It’s OK

to linger on the edge,

to nurture the mess,

to marry the chaos,

to not hide the morose,

to carry the scars without tattooing them with quotes,

to spit out the opinions forced down the throat,

to own a flawed original,

to feel blissed out with minimal ,

to hold onto the slipping sand for one more second,

to step back on being beckoned,

to crack and scatter,

to shun, even if it matters,

to let the bridges burn,

to be a bit more human…

Paper Boat

Me and the paperboat,

like one of the many letters i wrote,

every season,

to the clouds.

As rain would come finding my whereabouts

it would be welcomed with folded paper,

perfected angles and pulled up sides,
shaping it for a long ride,

along the roadside streams,

after all showers had came selling dreams.

As the hands would release the boat,

emotions would swing amid,

pendulum of confidence that it would sail smooth,

and hope that it would remain afloat.

Happiness was if it sailed till my eyes could see,

me and the paperboat made so many memories

A desk with a view

Sun came up and dived,
Day was over and moon arrived,
But…
He was still stuck with the laptop,
Career swinging amid insecurity and hope,

He was still bugged by the pending tasks,
Dealing with demanding asks,
Mails were screaming for reply,
A corporate gazalle was still holding onto a convenient lie,

On this side of the window….
Bitting nails, fiddling the pens
Consumed by the screens, he was tolling the lens, Desperate to prove his pedigree,
While on the other side, world was breathing free,

Never thought , he had to pay such a steep price, To reach a seat confronting the ocean waves and sun rise,
Leaning on desk with a view,
He would end everyday at midnight,
Thinking if life could offer something new…

Filtered

Thoughts flooded the mind,
Rage blooded the eyes,
Tongue refused to be kind,
But all the chaos was mellowed,
The outburst was swallowed,
Sentences were decorated,
Conversation was built up,
To suit the ears of listener,
Each word was filtered….

Images wanted to come out candid,
But search was for a perfectly compatible shot,
Expressions had to cover the distance that changed times had brought,
So colors were popped up, contrast was reduced,
Sharpness was increased, faces were lifted,
Wish people in the pic could smile more honestly instead,
Visual was sugarcoated to cover everything bittered,
Each expression was filtered…

Numbers

from salary to score,

even if it’s too much, you want a bit more

from leftover to gone by,

you are left trying to relive and plan wise,

from owning to oweing,

they are a seesaw, falling and growing,

from zero to infinity

being on the wrong end of the list can challenge your vanity,

from lucky to manipulated

the bubble can elate you or make you feel cheated

you can never mount the present

if you don’t learn to forget the count sometimes and resent…

the habit to calculate

for someday, numbers will stayput and calculations will fail

accurately measured tides will outperform the sail,

your ship of dream will drown,

but you will have stay calm,

and remember …

Life is beyond numbers….

Her first rains ..

Her feet were tapping the steps like paino keys,
Unaware that she was raising the rhythm of few heartbeats
She climbed the stairs to reach the deck,
Looked at the sky and sent a peck,
Her sensuality slowly flowered,
From the draped cotton that held gently onto her tight curves,
Her long deep breaths were getting to the afternoon’s nerves,
All the senses were overwhelmed,
And morality was momentarily tamed,
She took off her dupatta and threw it away,
As if telling the world, am proud of my hormonal play,
Then came the rains..
She drenched , she danced,
Never thought beauty and grace could be so nunanced,
As raindrops trickled down her neck,
It felt as if clouds were returning the peck

Empty Frame

An empty frame stood on the table,
Many images in the cupboard would come to mind and babble,
It was to show our happy times,
A glance at it, was to make memories mime,
But none could fit now, for the emotions it housed
Once a gift , it was now a long held grouse,
But hands still can’t manage to hide it or push it aside,
It was once my truth, though drifted away leaving my side,
Pen and erasor were also on the table,
But
i could’t erase and rewrite those pages,
I could neither tear those images nor lend them the frame,
The empty frame still stands , as some emotions can never be tamed