One Life To Live

Monday, April 15, 2024

A True End?

The dusk blushed with a flushed purple

And the paper daisy flowers heaved a sigh

For there she was once again

On her way to the roads

That dreamt of the sky

The noises babbled

"sky was the limit", they jabbered

But what is limit's limit

Rarely did their thoughts scrabbled

But she was a traveller

With a dreamer's heart

It was a vain attempt, she knew..

To tell beginnings and ends apart

For time has never been linear

And space is home

To ellipses, circles, and spheres

There would never be a true end

Even if you walk miles or light years

For end has never truly been

Nor does the tale of absolute things

It has always been a mirage

Like folk tales that a tourist strings

So she journeyed on

To the wake of dawn

As flowers bloom

And the life as we know it

Goes on

"Because a journey does not have a true source nor does it have a true destination. Source and destination are mere semblances. Journey is the sole veracity."

Excerpt from 'Enigmatic Horizon'

Thursday, April 11, 2024

Solace in Chaos

Searched for it in the crowd

In the never-ending noises

The crowded streets echoed

Nothing but silence

A silence so chaotic

It had the word of the woods

In the wilderness of the self

A voice hid under the hoods

It had the shine

Of the twinkling brook

That shone during the noon

And essence of that known melody

From the words

Of your favorite book

There was the charm of the cosmic chaos

And pull of the magnetic solace

That travellers often seek

In their journeys of perpetual grace

In the nothingness of the chaos

There was a concept of loss

But there too was a perk of discovery

Of yourself once you swam across

That voice will be your soothing breeze

For journeys that you take

Even a moment's worth of solace

Is paramount in that momentous wake.

Wednesday, April 10, 2024

A Pen That Bleeds Green

Green has never been

A conforming or usual choice

For jotting your mind

Or scribbling your heart's voice

For they think of red,

Maybe even of pink and blue

As all the emotions

A writer's heart could sew

But there's more to a pen

That conveys the thoughts

Of a 'naut freed by love,

And binded in knots

That pen bleeds

But bleeds in green

For it knows the emerald ocean

It carries within

There may be streaks of blue,

Or turquoise and tinges of pink

(But never red or black)

Even when the cosmos tests...

Tests it...

To a treacherous brink

The heart did witness shreds of red

But the pigments would vanish

As the beating breath would thread..

Words of sunshine,

And chimes of breeze,

The smile of daffodils

Into the depth of the inking seas

That pen bleeds

And will bleed in green

For there's always a tomorrow

With a charismatic sheen

Thursday, April 4, 2024

Gifted in breathing

"Gifted" is always not true. Whenever we encounter any creative person, most often than not we think that they must be gifted.

But not all are born with the gift. Not every painter paints a masterpiece whenever they see a canvas. Not every writer strings in the perfect words every time they touch a pen. Musicians too struggle with sounds of monotony. Some, like me, might not even have any intuitive talent for creation.

It takes unwavering passion, dedication, hardwork, and above all, love to continue on that path. Of course, the world might not see the learning curve. Or the passion might often be mistaken as an inherent gift. But flowers that are never bouquet-ed are still flowers.

If it is easy to be a wildflower? It is not. It is not easy... absolutely not easy... to continue doing something in which you are the least bit talented... but the love for the craft, and a hope keeps you going.

Maybe someday you will be able to say it in the words that you have always dreamt of. Maybe someday your words will give a flicker of hope to somebody in need... even if it's just one person. Maybe someday your words will spread the Love you always believed in.

And even if that never happened, atleast you would know you never gave up on your dedication for the craft. And a life lived with happiness, passion, hope, and love is the best one could ever have. So, not having talent is no excuse.

We might not be talented in breathing, but we still do. For Life.

Friday, March 15, 2024

To be Lost

To be lost?

Possibly the ultimate freedom there is.

For you can choose

any path

without a moment's thought

of being lost..

without a fragment of worry

of not measuring the steps right

For you already are lost.

There would not be any apprehensions.

And no obligations either.

There need not be any thoughts

Or a designated path to follow

A path that once promised

to be the only goal...

The goal to be found.

But found by whom?

Why be found

when you can experience the luxury

of being lost.

Be lost.

That's when can you truly explore

without the condition of being found

Or of finding something or someone.

That's when

You can be You.

Wednesday, February 7, 2024

Arp 273

Across the expanses

In the vast fields of cosmos

A thousand flowers bloom

Twinkling and bright

Like woven in a starry loom

Like any other but unlike none

Stars in the fairy dust

Awaited there

For an epoch of dawn

And in a moment

That no one knows when

A marvel dove deep

In that sea of stars

In a dreamy leap

In sprinkles of blue

The vibrance of scarlet perfumed

In a connection moored by destiny

A cosmic rose bloomed

Friday, February 2, 2024

9 Words

In a heartbeat...

In a single fluid moment...

Unintended...

II.

Deep breaths after laughter

And momentary tears of happiness

III.

That miraculous sense

Of being

Absolute... in relative world

IV.

Charm by sunlight

Sparkle in moonlight

Mystical divine Dreams

What has been

and not been is but

Time.

VI.

Eternally cherished

but unfurls unexpectedly...

Destiny, we termed it.

VII.

They express

They hide too

Enigmatic things Words do.

=============================================

A little something:

This series of #9words started from January 27, 2024 till February 02, 2024, for 7 days.

It is based on 7 abstracts: Love, Happiness, Life, Dreams, Time, Destiny, Words.

=============================================

Thursday, January 25, 2024

The Cave

Meeting You

Was discovering

An unexplored cave in the wild.

Unintended. Unexpected.

(To say the least.)

It was so unfamiliar

Even though the cave fit

Almost perfectly

With the place where it was.

I was supposed to steer clear

Of the unknown

I was supposed to not dwell

In the woods either

I was supposed to avoid a venture.

Any venture.

Not anymore.

Not once more.

Yet I found myself marvelling

At the intricacies...

The light and the dark.

I walked in the paths

Laced with the fragrances

Of the flowers I revered

Of the sunlight I held dear

And of a mystical camphor-like breeze

That seemed to sooth my soul.

I knew I was there

But just to witness

The quirks of nature.

I knew I was there

But just to admire

The painter's work

As the colors blended

To form her heart's desire.

I knew I would recede my steps.

Sooner..

And wouldn't go any further.

But quirkiness

Has always been nature's nature

And vivacity

The artist's muse.

So I journeyed on

As the unclaimed paths in the cave

Claimed me as their own

I have gone

On and on

Discovering new flowers

And butterflies previously unknown

It still is a cave

With untraversed paths

And yet newer turns

Now I don't see a path

That returns

Is it because there isn't one

Or is it because

It's not what I seek anymore?

So, I keep going..

Exploring

The never ending abode

Of the cave

Because

Meeting You

Was discovering

An unexplored cave in the wild.

Unintended. Unexpected.

(To say the least)

But

Knowing You

Is the journey I take

To explore the cave in the light.

Desired. Wished.

(To say the least)

Tuesday, January 2, 2024

Perceptions and Journeys

The paths were like no other

That one would see

Or feel

Around this time of the year

There were monotones of white

And grey

That reflected the golden hues

Of the chiming sunrays

There were also

The marvels of green and blue

From the trees of hope

And the brighter skies too

And tinges of that charming purple

And orange

When the sun peeked across

From the horizon

The beautiful orange spelled

Mystical hymn of things

both spoken

And hidden

For it is all about

The way we perceive

The way our eyes see

And then there is the journey

That our senses take

As we weave

These perceptions in the basket

Of our thoughts

And that is not a journey

That everyone takes equally

There is a journey for you

And another for me

And the paths

Have never been like any other.

---------------------------------------------

A little back story:

In an event, 3 prompts were given to write a poem within a stipulated time. The prompts were:

1. Any book that you like

2. Any sense (sight, smell, and so on)

3. An occasion (Christmas or New Year's).

I wrote the piece in about 10 minutes. To preserve the essence and spirit of the event, I didn't revise or review the writing. In no way. Not a single word.

So, it is as it was... raw and unfiltered.

My choices:

1. Around the world in 80 days (the journey and the perception of time zones)

Jagyanseni (A well known saga narrated from another perception/ through the journey of that person)

2. Sense: Sight, sense of feeling

3. Both occasions.