Me

I hear million voices inside me, making me directionless, keeping me vision less, and choking me breathless. Confused, unsure and blindfolded- I am running towards a hole, a deep dark pit. I run as fast as I can, trying not to listen to any of these voices, but they still dictate my will. These voices become louder and more convincing as I go further. Tired, scared and bewildered I wish I could stop. I wish could take one breath of solace. I wish I could get out of this dark hole.

I wonder if there is a place away from this darkness, and far away from these voices. A place where there would be light, a place where there would be silence and calmness in air. I can picture that tranquility, that serenity, as I have been there. I have lived that life, and I have loved it. I chose what I am now, I decided this route; it is me. I planned this all along, I wished for this life; it was me. I blind folded myself and ran directionless, and called it dark, it was me.

I wish I was deaf to all these voices. I wonder why they were so convincing, and why they sound so familiar. Now I know, as they are all mine, millions of them stemming from the million of thoughts of an undecided mind. I blamed others but it was me. Me all this time-just me.

In Search of Ambiguity

Let ambiguity come in search for us this time.

Its survival depends upon our confusion,

And its fate lies in its solution.

Why do we run behind it, if the destiny is to find it after all?

This time around, we decide the route,

All these shots this time- we call.

We would not let it fool us this time,

We would not run behind it like it has done a crime.

Rather, we would sit, relax and let it be.

How hard would it try to find us? We will see.

Let, the whole world know that we throw our weapons today.

Beating us in this game is not its forte.

We are in this not to lose or to win,

First, it laughed now we have a grin.

We don’t understand it, that we show.

But does it understand us! - We will know.

 

PS-I LOVE MYSELF

PS- I LOVE MYSELF

 

I wished I loved less of me, I wished I dint crave for me that much.

I passed, I failed, I often swayed, I dint do much to be proud of.

I hid I ran, I ducked like a swan, as troubles practically became my prop.

I prayed as I lay beneath high- waters, hoped for peace amidst man slaughters.

 When all was vague, all was scattered, then nothing else except me mattered.

Rogue, brat, and rebel you might call, I love myself even when I fall

Never helpless, but I am shameless and penniless at time, and I seldom care to sublime.

I have become what I am with neither courage nor candor,

As I have reached here with utmost surrender.

Surrender, to my will and only mine and I think I have been just fine.

I could have seen finer things; if I could have just let it be,

I fought hard, I really tried, but could not love less of me.

 

Words

Words

 

Every time I tear a page from a notebook, and as I squeeze the life out of that page, I leave it crumbled, lifeless and wriggled, and then- I burn it.

I perform the last traditional ceremony as if it’s important for the sanity of its soul,

I make sure that nothing remains of that page, so it can calmly make its journey towards the unknown.

But, it comes back; it does not haunt me and does not even try to be a part of my notebook. It sits there right in front of me, like it wants to say something but has lost its rights.

It reads what I had once written on it, reads it aloud so that I can listen, and feel nostalgic.

I think about every word I once wrote on it, everything which made that page mine and then I shrug as I don’t write that anymore.

I changed, so did my words and their pages. My words are free; they freely assemble on a plain page with no lines and boundaries. They create there own epiphany and in the due course make perfect sense.

These words, unlike the ones written before do not work under page defined rules; they are not all nice and courteous, they are not all of the same size and proper. Now, they are misaligned, vague, mean and vulgar, but true. They don’t stand in line and march up and down as before, as if their life depended upon impressing the page. The words now know they are independent, free to make sense and sometimes no sense. 

Versus time

The road to unlimited greed, veiled by what they say- infinite desire, cropped to window size- life, not a an easy task fellow earthlings
Too much to do, too little a time, too fast- this world,
No wonder it’s fast, as its young and in its prime,
I wonder if it stopped, took a time out, got down from its steel horse.
If I could ask it to bench the haste and anxiety- would it choke and die?
Would it cry out for help, would it curse, moan and ultimately stop moving at all!
I wonder what it would do! But something tells me it will be alarmed, appalled at the sight it never stopped to see, at the sunset it never bothered to praise, at the flower it never saw growing.
This puddle of water, within a crowded city, calm and tranquil, thousands of cars and trucks going through it making it smaller, and vanquishing it before it could die, it would be surprised to see its glimpse in this puddle of water. I think it would be surprised by the serenity displayed in this utter chaos.
I wish I was a slow moving car in a HOV lane, a little boy looking at the world from his window, looking at the slaves of time. I wait for a day when the roads sign would say “what’s the rush”.
When people carry empty briefcases to work and students carry empty bags to school. When they don’t know what they want to do every next second of their day.
I wait for that day when clock steps down and the humans reign supreme.
When we all halt at a pit-stop, and look back but don’t think, when we think ahead but don’t picture it. I wait for that day when we live in present, and wait for more presents to come.