The eye of the storm
And sweep it
Under the carpet

Regularly
We take out for a wash
The skeletons hidden inside
Dust the wardrobe
The bleached bones old and new
And put it back in fresh as a dew

Someday
The skeletons will see
The salvation they seek
Resolutions
Absolving of guilt

Someday

Until then
Regularly
We clean

Lady Gaia

An attempt at poetry after years of dry spell

Lady Gaia
In peace, she rests
With a Velveteen cover
Of bright green hues
Dark green lace
Rotund mounds and humps of dew
On a Bed of blue
Pillows of white
Chirping music in the background
Lovely fragrance
Of lush nature
Whiff of tea, lemon grass and pinecones
And whatever wild trees are made of
Light brown veins
Carry her lifelines
Who she let’s live on her
Caring, caressing
Sometimes they tickle
Sometimes they poke
Most of the times they scurry around
Unlike her other multilegged sows
They savour. They support
Her body like she does their life
The two-legged ones, though
Don’t treat her right
But a mother is as a mother does
On she loves
On she leaves
With peace, she let’s them be

Legacies of life

Man has an innate need to leave some part of him behind; a legacy of his life. He wants to remind the future generations that he existed. That he still exists—be it in memory or through art. And this can be seen in the beautiful structures, monuments, art and literature. Go back to the oldest cave paintings in the world and you’ll see a person desperately reaching out to the future with his/her hand paintings.

However, a friend of mine has an interesting theory. In India, we don’t appreciate creation as much. That’s why in the heritage places, we rarely get to see the name of the architect. No, we only know who commissioned these monuments. Contrast this to the West when you know the names of the architect. Heck, in Spain, we even knew the names of the people who melded the gorgeous wrought-iron pieces!

Don’t believe me? Ask around, who designed the Taj Mahal? Who designed the Vitthal Temple in Hampi with it’s intelligent architecture? And intelligent it is. The complex had a main building which was for performances to the God. You didn’t to carry instruments. Each pillar was designed to produce music of a particular instrument. Literally!

And then there were the side buildings like these with their intricate carvings, each telling a story and a story within a story! Take this building for example, there was a miniature carved on each side. It’s like the architect wanted to set in stone is very blue print! But the beauty is in the whole.

After all, each part—even the platforms at the bottom—have a thought behind them. One layer to hold lamps, one layer to convey how people of different regions and countries come to trade in Hampi, etc. There’s also the creative creature with parts of different animals.

This is why I love Guides and archeologists. So much gets lost in translation between the past, present and the future. Whatever little we know of, is because of the archeologists who painstakingly find meaning in dirt. And the guides who convey it to us mere humans.

They offer the spectacles you need to look around with clear sight.