Microsmos

I hear you now You at my door I hear your cries At an early four. Sweet summer child, You dare arrive After long empty nights? Knowing my pride, You dare wait To catch my sight? I could leave it ajar And welcome you in. For I know, You wouldn't go too far Before succumbing to sin. Oh thou had taught Taught thy well. With a nod and smile I'd rekindle that flame. Rekindle that warmth Against thy November night. But hey, When you jump the mile To seek my light You'd find oceans down Just to drown your flight.

As every hour and every day Keeps clickin and tickin... One more we add In blacks and whites And more than fifty shades of grey. Life's so short, As they all say. But to make it long, Why should we pay? In rolls of hearts Broken into songs, Or In quarters of minds Flayed in by thoughts? As every hour and every day Sails past far from bay... We shovel it deep An inch farther and farther And water it down As the sun goes south From the oceans of eyes To the curves of my mouth. Another one burried. Another one sowed. And out it blossoms All in red, Another brand new regret. So one more I add In this hour and in this day Coz, even if it's sour, Is life really life, Without regrets that make you pay?

In the beginning, was a girl.  And the girl was with a society. And the girl was society. Then shit happened. Sorry, life - life, happened. So you know, how you were all brought up with certain ideologies and principles - instilled in the bringing up process? So was she. She had a rule book. A solid hardbound, brown, mouldy, giving off the classic old book smell - rule book. A book that she knew where to look for, in case any dire situations arise. What situation, you may ask. Let's say, she comes across her classmate dating a guy. Her mind probes the book and finds the appropriate situation worthy reaction - Aiyooo, what a whorish behaviour. She doesn't say it but all the same, thinks it and then feels good about being the moral bitch. But then she ages. Gracefully and eh, let's put it there, quite beautifully. All the while, she reads too. From Enid Blyton and Nancy Drew, as her library grew, her rule book started to whither. Individuality. Independence. Boundaries.

We will let it hang Hang it in to the darkest doors. For light, my friend, in not my friend; It was high time that I made it foe. We will let it hang Without hasty byes to fill the space. Edging past the fears we face, Telling ourselves, 'It's just a phase'. We will let it hang Hanging by that single thread Made of all the dreams we lead Broken by the things unsaid. We will let it hang Filled empty by the words we minced. All the lost chances To atone our sins, We will let it hang In silence.

Career. To make the ends meet And To sit in the driver's seat. Should we make the daily run? Just to see the morning sun? Passion. To feel that fire At Your heart's desire. Should we, maybe, shovel it deep? And not let a drop of it to seep? Love. To just part away from logic And Be swept away by magic. Oh, could this run our lives? And not just be parting good-byes?

Abdullah and Pari. Idris and Timur. Nabi and Wahdati. Parwana and the twin sister. And I swear there's at least one more side story that I'm missing here. And The Mountains Echoed by Hosseini takes the readers back to the sunny rogue lands of Afghanistan only to tour Europe and US later. It tells us the stories of siblings and their complicated relationships, which for all the sane reasons seemed way too forced and artificially built up. Around six side stories introduces the readers to how six different pairs of people can be siblings in six different ways. Hmm, she is my friend. And we aren't related by blood, but know what, she's my sister! Well, he is technically my cousin, but he is as close as a brother to me. Fyi, I hate him though. She's my twin! He's my employer and am his driver. Uh, we could be siblings eh? One could sense the efforts that the author had taken to bring in as many ways that two ppl can be thought of as siblings as possib

Let's run away... Run away, Afar and alone To the walls of silence And forgotten stones. Let's run away... To the oceans deep Where tides are none And tears can seep. Let's run away... Into the deep dark woods Where no creatures sound With no soul around. Let's run away, friend... Into our past lands Through sands of time And our entwined hands.

We watch the waves that reach the shore Like those words that cross our lips But, what if there is something more? Like gurgling currents in the deep abyss; And wars of thoughts shattering the bliss.

Not a star. Deceivingly near to be so far Of craters filled with smoldering scars. Like a kite With string strung tight Drenching the night with soothing light. You and me Let's swim the sea Of love, passion and morning tea.

Bees we are, a little and some lot Trying to meet some of our own sort. Met a bee once, on a fine fair day "Hey, this is my name", I smile and say. Hobbies and likes and all sun and dry Convos covered with nothing left to pry. I say, "I'm not here to stay And what about you, if I may?" He goes, "But I ain't here just for a day Unlike some, I'm not here to play" With a swift left swish, he goes abuzz Leaving me with A smug grin and 'God! What a wuss'. Well, yes this was tumbling... And with it will follow the mumbling... But Even if the night comes ahead rumbling, That's what it is to be Bumbling.

Memories.  Yes, memories. Stored in a dimension unbeknownst to man - yet, wrecking havoc and joy in an otherwise colourless world. Like where are these memories even arising from? Is there a genie inside each of our brains, that gets released when the slightest sensation of a place or smell rubs some Aladdin lamp off? Is there really a Cartesian theatre in our deep abyss of mind that puts up a Broadway show every now and then to garner claps or stones, smiles or tears, depending on the script? And then, it dawned on me. How strikingly similar they were to leeches.  No, I’m not kidding. The very same - black, kind of slimy, totally ugly, but the kinda sorta useful helminth. Consciously recalled memories are like consciously placed leeches on our body. The very same ‘medical procedure’ that costs a buttload to put some worms on our skins to suck out the bad blood. Well, Taylor Swift will be interested. Anyway, these type of memories help open the curtains to let the sun ba

A prototypical young couple. Married, not for more than a year, by the looks of it. The guy, immersed in his tablet playing Candy Crush. Opposite of him, sits his wife, legs crossed, enjoying the gentle breeze by the window – stealing glances at her husband, with annoyance or love, one would never know. Could always bet on annoyance, I guess. A prototypical, unbelievably loud and large family. Two small children, heads covered ear to ear with mufflers to escape the scathing Bengaluru’s cold. Aged around five, the age when one starts the never-ending hatred of the world around, crying and sobbing to be allowed to play. Their parents, pushing two big-ass smartphones inside their tiny naïve hands, putting dexterity to use and curiosity to lose. Two burly men, with strong muscular arms, remnants of a country upbringing – the children’s uncles – having an animated conversation over a hearty dinner. The conversation, so thick and hoarse with accent, one could easily mistake it for an