Ashes

I walk through ashesLeft beh

From the fire 

that consumed my dreams.

The ones I concocted 

As a little girl

Sprawled on the grass

Under a tree

beneath the sky

Of chocolate houses 

And unicorns 

Swaying with the swings

thinking-

monsters are four legged

And fairies have wings.

The dreams 

Uninhibited Vast 

Lark, Open. 

 

Quite a fire it was 







Ignited by a spark

Of doubt. 

 

I walk through ashes

That fly

From the fire that

emblazoned my reveries 

The ones I concocted 

Sitting in the classrooms 

Bedrooms, parks and places. 

Comprehending the

quagmires of the system

And their measures 

of artistry

Knowledge 

Decorum and

Duties  

via books and lengthy monologues, 

Telling me about the foundations 

And a way of life.

 

Quite a furnace 

it was, 

Ignited by incongruity

Of the preacher that practiced

Hypocrisy and atrocities. 

 

I walk through ashes

Left behind

From the fire 

Which consumed my dreams

From when I was younger 

And walked with a 

Cloak of invincibility-

That years 

Will bring clarity

Less, if not much 

Half, if not full 

And a Change

shall commence 

Sooner or later

For 

They must 

see their oversight,

their error.  

 

The dreams I concocted 

of walking alone.

For those who seek love 

are weak and imbecile

And friendships don’t fray

Just as flowers don’t wither,

That honesty must win 

hard work must pay.

 

Radiant it was 

The pyre of 

My visions and dreams

Or lies force fed to me 

In legacy. 

 

And then the world tells me

They think I have changed

In ways they don’t recognize. 

Of course!

Of course,

They do not recognize 

The immolation, the devouring 

Of my dreams, in the fire

That raged within me 

An inferno in my core 

That singed my soul 

Time after time

They tell me

I am not the same

But they do see a

Flicker of

light in my eyes

And 

a fleck of ember

When i speak

attimes. 

Caught off guard

I don’t know what to say. 

I lean forward

Closer to their ear 

Unsure how else to cover  

I clear my throat 

And I tell them-

Likewise. 

 

The Search

man-in-feild

At some point in time, we all tend to be lost in this strange labyrinth of life, not just because it is uncertain, challenging and demanding but because just sometimes one stumbles upon a realization that there is a void and nothing ever seems to fill it.

 

Sometimes in to the nights so dark,
sometimes into my thoughts so deep
I look for you with all my heart
up till where my eyes can see.

I look for happiness
I look for peace
I look for something
that shall mean something to me.

I tried for clothes
I tried for books
I tried for drugs
still my hunt didn’t cease.

I don’t know what’s written for me
I wonder if ever anything is written for anybody
I wonder if life is just a journey
Or a bubble, a dream-so momentary.

Not always are my paths so right
At times I walk without the light
At times into the forests so dark
I keep wandering till the last.

So my heart sings me a song
tells me these thoughts are a Pandora’s box
tells me to listen to what It says
but like a wild feather, the heart sways and sways.

A travesty, a game, a drama or desire
Questions, confusions, a truth so satire
A deck of cards or a house of one
many conjectures to this world.

still I look for it
up till where my eyes can see
into the nights so dark,
and my thoughts so deep.

 

(Originally written in 2011.)

Rainbow in my head

When Siddhant came back from work he saw that the front door of his two bedroom apartment was wide open. He kept his office bag down on the couch as his eyes scanned through the apartment. He saw that the closets were ajar with clothes lying all over the floor. Even the fridge door open, kitchen cabinets emptied and house in a complete disarray. “Must have been in a great hurry”, he thought to himself.  He went inside his bedroom and was not surprised to see that the locker was open and the cash was missing. He felt a knot inside his stomach.

He called his brother but his phone was switched off. He paced across the hall for a few minutes contemplating his next move. He reached out for one of the open kitchen cabinets and fetched an old bottle of whiskey which he used either when he was ecstatic or morose.  He made himself a drink and finally dialed 100.

‘Police station.’ said a coarse voice across the phone.

Siddhant immediately disconnected the line.

Continue reading “Rainbow in my head”