Chasing Sunshine

My home is filled
With spaces and nooks,
And sometimes
Entire rooms,
Which I spent time
In setting up,
In trying to choose,
The exact hue
Of green, grey and blue,
That would bring
The right ambience,
Or perhaps the zing,
And fill my heart
With songs to sing –

Alas, my home is filled
With these spaces,
Nooks,
And a room or two,
That I have yet to
Sit down in,
And feel at peace,
To feel the essence
Or the zen,
I hoped to feel.

I have been
So very busy
Getting to places,
Travelling from,
One station
To the next,
That I fail,
To sit and wait,
On that cosy armchair,
Surrounded by the green
Of house plants
That I carefully nurture,
While life whizzes by.

And I regret
To admit,
That I quite forget,
The last time
That I sat in that nook
By the window,
Which overlooks
The quiet street –
A slow tale,
Unfolding in the pages,
Of the book
I hold in my hand,
As I sit back,
And savour
These random moments,
Of mundane days,
When the sun rays,
Shine in through
Every room,
Lighting them up
With a brilliance,
That dispels darkness,
And every inch of gloom.

Where children played
In lush green fields,
And after which
They took a dip,
At the foot
Of gushing falls;
Where the mist
Of the early morning,
Hung low among
The verdant hills
Where it seemed
Worth living in,
The bounteous midst
Of nature’s gifts,
There she struck
Like ne’er before,
A mighty blow
At the very core,
Of what was once,
Seemingly so,
One of her own
Favourites.

She poured her fury
Down in torrents,
She ripped the land,
Sending rocks, mud and sand,
In humungous swathes,
Down the slopes
Once kissed so gently
By the morning mist,
Now transformed.

And hapless folks,
Who’d slept in their homes,
Peacefully, not long ago,
Were swept away,
Or swamped beneath
The filth flowing
Down the hill,
Not living to see,
Another day
Dawn on the ravage,
That the benevolent mother
Turned savage,
Has left behind
In her wake.

All we can do now,
Is to watch in horror,
As she seeks to plunder
Everything she bestowed,
Out of her bounty,
Once, long ago,
And wonder
“Where did we go wrong?”

#waynandlandslide

Image Credit: Photo by Nguyen Nguyen on StockSnap

In the darkest moments
Of the loneliest nights,
When my little boat
Was seemingly lost,
The stars in the sky
Gave me company,
As they shone
Endlessly,
And so too,
The crescent
Of the nascent moon.

On the dreariest
Of days,
When I wilted under,
The scorching gaze
Born of outrage,
Wondering if I would
Be torched in the blaze,
The gentle summer breeze,
Blew in from nowhere,
To soothe,
As best as it could.

In all of life’s twists,
And many turns,
If there is one friend,
Who always persists
In showing up,
And staying through,
As no human
Ever could,
It is you –
You have been,
And always will be,
All around me,
And deep within too;
You gracefully assume,
The form and shape
That best suits,
The storm I face,
To come and stand
Beside me,
Not speaking,
And yet yes,
Through just being,
Through mere presence –
Every moment,
And always.

Image Credit: Photo by World Travel Adventures on StockSnap

I

Neither the mother bird,
Nor the father,
Would have ever,
For a second wondered,
If their baby
Would fly;
They just knew,
That their fledgling
Was born to
Fly –
That his wings,
Albeit tiny,
Would one day
Hold the strength,
To carry their baby
Far away,
And that he
Would not fall,
No matter how tall
The tree,
From which he
Took flight.

II
Every baby
Ever born,
Is but a fledgling
For its kind,
Full of good things,
Hiding within,
Waiting to be
Fully revealed,
When they take flight.
I wish every mind,
Had a light
Glowing within,
A light to guide
The sojourner,
On the path,
The exact path,
That leads
To contentment,
And a heart
Overflowing with peace.

Image Credit: Photo by Kate Remmer on StockSnap

I see you now
In a different light,
Perhaps the night
Has helped bestow
This fresh insight;
And though you exude defiance,
I see the hint
Of fear in your eyes,
And as you lower them,
I see a touch of shame,
Knowing there are others’
Focused on you,
Some malignant,
Glowering with sheer rage,
And some others
Utterly nonchalant.

I see you
In those moments,
So many of them –
All blending,
Into one and the same;
I see the tears
That finally came,
And I see the tears
That you swallowed then;
I see you,
From where I am stood,
And I wonder if you knew
How much it would hurt,
Even beyond the blue
Of the mighty ocean.

Image Credit: Photo by Matt Bango on StockSnap

This box
That you find yourself in,
Is much like a pool –
It gives you a sense
Of what might be,
The possibilities –
But it is confined,
It is not open;
Just like a pool
Is not the ocean.

You stand at the edge,
Held back by your fears,
You fear that you’ll drown
In your own tears,
Before the currents get you,
It is better to be hedged
By these walls of fear,
That you almost hold dear.

So you tell yourself,
That you are just fine
Staying in your box,
Swimming in your pool,
Not for you the open,
Not for you the ocean.

Your deep sighs
Are but signs
Of your turmoil,
Your blanket’s a heap
On the unswept floor,
Every morning;
You have tossed and turned,
On more nights
Than you can count,
Your heart beats wild,
As if to chide
Your reluctance,
To take the plunge,
And make friends
With your deepest fears,
To swim out into the expanse
Of the welcoming ocean,
To step out of the box
Into the open.

Image Credit: Photo by JJ Skys the Limit on StockSnap

The black cat
Slinks down into the sewer,
Eager to escape
The tense curiosity,
Of the little onlooker,
Who has been warned
By every well wisher,
To avoid every cat,
But particularly any that’s black –
And to stay clear of every path,
That a black cat
Sets foot on.

The little girl,
With wonder in her eyes
And in her tiny heart,
Goes on,
Looking back
Every now and then,
To see if the cat
Pops out of the hole,
Which seemingly stole
Its very being,
As it went in.

What is so bad
About any cat?
And specifically,
About a cat
That is black?
She wonders,
Why is it bad?
And if it is,
Was it born so?
Why would anyone choose,
To stand to lose,
The abundance
That life has to offer,
By being born
As a bad,
Black cat?

Would it not,
If it had any say,
Choose any day,
To be born
White, orange or grey?
Any shade,
But the deepest black,
To keep at bay
The hurtful stares,
Sticks, stones,
And much more
From angry humans,
Trying to go about their day,
With as little
Of bad luck
As they possibly may?

But whose fault is it
That some cats
Are just born black?

Image Credit: Photo by Skitter Photo on StockSnap

The sparkle in your eyes,
Lit by the power,
Of the fire
In your belly –
Your purpose,
And your dreams,
Blinds the onlookers;
They use their hands
As weak shields,
While they flee from the lands
That have embraced your footprints,
But even in their retreat,
They fail not
To fling the rot,
As best as they can,
On you.

For all they want,
All they ever did –
Was to rule.

An inglorious reign,
That you ruined,
With your mere presence,
That brought with it,
A wave of truth –
Of seeking answers,
And of finding the essence,
Of being human.

Image Credit: Photo by Bango Renders on StockSnap

You start with flour –
Two cups of it
Heaped in a mound,
With a well in the middle,
To which you add
A cup of water,
A spoon of yeast,
And a pinch of salt;
And then you commence
The mundane task,
Of bringing it all
Together.

Thereafter,
You proceed
To knead
And prepare
The dough,
Which you will later,
With a rolling pin,
Roll.

What started off
As two cups of flour,
Ends up on your plate
As dinner rolls,
And as you dig in,
Savouring the taste,
Of this freshly baked
Magic borne of flour and yeast,
Drenched in delectable gravy,
You forget,
For the briefest moment,
The torment –
The torment that had assailed you,
The minute you entered
Your kitchen,
And contemplated –
Whether to eat
To your heart’s desire,
Or to resist
The urge to feed the fire
In your belly,
The one that seeks to live
In order to thrive,
Beyond merely exist.

Image Credit: Photo by Matt Bango on StockSnap

How does one become bad?
Whether a man
Beaver, badger, dog or cat?
Sure, they can all do things
That could be
Abominable, reprehensible, bad-
But they are not a batch
Of boiled potatoes
That you mashed,
And left outside,
On the counter overnight,
In the throes
Of a dreary summer,
That they would go
Completely bad.

The world’s view
Of good and bad,
May not make sense
To you;
Each step you take,
Would not make
Any difference,
To their perception;
For you would
Have strayed,
Farther from
The threshold
Of being good.

And so it happens,
More than often
That people go bad;
Progressing from,
The one breach
Of the goodness threshold,
To many ones –
So what once,
Might have been pardoned,
Can no longer be condoned;
And you go from being
Not quite right,
To being downright
Bad!

Image Credit: Photo by Vidsplay on StockSnap