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love, laughter, pain, joy, life and its lessons, one word at a time

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My toes peep out from under their comforting blanket of sand.

Weary but happy that they have been bold and adventurous.

Every little blister stings and sings of that new nook, that new borough they found by chance.

A crab wriggles over my toe, not entirely happy that my clumsy feet are sitting atop his humble abode.

I coax this industrious little lifeform to sit by me and tell me tales of the many beaches his claws have sculpted.

The friendships, the battles, the joys and the sorrows,collected like little pebbles along the way.He relents and then we watch the sky in companionable silence.

A little sparrow now finds its way to the crumbs of the biscuit laying next to my hand.

A crumb for the many clouds it has circled.

Another for the many wonderous skies it has painted with its wings.

The last one as fuel for the new journey that this humble seeker will embark on in a few moments.

Each one of us is a traveller.

Some walk through the rigours of each day, content that they have found the same version of themselves in bed at the end of it.

Some will forever wander, looking for new meaning. In every new city, on every beach, under each pebble and grain of sand, ahead on each road, in what they see in the mirror each morning.

To those restless souls, those wandering toes and those keen eyes, may you forever roam.

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Passage

They are restless, simmering, bubbling, they will come

They are forgotten, buried, snowed under, they will breach the surface , they will come

They are prisoners of time, daily rigours and chores, but they will come

They are burdened with doubt and fear and restraint, the shackles will fall, they will come

Amidst the noise, the chaos, the walls closing in, a tiny clear voice will emerge, they will come

Like the torrential rain, like a searing unstoppable pain

Like a dead even bloody bout where there’s no loss or gain

In an impenetrable wordless darkness where not one shard of light can prick through

My resilient nameless army of words will march, they will come.

A perfect Sunday 


A lanquid yawn escaping a shapeless mouth.

A stretch so sweet, promising to linger, you just know you’ll never be up and about.

Some giggles, some thuds, some pitter pattering feet.

The pressure cooker hissing away, promising a king’s feast.

The droning din from the television no one’s watching.

The window sill battle of the pigeon and crow, who’s winning, who’s lagging.

The washing machine is steady but shaking with passion.

The fruit vendor wafts by the window, shouting his prices in a sing song fashion

Feet are stacked on some more feet.

Hearts and tummies are full, it’s time for some more of that sleep so sweet.

Who would have thought the lazy, the familiar, and the mundane,

Could bring such peace and comfort, time and time again!

Not from the muscle, but the heart


Strength is not about a display of sinew and bulk.

It is born in a very quiet place.

Sometimes it just gathers on you , resting on you, like dust,

Till one fine day you decide to stir that dust, fuelling it, till it becomes a storm and is unleashed.

Strength doesn’t live amidst bruises, broken bones and purple abrasions.

It lives in eyes that have seen the worst but are still willing to see the best in everyone.

It lives in feet that have lost their way so often, but are now guiding others to their salvation.

It lives in empty hands that hold on to others, with courage , grit and determination.

It lives in a back that is bent with age but that has the tenacity and resilience to carry the weight of an entire family.

It lives in a bleeding heart that’s holding on to a tear soaked faded red shirt every night, but can meet every sunrise with a smile.

A life cycle of words


Born with a meaning and sometimes for no reason at all, words remind me of a journey much like ours.Like a little infant, mewling in it’s mother’s arms, they are born.

With the power to make us chuckle or despair with their foolish callousness.

Carefully crafted and nurtured by many, they stumble, they fall, but start becoming whole, day by day.

Sometimes brilliant, sometimes unsure, but steadily becoming a reflection of a growing mind.

At times they simmer, deep inside, without being delivered, pouring out wordlessly through a tormented teenager’s eyes.

Suddenly they are all grown up, striding confidently into the world, sharing thoughts, opinions, ideologies.

Rendered to sweet nothings whispered into a loved ones ears.

Then cooing and gurgling incoherent tales into tiny ears set outside tiny trusting brown eyes of a miniature you.

They stand by you with resolve, as your admonishments fall on reckless, irreverent, adolescent ears, trying to guide them through their young lives.

There comes a time when slowly, but surely, the words start to fade, replaced by cobwebs, replaced by a second childishness and silver streaks.

A time when you have much to say but no one to say those words to.

The words that will linger and waft through the air, like a faithful legacy, long after you’re gone.

Lights

They shimmer, they twinkle, they dance, they shine.

Riders of a dark world, to being messengers of the divine.

One little flicker can raise a lifetime of hope.

When snuffed out, you feel a paralysis of fear, like you’re hurtling helplessly down an endless slope.

Rows upon rows of illuminated bulbs can welcome a bridegroom atop his royal steed.

While under a flickering street lamp, sits a shrivelled mother telling her shrivelled son a fantastical tale from a tattered book, when that’s all that she can feed.

Many have spoken of seeing a bright speck of light at the end of a tunnel they see.

And some see these sparks even when their eyes are shut, their eyeballs darting around, trapped in a vivid dream.

The morning glint can hurt the eyes, or make them dazzle with delight.

The moonlit sky can light a melancholy in the heart, or build the runway for your imagination to fly.

You can embrace it, feel it, or then simply draw the blinds.

But a tiny tenacious ray will pierce through a crack, and fill your heart with a bright light.

Release me..


I could always tell when you were unwell, even when I was in another city.

I always knew when your heart was broken, you didn’t say much but I heard the tiny cracking sound it made.

I felt your nervousness, every time you were preparing for an exam, whether inside the classroom or outside.

Every time you stumbled, every time you picked yourself up, I danced with delight.

Will you forsake me now, only because you can’t see me?

Can you not feel my misery every time you push that plate of food away?

Don’t you feel my tears mixing with yours as you cry into the night?

Haven’t you heard my silent scream every time you say you cannot go on?

Can’t you hear me struggling to breathe when you shut the world out?

What pains me more than my empty lap is seeing you fight life everyday.

I am gone, but why do want to join me now, is there no other way?

Live my dreams, live my life, live my happiness and sorrows.

If you can’t find happiness inside, learn to steal, learn to borrow.

They say I can’t feel much but I die a thousand deaths seeing you suffer.

Release me my little one, tomorrow is a new day, and then there will be another..

A grand love


She ran to you and nuzzled her nose in between your knees, shutting the world out.

You caressed the fluffy tuft of hair on her head. She looked up and gave you that smile.

The smile that’s reserved only for you.

You smiled back and shut out the world that existed beyond the both of you.

I wanted to lock this moment in my head and throw the keys away.

So far away, into the depths of the ocean,

Where no one could touch this memory, nothing could change this moment.

Not age, not distance, not the cruel talons of time.

I’ve looked deep into those small twinkling starry eyes many times.

When they open, they search for you till they can find that old familiar figure extending an unwavering hand that is always searching for hers.

When they become heavy with sleep, they push and fight to just drink in one last smile , one last picture of you.

When they dream, it’s always a sunny day where a head full of silver and a tiny black one, Bob up and down along the beach, holding hands and exchanging fantastical tales and silly jokes with equal fervour.

The dreams have travelled a lifetime now, from my eyes to hers.

But the common and the constant is you.

I will never know your secret games, your endless conversations, your special communication even when no words are spoken.

But there is one corner of my heart which will forever be lit up with the memories that I have locked away.

Of an old man and a little girl and their little world.

Bare


What if you were asked to show your real self? Express your true feelings. Be who you really are. 
Without any masks, without any make up, without any excuses.

Isin’t it scary?

That when every layer is peeled away, like an onion, what you might be left with, could be something pungent and not pleasant.

That when the veneers are gone, you might not even recognise yourself.

They say truth is liberating.

But sometimes it shackles you to the ground. You want to hope, you want to gallop but no matter how hard you pull away, you are what you are.

What will he think? Will I be slotted a fool? Or worse, will I be ostracised?

The truth is they will never know.

Because we do a fantastic job of cloaking ourselves.

Because the world outside the cloak is unknown and too scary.

Manners, social lies, sarcasm,excuses, take a pick and call them what you may

I am certainly no one to preach , but in some eyes, I have seen the serenity of a deveined and de shelled world, that doesn’t have to keep up appearances.

Certainly looks like a peaceful, tranquil place to be.

Is there some such tranquility in store for me?

Only time will tell.

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