Sapped sapling sprouts

An endless pit, thought it fell
Into cold void of darkness
Rock bottom it wasn’t
Yet bottom did it feel

Light at the end of the tunnel
Did give hope
But things don’t stay fair
The light dimmed, then faded

And wouldn’t you have guessed
It did go away altogether

Back in the dark womb
Numb to what surrounded
A thought occurred
Could it get worse?

Up above many a thing intrigued
As it echoed down below
In the unknown
So close yet so far

Then something did penetrate
Hope.It may not have been.

Little by little did it trickle
A drop now and then
Resistance first, acceptance later
When you can’t fight back - soak it in.

Accustomed now, expecting no more
A shove, a push…
Had the time arrived
Was the reawakening at hand?

False hope lifted up
Joy short lived
Back to the womb
Of habituated darkness

An addition to the surrounding felt
Back to the unknown!
New obstacle to overcome
Not so pleasant may it be said

Time without measure did pass
Trickles, shoves and additions
Changes did appear, though not noticed
Well now does it really matter?

Stronger now to bear,
What used to hold down-Can no longer?
A shove, a push
Time will change fate

Liberation
A stone-heart, felt triumph
Out of darkness, yet toward unknown
A whole new surrounding to conquer

The past was; Darkness
A warm covering
Cold additions
And an Occasional trickle

The present;
Something stirred
Warmth covered, yet without a touch
The trickle heard, not felt

The trickle stopped,
it turned into a giggle

“Turn around mommy, the seedling has sprouted.
Doesn’t…her green...look... marvelous in the sun!”

Triumph the sapling-pondered.
Nurture it had found!

Sliver archives

Wrapped in gentle warm caress
In a bunch of tissues
Lay a blob of sparkle
A fragile paper weight

The first sight is intriguing.
An outer cover thick enough to protect,
The gentle detailing
True beauty lies inside
Only for someone who looks deep enough

Delicate colors of awe
Each streak of color representing
A deep etched mark of something unknown
The beholder alone can give it meaning
On its own it’s just streaks

Embedded in thick cover of glass
Thick yet vulnerable
The beauty once or twice beheld loses its novelty
Then does it not become a drag
With same sight over and again


Until some day
When a stroke of light
At an unknown angle does bring new insight
From the first sighting

Up until new discovery
The paper weight remains the same
A cycle of same antics or misfortunes
Just like any other
Manufactured in the same lot

Pondering on papers
Holding on to it like dear life
Protecting it at a superficial level
Eventually

A gentle move of hand can cause it to be moved
And what the paper weight held precious
No longer its own
Or before long
A careless hand will come along
And cause it to tumble

Many a day the paper weight has experienced this
A rock a roll
A tumble a spin
This day it anticipates the same
But, fate takes a different turn

Yes, a rock then a roll
A tumble then a spin
Then something new did happen
Would it be a whole new experience?
It sure is!

Hundreds of tiny sliver,
The shattering of glass
Brought new insight
The streaks of color almost did drain
But be it whole or shattered
Beauty is still in the eye of the beholder

U.S?...no its US.

I sit down to write.
My vision is blurred,

A sniff, a sob…wipe
I see a clear white sheet.

But, before I put pen to paper
I reconsider

There’s a blot on it.
Do I overlook and proceed,

I think not!
How can I work around it,

The paper is clear.
…if not for that one blot.

My thoughts suppress.
And all ,for that one blot.

Bottled up emotions,
No words I pen.

Stopped by a dot .period

I need this,
I love to write

So, I take a moment

I take off my glasses
to ease my head

As I glanced at the paper

There no longer seems to be blot
Myopia you say,No!

I put on my glasses,
The blot resurfaces.

Aha !

Wait a minute…
The blot ,it’s on my glasses.

Am I the paper?
Am I the writer?

When I say:
Why did the glasses….Come between US ?

Time and love –heals, they say
As for me I wait on my love!!!

A Pair

as i heard the narration...

I pictured myself
open a rustic green window
The curtain flows inward
bringing in a mustic caress
of afternoon breeze

like a touch on a child's hand
bidding it to come along
i found myself walking out
to feel not just the
inviting breeze
but also her companion
the tingling sun

have you sensed that weird pleasure
when you have a sneeze stuck in your nostril
that tingling feeling
that makes you giggle
also makes you slightly irritable

doesn't looking at the mild sun
have the same effect on the eyes
looking up to it to soak in the warmth

made my heart soar with happiness
but it didn't bring out a laugh or a smile
but a frown with tear trickling down my eye

once i was full of my regular muse
my eyes scanned the horizon
trying to filter out
a sight worth seeing

that's when the narration
redirects me
to see the sight
i see kites dance to a gentle song
that only leaves hear

the kites i see is yellow
but why does it seem brighter than the sun
while i forced my mind to
rid fantasy
there was a flutter of an earthy shade
as though answering my need to be down to earth
while i yet looked up at the sky
the yellow kite was joined by
earth red kite

it didn't dance to the unsung song of the breeze
it seemed almost stable in the breeze
as if planted to the earth
while the yellow fluttered
and the earth stay put

they still seemed to
devise a dance of their own
a dance so complicated that
neither moved together
yet they were with each other

as i tried to understand the dance
my mind might have given up
for sometimes well most times
understanding comes in way
of pleasure

that's why i didn't realize
the sudden change of the dance
it was no longer patterned
i thought the moves were all
to be united

but what is this unexpected move
i tried to fathom
but my mind couldn't match up the pace
of yellow kite drifting away from
the dance floor
as seconds fleeted
my understanding ceased
had it not ceased long ago
but the desire to understand
resurfaced

while my heart did race
with wind
to fathom the why the kite fluttered away
as all sense seemed to fail
and only panic seemed to dominate
the stable red that seemed to have caused it all
without being shaken a bit
it had cut off the yellow

but the red now flung into action
its dance wasn't pleasant
but was a move more anxious
than my heart could have ever felt
the quick and anxious moves
caught the fleeting yellow
it twined its self around

it was perfect seen at the horizon
where the sun meets the earth
the two kites that didn't seem to get along
that seemed to drift away

now existed only because of each other
one for survival
one for concern

but together they were beautiful to my eyes
as they danced in the song heard only by the trees
i realized i too can here the same song

you wouldn't know happiness if it wasn't for sorrow

Camelus Dromedaries in a rare phenomenon of precipitation!

Haven’t we all held a precious Dream?
That we imagine and re-imagine,
How? We would live out that dream in real life
So well practiced! those many hours of Dreams.

And when that dream does come true
Would you say that…
All so hours spent
Will help you live it well?

Or would it be better to say…
Those hours of fantasying,
Help!...Make “The Dream”
Come true after all.

Now living that dream,
Is what matters.
Wouldn’t you agree?
That dreams are best experienced awake!!!

Now I held secret,one such dream
And am happy to say am living it now.
Then again,
Am asleep or awake?

What do think about?
Camelus Dromedaries in a rare phenomenon of precipitation!
Just trying to pretend,that I think out of the ordinary
Am talking about “A Camel in the Rain”.

Returning home, in heavy Bangalore traffic,
Wasn’t quiet unpleasant one day.
A slight November rain,
Soothed most sheltered soul.

As my eyes quenched,
In the grey moist picture.
An ironic blot, stood out
A pair of camels in the rain.

From early childhood,
We are taught to picture a camel
In the sweltering sun,
And to praise its wonders of adaptability.

Little did I think, I would spot such a sight
So much so, that my mind said it wasn’t right
Now who am I to decide…
That a Camel stands in scorching sand and not drench in rain.

That vision, out of the ordinary
Did provoke, to ponder on my mental blocks.
Was I a camel, should I be content in the sun,
Or do I dare to venture out, and soak in the rain

"If you - live your dreams awake,
I think you’re a camel in the rain."