March 23, 2013 § 11 Comments
If I give up, things will come right,
so they say.
If I tell you that I have given up on you.
If in response you rush joyfully into the distance.
If I turn my head to hide my tears.
If I walk away, quietly.
If I walk long enough, to a far distant place.
If it doesn’t work and I find I am truly alone.
If I relinquish my ego to the heavens
but they return it back to me.
If the heavens decide I need it in order to do my work.
If I ask ‘Where is the way?’ and look
among the houses to find a Teacher
who’d help me find Way.
If it doesn’t work and the teacher is already
gone to find his own path.
If he only left me a book and it doesn’t
contain the way to the Way.
If it turns out that this is the Way
and I am already on it.
If the Way leads me to a thousand different
houses, and each house has a piece of puzzle.
If once I find a piece, I must move to another house.
If some of the people from the houses follow me.
If I become a teacher, incomplete as I am.
If letting people call me a teacher is a shameful piece of egotism.
If I am always a student, deep down.
If only all the pieces were in one house, I could
sit and build that house
and invite everyone over.
If I built the house anyway, everyone can
bring their pieces.
If I’m not strong enough to build the house, I
can build a room of my own.
If everyone comes and adds to it,
it’d turn into a b’ful room.
If that house is like the house of Wikipedia.
If there are still pieces missing we can make them
ourselves, or just enjoy the puzzle.
If it doesn’t work and the puzzle has an enormous hole in it.
If I get scared and unsure looking at what’ve we done.
If I go back to the road and the search,
away from the people and the hole-d house.
If you would walk beside me, it might be nicer.
If you would walk beside me, each of us might be less lonely.
If you’ve got some of the puzzle pieces, even better.
If you’d give me your pieces, there might be no hole in the house.
If you are walking beside me now, but my ego is blocking my senses.
If you’re talking to me now, and I’m too deaf to hear you.
If you’re looking at me, but I am blinded.
If you’re holding out the pieces, and I don’t take them.
If you want to swap them, for something even more precious I am holding on to.
Photo credits : A Pensive Polaroid.
August 31, 2012 § 53 Comments
July 11, 2012 § 24 Comments
We throw up our beliefs
and morals into an ol’
basket somewhere in our
minds. We forget who we
are, together and apart.
The structured discipline
that bound us is fading away
with each passing day.
As the proximity grows
and we dispel each other’s
I, give you all of me.
You, guide me as i move
I, the amateur no-one.
You, the master. The Gabriel.
Alone in this silent night
where worries and doubts and
the real world are far from
where we are.
We hide our broken
faces in each other’s
And we lead us, back
July 4, 2012 § 25 Comments
When i look into your eyes
i see rainbows
and the moonlight glow
and a distant world
far, far away from here.
I could look into em and
linger for hours, staring
at the depth and the
calm ocean waves
and the casual boredom.
I could tell you more
but tonight i only
want to get lost and
June 24, 2012 § 34 Comments
The dream of completion-through-love is impossible. We are too broken
as a species to ever entirely mend through simple union. Sexual union
can make a person feel completed and sated for a while, but
eventually, one way or another, we will all be left alone with
ourselves in the end. So the loneliness continues, which causes us to
mate with the wrong people over and over again, seeking perfected
union. We may even believe at times that we have found our other half,
but its most likely that all we’ve found is somebody else who is
searching for his other half- somebody who is equally desperate to
believe that he has found that completion in us.
This is how infatuation begins.
Elizabeth Gilbert, from the book Committed.
June 5, 2012 § 37 Comments
The answer to that question
can only be sung.
Can only be whooed under
the sleeping sun.
Can only be rained.
It can’t be Googled, archived,
written or spoken.
But it can be born. The answer
to that question can be born
in a Hyatt or a hostel.
Then it will have to be rained.
Rained by a guitar, tossed by the
Or it can be rained by quite words,
a slight tilt of face and that smile.
Then the answer to that question
will have to be felt. By you.
You will have to sit down with your
thoughts, cry into empty hands.
Pray for the first time
to presence that knows no name.
To presence that knows no name
give thanks for the loss of an ol’ dream.
Then sing, and sing. In whatever
voice you have.
The answer to that question
can only be sung.
P.S. This post is for a very dear friend, Vipul. 🙂
This is for you, my friend! We may be technically neighbors who havent met in a year’s time. But, you are a part of me i cannot do without!
May 27, 2012 § 35 Comments
The casual poets,
the meaningless poets;
look at me and ask
which one am i?
I tell em i dont know,
i dont want to know.
Read my poems and
All i can tell them is
my mother is a strong
woman with deep emotions,
takes care of her world,
adds her touch to everything
My mother looks me in the
eye and knows what is wrong.
But she’s still undefined,