Life, a Bitter and Sweet Symphony

In her times, she was a spangling beauty. Her bridal snap would put to shame the beauty of Princess Diana. Her heavy locks of hair & her brows, black just as a moon less night. Once youth sat on her face, as morning dew sits on a grass leaf, Which is now a dying star, flickering and blackening. Her perkiness is lost in her struggles and duties, In her years dedicated to her home, her partner & her kids. The effortless activities from the grocer to the kitchen, From garments shop to the book store, all in one day, Never wearied her out. Now sometimes, even her breathing is labored. Her same hands are now crinkled & her face old, O! Alas! It’s old and tired, The reflexes on her forehead are now permanent flakes, And not the result of a frown or a sulk. The grey of her hair now shines in the sun, And I hurriedly cover them up, with a jet black dye. Because they scream to me, and sometimes even smirk, “She is getting old, oh so old” “She is tired, oh so tire...

When all the pages read lie; And a faded handwriting, " I will always be there with you! " blurs its origin, I flip some books and wander few desks, Where stories of life are never aimlessly authored. When all the musical rhythms, Sound cacophonic & transform into silence, I pick myself up and meander into the wilderness, Where music enters into me, and then never leaves. I lift myself up, From the deep of the sea where I'm forced to drown, My heart’s devotion, And become a refugee to rummage that piece of land, Which isn’t a dwelling of people just one or two, But ageless towns & villages, That for devotion, devotion give. That for love, love bestow, And fulfil promises they vow.

Sometimes, when you are gone, your smell and smile reside with me, and turn into a bubble that doesn’t burst for days. Sometimes, when you are gone, Spring suddenly turns into Autumn and every green memory falls red. Sometimes, when you are gone, all the happy days get lost & meaningless, just like a horse runs in the meadows. Sometimes, when you are gone, the green of the earth, and the blue of the sky, become hazy. Sometimes, when you are gone, your touch lingers in me, my hands take your form and doodle your name reflexively. Sometimes, when you are gone, the fetish of my passion that was, haunts me in my dreams. Sometimes, when you are gone, the courage veils too, the courage that I need, the one that I should become, and the one that should catch me.

Under the hazy sky that smelled blue, Her wet lips smelled my breath so new, I came closer and smelled her love, And both our breath shed just one fragrance. My eyes and her shadows, Then lingered into an invisible red, The red was so fresh, and smelled…just red. But now all that fragrance is lost, For she is not in love any more And for my nose, oh, it has fallen on the floor!

12:00 PM. She was leaning on the wall. The desire to kiss the clouds and touch the dew was overriding in her breast. What was once an adrenaline rush in her translated into a stagnant sea that now never moves. Only the ripples could be seen and heard. She oscillates in the room full of anxiety. Her only fear is that Ananya would wake up from the sleep and open her broad eyes to meet the cages. Her heart comes to her throat and the tiny lit eyes are now broken in thousand different pieces. The reverie busted. Some parts fell on the ground while she managed to hold some in her devastated eyes. “I can’t let my daughter be home arrest…” her heart whispered. She ran towards the bedroom to find Ananya woken up to the slumber. “Mummm..mumma”, Ananya coiled her lips. The words touched her heart like a feather touches our cheeks on a newly bloomed spring evening. But like a heartless mother, she forced her to sleep again. “With similar “mm-mmm” sounds, Ananya coiled her boat-like b...

O my Holy Mother, I want to gift You a pearl necklace,       That which is entwined with my saline water, And also wish You to wear it on Your breast. Regardless I know that this entire universe- The breezes, rains and seas, Bestow picturesque ornaments on Your Holy Self. Just as Stars offer You the anklets Made from their light that transcends on Your feet, Sliding through the kaleidoscopic doors of heaven. And just as the Moon casts is radiance On Your beatific face, figuring into studs on Your ears. I want to gift You still, A pearl necklace, That which is entwined with my saline water. On tenterhooks that when I bring this necklace to You, You would reward me with Your Grace, And melt the pearl necklace, That just beamed gloriously and survived a 2-minute life, After you garlanded it on to your breast.

And she does not crave for fancy dresses, Nor for the outdoor trips on Maldives. Visa and credit cards she never fancy in her wallet, ‘coz to her, money lies in familial bliss- The intricate, woven, familial bliss. And adventure in togetherness, Not separated by ‘my personal boundaries’. And she doesn’t welcome the ‘space and freedom’, That widens, widens and widens… …and drifts away the emotional streaks. And while people start enjoying that space, They forget that it has become a Frankenstein’s Monster. And she did not crave for a fantastic career, Nor even that gives her a chance overseas, Such bonus and promotions are bane and folly, she opines- When a husband sleeps away from her wife, And a daughter plays with her Barbie doll alone, And a son rides his cycle without his dad’s help. And she doesn’t enjoy drinking at parties, Neither neat, nor bottle nor pint. The love, closeness and expressions– That’s what she likes to drink. No wonder, people call her a mediocre! She is a m...