Some Thoughts

It is amazing how the ache from our hearts reaches our eyes. Has that ever happened to you? It is strange how our heart and eyes are connected. An aching heart is never alone, the eyes take the burden. They shed some tears, they cry with the crying heart. Am I making sense?

Tears in eyes and conscience knocking at our hearts makes one feel wide awake. It is faith blooming like new spring leaves. Faith is like a new born child, weak and fragile but spotless, yet it needs constant care; a close watch so that it doesn’t get hurt. Sometimes, when praying, our cupped hands feel the heaviness of the pain, like some magnetic current travelling through the body. On other occasions the lightness of it all makes the hands in prayer feel empty.

I wish many wishes, as is the human nature. The desires and wishful thinking has deep roots within the human heart. As age takes its toll on the human body, the wishes center around nostalgia, the past, the frighteningly fast pace of time. The idea of time slowing down seems tempting. For some old souls, the time’s slow pace, the same mundane days, become an added pain in their already arthritic bones. The clock’s constant tick tock is a reminder of their fading life and vague memories.

I want to write the words before they dissolve into the dark humid night. The sweat beads on my forehead stick to the rubber end of my half chewed pencil. The silhouette of the trees on my beige curtains cast a ghostly impression. The grasshopper continues its benign but rhythmic sound. The friction between the paper and the pencil lead reaches a crescendo and then snap, the nib breaks. The words disconnect and finally dissolve into the quiet walls around me; some slip through the half open window, the rest too tame to escape, sink back into the dark recesses of my thoughts.


Find them if you may

Dust and smoke on some rusty roads.

The ghosts of writing spring out alone,

Near the dawn of the day

Or into the midnight fog

Mocking the shadows of my words;

Blow out the candles, Dark out the night. 


Find them if you may or better still,

Say rest in peace

To that what haunts you;

The silhouette of words,

The ghosts of writing,

The muses so shy.


If you then still persist;

Walk along the train tracks,

Run after the missed bus,

Hail loudly for a worn out taxi,

Board a plane or 

Adventure on a ship.

You will not find them.

Words lost aren’t meant to be found.


Lying on a charpoy

Hang onto the starry sky,

A moon will glow back at you.

Drink away the summer night

With thoughts of a rosy past,

With plans for a morrow not seen.

You will not find them.

Words lost aren’t meant to be found. 


The Lack of a Story

The story of our lives
Prancing around
To the beat of a clock’s needles
Tick tock, tick tock.

The story of our lives
Getting frozen in frames
In the choices of the many ‘apps’
Perfected from imperfections,

The story of our lives
Getting etched into the hashtags
Forever to be measured
By the angle of the shot.

The story of our lives
Interpreted through filters
Sepia perhaps too nostalgic?
Rainbow a tad bit gray.

The story of our lives
Split between head and heart
An ode to the dichotomy
To which we forever remain baffled.

Memories Undone

I’m afraid of what I’ll find
In the pages held close
Between spines old and worn
But relax I tell myself
It’s just a bunch of memories
Just a bunch I say out loud
And I count till I know

Memories from times past
Of love and loss
Of wide smiles and knitted brows.
Memories tucked away
From times aimlessly imagined
Of places and people
That never existed
Except feebly coming alive
Into the folds of my mind
Playfully hiding
Between the heart beats

Today they sit inside
The pale rimmed pages
Like hair fallen out
Scattered on the floors
Unwanted and lifeless
Yet sacred to the heart



When I returned from my sojourn
They asked the expected
To which I replied
I was chilling on a star
A star they inquired?
Yes, the rooftop of a star I exclaimed.
A star so brilliant,
It bathed me in its grace.
The rooftop of a star?
Their voices rose in unison.
The arches of their eyebrows jumped.
Their eyes sparkled with a dash of bewilderment.
And the sound of curiosity,
That escaped their vocal codes,
Cracked the mirrors which hid them
Cracks so deep,
That would forever remain etched
Into the vanity of all affairs.

The Poem Therapy

A poem a day
Thought I would read
To grow in words
Wisdom and philosophy
To the match the giants of poetry
Oh but wait!
An apple a day
Keeps a doctor away
What if in my absurdity
A poem a day
Would keep poetic muses away
I need to think a better thought
Perhaps something like Mary Poppins’
Worry I won’t if that wouldn’t work
I will humbly switch to
And dance my way
To the tunes of Coldplay
Though I better get happy feet
To the lyrics of Billie Jeans
Lying among Wordworth’s daffodils
Wonder why I feel so musical
For I have fears like that of Keats
The breaths are numbered
And my thoughts jumbled
A poem a day I think again
Perhaps would not suffice