Waking in the arms of your creator,
and breathing free air all the way;
lost in the nothingness of the bluish, infinite sky,
wondering at countless stars on a lonely night;
gazing at the moon to spot an alien ship someday,
trying random spells, hoping to work magic with them one day —
these are memoirs for forever;
and nothing else ever gives such satisfaction.
Wherever this night may take me tonight,
I will throw my arms open, alive;
wherever I may roam in search of love,
I will learn my way back to hope, every time.
As she walks to this side,
trembling my heart with the feel of her deep, sea-like eyes,
I wonder what I am leading toward next —
but I just know: my mind will not leave you now.
Like a monsoon in July’s summer,
I am drenched, feeling it all over me;
like a moonlit night at the end of a beautiful day,
I watch it come, and go back to the lost forever.
But like the short-yet-forever memory of a butterfly,
I am keeping her safe, here in my heart…
Thou — the rise meant for the fall,
I feel the horizon beneath all that passes by;
darkness in the shallows of shine,
yet I wonder, holding an answer of time.
With the shadow of light,
and the darkness disappearing into the light of belief;
in the shadow of the new, old memories take their places —
and in the memory of a gloomy loss, aren’t we losing the world of today?
I do believe in coincidences. I do believe in love at first sight. I do believe in destiny — though belief tends to step aside the moment it becomes reality.
Lost in a crowd of strangers, I was struggling through my daily commute — Noida Sector 64, from AIIMS. Most days were just travel and crowd, like any other. But one day, something happened that I could never have imagined: I looked at her, and I couldn’t stop looking, again and again. The day ended at my stop, and I bade her a silent farewell — certain I would never see her again.
Today is the 17th of March. I boarded my bus at the usual time, and somewhere after South Ex and before Andrews Ganj, she stepped into the same bus. Her eyes met mine, and I went a little mad. That one hour felt like a moment of ultimate solace — I kept shifting, leaning, half-hiding, just to watch her, and often to catch her watching me too.
Like the rain of a July summer, I was drenched all over in her presence.
Like the cold of December, I was held by the charm of her endless depth.
Like a fleeting, buttery life, she comes into mine, and goes — but always with a little hope.
I hope I’ll see her again.
Thee — the endless times,
and the weave of beads through time;
scarlet in the virgin sky,
and the stars shooting high above —
though it is the breeding trap.
Like a ray in the mangrove fields,
departing from one to another;
there is a time that lives between two memories —
a chase toward the one, and a chase away from the other.
The dream sleeps with the dawn,
and when nostalgia grips the soul at the day’s end,
when the world rejoices in the pain of being someone in disguise,
I find myself in the past of time.
When, at the shelter of love, they grow hate —
mania and garishness are their intake;
though surrendering to the darkness all around,
all alone, I ship my way.
People come, and go away,
just like another season of a year;
with the change, they drift away,
but I look on, silently, at everything, like every day.
When they shout at the fool of a day,
I wonder who is the better one of the day;
the same interests, so many others —
but all of it, when I come, only to go away…