Wabi-Sabi

The cherub in the orb of agony, flutters the wings as it peeps in, through the window from behind the lemon tree. I am lifted up and away from the roots of my kin, as the wings of the cherub form a hot air baloon. The orb appears as a miniscule speck, from up ubove in the lustrous blue room. I gorge on the cotton candies chosen from the deck. I wake up with the lingering sweetness upon my tongue. The cherub, being a dream of childhood flies away. I lift up my eyelids as from the morning sky the sun is hung  I run, delirious, to my window on yet another day.

The vain sea casts a malevolent glance at the dainty one who walks on with a careless air, hair undone, As she flows with silent grace of a serpent, her tears engulf the horizon of her being sans a trace of repent, drawing a faint trail over her ashen face. Meanwhile burdened by the sodden heart, she slackens her pace. The dismayed sea drowns in itself before the onset of sunrise, before being immersed in the salt from her eyes. The distant shadow crawls to converge in time as the curtain of night falls.

I bend down to trace their path under the bed. I decide to crawl on my knees to search for them instead. Hidden in the corner are the hideous little brats. Torn black shoes that have been there somewhere on the racks, since I was a brat too. I have grown up with time that is true. No longer I struggle to tie my shoelaces, having greater struggles in store the world of ruthless faces. While tying the laces a tune once danced on the lips of a child, in anticipation of a sunny game of football in the wild. The tune still descends down my lips to walk with me once again, when I remember those good old sunny days in the blue days of the rain. Today with tears of nostalgia I take out the shoes from their hiding place. Once again I play with the memories of the good old days. I could run many a races in the shoes of mine but I am left behind in the bigger race. A derisive laugher escapes my throat as I fiddle with the shoelace. 

As you hold my hand, my friend, I grow wings. In the spur of a moment, I am learning to fly. I am the nightingale of the dark night, who sings, Exploring the life that lies below, from a new world of my own —  high up in the sky.

Do not sing to me the fables Do not sing to me the fables of far away lands. Do not sing to me the song of the seagull. Do not offer me the rhymes of the seashells from your hands. Or the lullabies in the arms of the sea that unfurl. The ode to the wind that plays with my hair. The recital of the sail of our boat that stands tall. The sonnets entwined with the air. The poems of those mysterious islands big and small. As we sail towards the horizon. Bathe me in your laughter as you sing me your song. Do not let me fade away with the setting sun. Help me believe that your faith is where I belong.

Saw a heart in pain, I could understand. But life is not about pain. It is all about moving on with hope hand in hand. Smile is an undying hope. So, at the shattered heart I smile. I will be smiling forever and always I hope. Smiling for others I become a smile.

Never is the fullstop on the road on which I walk. In the middle of the zebracrossing I find it as the roadblock. The voices in my head never cease to talk. They persuade me with ease to rewind the clock. I run back away from the street. Farther away from the destination I drag my feet. Back into the forlorn long winding lane. I seek shelter and yet await the rain. Never is the fullstop on the road on which I walk. In the middle of the zebracrossing I find it as the roadblock. The voices in my head never cease to talk. They persuade me with ease to rewind the clock. As the clock goes tick- tock tick-tock. My ears await the ticking of a stopwatch. So that the time of mine walks slower. Till I learn to say no to never.

I sit and construct the skyscaper of thoughts a few. I climb stair by stair with a song sung blue. With eyes closed I ascend till what seems like eternity. As I open my eyes I look down upon the world of reality. At the astonishingly small piece of wonder I reflect. As I stand up above for once on a tower of dreams erect. I look out for shooting stars in their stall, catch them clinging to the sky before they fall. As I reach out higher I stumble down from the height. Drop a few wishes into the bag of fright. As the tower above is demolished lower I fall. I no longer need to be afraid of it all. as the world below is where I belong. Once again when I am lost in the blues I will climb up with a song.

As I glance at the hues standing infront of  my closet at home. The colours stacked up which I would choose to exhibit myself. To the ones walking around clad in the colours of their own. As the green grass on the bare land of ourself. Tired of the mirror that denies the truth under the skin. The streetlights that fail to show what lies behind the countless faces that pass by. Are the inner me n the one on the outside akin. The insecurities that we wrap around on a cold day I wonder why. Through the window will someone ever look in . Beyond the walls that we have built around ourselves for ever. Will we ever have courage enough to break the walls that lie within ? Will we ever ?

Either a window or a facade is yet another face hidden in a masquerade. A curtain half drawn remains a reflection in the mirror unknown. Is the one hidden behind the sheath of cards labelled as the winner, hiding behind the triumph the world of a loner. Is the one who ceases to be a gambler in the casino of one and all the one who must await his downfall. Is the one who hands over lies to hold the hand of trust, the one who thrives in the courtroom of the just. But is the one who stands tall in the crowd of chaos, the one whose integrity we never come across. Is the one that seldom seems wrong, the one who plays all along. Is the one who is not a player but merely a spectator, the one who is discarded as a traitor. Is the king on the chessboard who looks down upon his pawn, the one who harbours the fear to be looked down upon. The humans will play and will be played with in the board game Brain will conquer the heart brawn will overpower the brain.

The memory of the smile brought a smile to my face as I sit by the window. The sunrays poured over my face rescuing me from exile. The clocked seemed to be pacing strangely slow. I escaped from the prison of monotony as I caught hold of a day of my kin from my memory lane that led me to see that I had never lost hold of the memories within. My days of the past have been held in the fist as sand where every memory still flutters as a firefly, leaving behind a light in my hand that breathe life into me before they die to be reborn once again. Maybe not on a sunny day like today but on a green day of the rain, as the raindrops tempt me to play. I still hold the hand of every person as a memory. I never lost the smiles I never lost the pain. I dance the dance of happiness as I run free on my memory lane.

When I climbed up the stairs leading to my home on a misty night did it ever cross my mind, that whatever ascends is meant to descend again. So, I who once was incomplete now descend down as a puzzle on the lane. To be blown away by the wind as everything that comes drifts away. So, here I gather my pieces on the streets where once the child within used to play. Piece by piece I create a new frame of mind. Even though I fall apart in the land of dust, I unwind. In the playground of the world I play along, with the acceptance that I can go wrong. I can cheat the world but not myself, so on the right path hardly taken I move on. I know as long as I hold on to my belief, I will remain strong. I opt for being a puzzle to be solved than a picture of beauty to be framed on the wall from dusk to dawn. Unless I had descended the stairs from my shelter I would not have learnt that the journey must go on.

Behind the fringe I flip the pages of my eyelashes. Old paint is chipped off as mascara flows across my cheek. The funeral of desires left behind ashes. And I was labelled by the crowd as a freak. The voices in my head walked away once. So, I walk in their search on the noisy shopping street. The shocking pink I wear shouts that I am not like you. With the swivel of my waist the heels hurt my feet. As I dig the nails painted black in my fist. the sight of blood makes me weak.. In the blaring noise I dance away the night. The noises of the discotheque never fall asleep. Had set out to differ but all seem the same around me. Am I everyone whom you meet ? Am I what I seem Am I a mask that even you hide behind ? Am I a mere commodity in the shopping street that I have put up on display ? Am I bitterchoclate or am I truly sweet ? Or am I a small wish that wants to be fulfilled no longer weep ?

I could see them falling I never bothered. Landing on the ground with a thud broken and withered. Did not extend my hand to catch hold of them midway. Too selfish to see beyond the gray areas of my day. Engrossed in finding the cobwebs in the room of my heart. Unable to realise why the shadows never depart. Failed to see that the pieces falling had been the pieces of my heart. Selfishness had blinded me right from the start. The ceiling of my room was coming down upon me. The pieces that I thought belonged to someone else were parts of me. Since then I have been sticking the pieces together of myself and others too. I know that my heart would slowly heal if I keep on pursuing what I do.

An evening walk During my evening walk as I admire the painting of the sky. I paint my own time with the palette of the nature. I feel at home once again as something catches my eye. I stare wide eyed at the beady eyed creature. Perched on the wall it stares back skeptical. I divert my eyes towards the space high up above. The vastness makes me feel once again humble, as the bird so small yet fights its way with the wind in the sky above. I look back upon the pigeon that still sits still. I gain a trace of faith from the small wonder. I wondered if I have forever been hesitant by will. I wish we could demolish the walls I wish we could surrender. I walked by the creature in silence with a smile. In a moment I perched upon the wall of trust. I need to extend the branches an extra mile. On my evening walk I find myself as I wipe away the dust.

I wish I wish life was a keyboard, with all the keys in place. I wish life was walk to remember, not merely a race. A smile that could wipe away a tear, not merely a mask over every other face. As innocent as a wish upon a shooting star. A hand held that would keep our heart in place. I wish it was a rainbow after the rain, with reasons to live in a million different ways. A promise to keep, not a word of praise. Even if the world was smaller, I wish it was a better place.

Derivations,explanations, frustrations, fright. As in the closet of my mind they quietly sit, the right side never seems to be right while the left side has nothing left in it. The closet is left with no space for long lost parts of mine. The hangers lie burdened with reasons plenty. The suffocation seeps outside, tightening its grip all around my identity. The drawers of knowledge broken, the handles of persistence rusted. The countless answers never spoken, the questions never trusted. Creep into the corners of the closet remain hidden for a while till I learn to repair my closet piece by piece taking my own sweet time. The old parts of me have left the space as stranger in me remained. The mind seems mindless as termites of doubt fail to eat away the pain. In the paint that has been chipped off, the faith needs to be regained. It has been my saviour surviving many a seasons of the rain.

Welcome to my factory of toys. I sell the tidbits to be played with. I sell to the faces in the crowd a shopping bag full of joys. The world is my playhouse I play with my wit. As I control the puppets dimwitted. I believe in my strings. I hold them captive in the prison where once I hid where they hold back to grow wings. I was also manufactured but I learnt to play. I learnt to sway the toys with the sway of my hand. I was made to be sold but I had my own way. I look down upon you in my own land. I am the evil that rests in the factory of the mind. I know the way through as I control one and all. I am the blindfold you had never been blind. May the happiness rest in peace in the graveyard of the toys big and small. Welcome to my factory of toys. I sell the tidbits to be played with. sell to the faces in the crowd a shopping bag full of joys. The world is my playhouse I play with my wit.

The kohl in the moist eyes spreads on the face. The eyes remain lowered with silent grace. Time is held behind the curtains of the eyelashes. The path of henna is traced across the lines with unknown faces. The anklets that sing a ryhme of a new song to be sung. The lingering smile on the lips in anticipation of the journey begun. The flames that cast a glow upon the face of the bride, The witness of oaths to be taken in the chasticity of the night. Chants that dance in the air that plays with her air. At the back of her mind rests a silent prayer. Restless ocean of the turbulent memoirs of yesterday, converge in the stream of the colours of today.

 As I pass by a youngster whiling away his life amidst a cloud of smoke I realize the stark reality once again from which I can run but cannot deny. As every face I come across reflects a void I am gripped by an undying fear. A fear that everyone will loose their own selves to lead a fragmented life before it would dawn upon them that they have lost the time to collect their remains. As all that will remain is ash without any ashtray to collect it unlike the ash from their cigarettes. Constantly living in a fear that we would fade away with time, we are compelled to project a veiled self in order to stand out from the rest without discovering that everyone we meet is a mirror of our own selves. Rather than exhibiting and honing our own talents rusting within us, we opt for portraying someone who is not only poles apart but an image of superficiality. Lost in the noise of the discotheques we believe that the noises in our head would go unheard. Drowning in the never ending sea of ...

I am one amongst the various homo sapiens that are on the lookout for shells of  happiness hidden amidst the sand on the seashore of life. Even though life presents us with numerous reasons to celebrate it and cherish it with every moment that passes by from infront of our eyes, without being treasured as a reason of happiness. Life is a celebration in itself that begins as soon as a newborn opens his eyes in the humungous piece of wonder that we refer to as the world. The big mass is mistaken and accused widely for being a big bad arena to step into. As the practicality of life begins to set in with age the spell of life disappears into thin air. Practicalities are not merely the realization of reality but it is the perspective of life from an adults point of view, an adult who desires more than it can be acquired and infront of whom there is an ocean of possibilities and opportunities in which the boat of life can sail ahead of the ones that have others on board. The waves canno...

Time seems to be a good teacher. Well, come to think of it, it has always been one. Ultimately, it is in our hands to acceptand grow as a student in the classroom called life. The process of learning is never ending but the initiation of the process is the most trying task. We subscribe to running over roadblocks and imposing a danger upon ourselves rather than taking a few minutes from our precious time to deal with the problem in the form of the roadblock, as a patient individual. Life is not about speed but is all about learning how to sail through the ups and downs in the vast sea of possibilities. It might be easier to resist each and every new opportunity that may seem to be an obstacle at first, in order to feel superior to the rest. Somewhere deep down all of us seek pleasure in projecting ourselves as victims of the circumstances so as to end up at the recieving end of the pity of the entire world around us. This saves us the effort to try our hand at learning yet another lif...

Sunlight of happiness passes over my face, taking my shape before it tiptoes its way out of the window. Lingers around the farm for a while, before it chooses to hide in the patch of earth where young lilies grow. Runs across the fields with socks pulled up to dive in a puddle as the sun draws low. At sunset my sunshine falls asleep, inviting the night out of its burrow. Mischievously lights up the matchstick to strike the matchbox of the moon with a vow, to come back again with the morning sun through my window with a warm hello.

Am I rich or am I poor ? Is it the riches that make me any more wealthier. I choose to interrogate myself. As I seldom in the earlier times, from my brain I have sought help. Being a Homosapien, superior than other species, I wonder what makes me a human. I discover my richness in the fact that neither the pocketful of pennies that buy me bread, nor the knowledge in the drawers of my head, but the wisdom to heed to my conscience make me a rich man. Not merely a human being, but humane.

Here's wishing all my dear friends a wonderful and hopeful new year I wonder if the fireflies of the flames rise up high to be hung up above in the closet of the sky, only to slide down, as the playful wind blows lower they fall as shooting stars eagerly awaited by all. Every star in sight is welcomed by a newborn wish, in anticipation of the recipe of our dream in our dish. Eventually the trail of thoughts make sure I know that with feeble wings wishes grow all around, so we need not catch a falling star. If we believe then dreams come to life where we are. So as I sit beside the bonfire on New Year's Eve, I do believe that I will dream a new dream again and smile at every falling star as I let my sunshine dissuade the rain.