Music...

music fills my heart with love,
     as i hear my favourite song
the words take me to a different world,
     to a place where i belong

one moment i am flying high,
     like a bird, i soar the sky
next moment i just drift along,
     afloat the ocean's rythmic stride

the gentle wind brushes my cheek,
     a drop of tear then fills my eye
i watch the world through the hazy mist,
     hum to the tune of a melodious bliss

with gentle swaying steps so light,
     i tread the path in solitude
my soul now drenched with peace and calm,
     is brimming full of gratitude

the closing words, the parting tune,
     bring me back from my reverie
my heart profuse with melody,
     sings the words then back to me !

Twilight

The fading day embraces the oncoming night with a subdued eagerness. The sun has begun its gradual descent across the horizon. The faint sunlight struggles to seep in through the engulfing darkness. Once in a while, a gentle breeze breaks the monotony of the otherwise creeping silence. The trees cast their dark shadows on the tranquil waters. The occasional whiff of breeze causes the leaves to flutter and stirs the still waters creating ripples which take a new form before they merge with the stillness once again. The dim light from the street lights seem to brighten up the waters with their reflection.

She sits at the bank soaking in the solitude, hoping to drown the clammer of thoughts in her head with the surrounding silence. At a distance, she spots an elderly couple engrossed in deep conversation. The sound of an occasional soft laughter coming from their direction fills the air. Her fingers aridly trace a pattern on the sand. She is completely unaware of the depiction that is forming. She stares disconnectedly at it, as if the fingers creating them were not her own. A shrill calling of a bird awakens her from her dreariness and she struggles to comprehend the outline on the sand. Unable to fathom her own thoughts, she erases the pattern with a quick effort. All that is visible across the horizon now, is a crimson hue of the faded day. There are not many people on the bank. The elderly couple has left. Caught between conflicting possibilities of staying a little longer and a quick retreat home, she wonders what she ought to do. There is not much to do at home. To linger a few moments more would not do much harm. Having quietened her inner conflict momentarily, she decides to take a walk across the bank to soar her dampened spirits. Her agile steps which sink into the sand displacing it, the feel of the coarse sand against her soft feet, seem to dissolve her agonies with every step. She can feel a lightness filling her heart. Her footprints on sand now weigh with the heaviness once borne by her heart. These too will fade away soon. Just like her dispensed gloom, the footprints will be washed away in time. Tomorrow's twilight will probably have a different tale, a different pattern and new footprints...

If.....

what is it that makes me laugh,
     what is it that makes me cry
what is it that makes me live,
     through the days and nights alike?

if today was my only day,
     what would i really care to do?
go on living as yesterday or
     would i squander it all on you?

would i stop to smell the flowers,
     would i stop to feel the rain?
or would i dread the time thats passing
     and fear this will be never again?

if i were to speak my mind,
     what is it that i would say?
would i speak of this and that,
     or would i pour my heart away?

if i knew what makes me happy,
     fills my heart with laughter and play,
would i care to sing and frolic,
     and do just as my heart would say?

if i knew there was an angel,
     watching over me all the way,
would i care to share my fears,
     the ones that bring me down to tears?

if there really were no such questions,
     how different would my life be then?
if i really knew the answers,
     would i live differently then?

this again is just a question,
     that flutters through my wandrous mind,
never mind the questions or the answers,
     could i just start afresh again?

A White Rose

by: John Boyle O'Reilly (1844-1890)

The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
Oh, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rose bud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

Little treats...

a drop of water stirs the pond,
as a thought would stir the mind

a ray of sunlight dispels gloom,
as hope in a weary heart should bloom

a drop of dew glitters in light,
as a diamond sparkling bright

a whiff of fragrance lifts the soul,
as a joyous moment in life should unfold

a drop of oil kindles the flame,
as a faded memory brings back a name

a careless whisper lightens the air,
as a drift of sea breeze through one's hair

a drop of tear fills the eye,
as the moon and stars fill up the sky

little meanings in all these deeds,
for us to savour life's little treats!

Footprints on sand....

Probably its time to let the footprints on the sand to be washed away by the tide...She has held it from being swept away for too long. Now even the shore seems to be complaining. And morover inspite of her efforts, the footprints have started fading away. They are no longer the familiar ones which she seemed to know some time ago. With time, they have changed too. And changed to an extent where she can hardly see any signs of having known them or being related to them in any way. She had believed all along that these would never change. For her, these footprints were the very roots to the existence of the many cherishable moments and companionships that came her way. But alas! They no longer seem to be the ones. How alienated they have become. How strange they make her feel...

Frozen

You only see what your eyes want to see,
How can life be what you want it to be?

I love this song by Madonna. I could never quite figure out, what exactly i like about this song. But somehow, it appeals to me. I like it all the more, everytime i hear it. These two verses of the song tell a true tale. We as humans, in reality, tend to see only the picture we wish to, what we choose to. The rest, we conveniently try to overlook, almost. Most of the times, even the opinions we form of individuals or the feelings we have towards them, is nothing more than the mere reflection of what is conspiring in our minds about them. We try to overlap the image we have conjured over the existing reality. But in doing so, we drift away from the fact that we are actually forcing ourselves away from the true picture and what appears before us, is just a mirage!

इक चेहरा

तमन्नाओं कि इक गली है,
ख्वाहिशों का इक आशियाना है,
सपनों की इस दुनिया में,
मेरा अक्सर आना जाना है

सितारों कि झिलमिलाहट है,
हवाओं का गुदगुदाना है,
खुशबुओं में लिपटी हुई,
वादियों का एक घराना है

दूर कहीँ इक झरने पर,
बहते पानी कि सरगम है,
पत्ते पत्ते डाली डाली,
महक रहा गुल गुलशन है

इस मन बहलाती वादी में,
छोटा सा एक घरौंदा है,
सूरज किरणों से सजा हुआ,
इस घर का हर दामन है

वोह एक इशारा सच्चा सा,
एक चेहरा कच्चा पक्का सा,
पास आते ही आंखों से ओझल,
वोह खेले आंख मिचोली है

ना जाने कब गुम हो जाये वोह,
यह सोचके दिल घबराता है,
उससे मिलने कि चाहत में,
रोज़ यहीं ले आता है

इक रोज़ नज़र आयेगा वोह,
यही सोचके अब तो दिल मेरा,
सपनों की इस नगरी में,
अक्सर आता जाता है.........

Just another day

Its just another day for him. He hasnt planned anything specific for the day. But he is sure that it is going to be as good as yesterday, maybe even better. Now that he is on his break, all he wishes to do is enjoy the days free from the monotony of his daily routine. A routine which has a fixed pattern, from which he hardly deviates. This is going to be different, he promises himself. With this thought he feels a sudden adrenaline rush of excitement. With an unknown vigour, he slips out of his bed and heads for a bath. Suddenly this seems to be the brightest day filled with a lot of promises. He makes a mental note to make the most of this day.

His first halt will be to the coffee shop to pick up his favourite Latte and some cookies, he decides. The thought of cookies, suddenly makes him hungry. He dresses up hastily and glances at his reflection in the mirror. Not bad for the day, he mumbles to himself and picking up his sun glasses and bike keys, he is about to rush out of the house, when a few envelopes on the mirror stand catch his eye. He is suddenly reminded of the pending tasks from the previous day (in fact previous days). He needs to write back to his parents. He hasnt done that in so many days. His mother, tired of waiting for his letters, which had become infrequent with the passing time, had begged him to write back. The tone of the letter, brings a little melancholy to his otherwise cheerful frame of mind. The other envelope is a card from his friend. She has written to tell him that she would be in the city for a few days. She wants to know if he can spare some time to get together. After he shifted to a new city, with time, they seemed to have drifted apart, inspite of her many efforts to bridge the distance. He is aware of the rigid conversations he has had with her over the past few months and his heart is filled with guilt. But now is not the time, he tells himself and walks out of the house with harried steps.

He glances at his watch and realizes that he has been sitting at the coffee shop for over an hour. He traces a pattern with his finger over the crumbs of cookies on the table and lets his eyes wander aimlessly. With nothing to rest his mind on for more than a moment, he heads for the counter, pays the bill and leaves. The sun is blazing hot and the signal is still red. He can feel the sweat dripping off his back. His shirt is literally soaked. The occassional whisper of the breeze brings a momentary relief, but that too doesnt last. He is unaware of his next plan for the day. Should he take a right and stopover at the library to pick up some movies or should he go straight to his usual hangout where he knows his gang would already be there. In this moment of confusion as the signal light changes, he fumbles, takes a wrong turn and collides into an oncoming truck. He can feel himself being thrown over a couple of metres. For a fleeting moment, he can feel himself floating in the air and then the thud with which he has landed on the side of the pavement. As he lies in the pool of his own blood, he can still smell his sweat now mixed with blood. Every passing moment now feels like an eternity and he is aware of the tiniest of signals his body seems to be sending. He knows what he wants to write in the letter to his mom. He knows what he needs to say to his friend. Nothing has been more clear to him ever in his life as this moment. He knows exactly what he needs to do next. Its not like his unplanned days anymore. But this moment of clarity is then blurred with the possibility of the oncoming death which he smells at the distance. He can already picture his mother over his corpse weeping hysterically. He wants to hold out his hand, to console her. He can see all his friends gathered around with solemn faces. But his eyes search for her. Why is she not here? Does she not know of my death? And then he sees her, hiding her face in her palms, crying her heart out. He wants to reach out to her, to hold her close. But the moment is gone. The times when he could do all this has passed. Now what awaits his fate is the door that will culminate his journey and take him to a different world. He wants to hold on a little longer. He wants to make amends. He wants another chance. He can feel the piercing pain in his heart, caused not by the wounds but by his reckelessness which took things for granted. A sudden shrill sound pierces the air and he is sure that this is it. The end has come. With a heavy heart, he prepares to resign himself to his fate when his phone rings and the shrill sound repeats itself to say "It is 6:15 in the morning. Time to wake up".

"I got a second chance", with this realisation, he fumbles for his phone, puts the alarm on snooze , shifts over to the other side and drifts back to sleep with a cheerful smile.....