Imagine

For I had lost the hope and will,

Surrendered to the bloody drill,

Where I was none but commonplace,

With a humdrum smile and hollow face.

When had I lost my passion to live?

Placate my thoughts, forgo, forgive?

Where was that innocent gullible joy,

Of dreams of love in a virginal boy?

Why did I age across my tomb,

When I was waging to mamma’s womb?

But then my thoughts were brushed aside,

By swishing wind that proddedly pried.

It hummed to me in a monotonous flow,

“When I get cold, I stoop below.

But when I gain energy and heat,

I carry myself to a hundred feet.

I find this heat in fire and earth,

Those I conquer, beget my birth.”

It was then I found the courage in me,

To close my eyes to insipidity.

For all the vision I had needed to walk,

Was in the thought that the wind could talk.

An Ode to Van Gogh

My life is like an oil painting.

Till the colour has dried, even a glance of the paintbrush leaves an indelible mark.

But once imprinted, I can paint over it again and again to engender new beginnings.

Piano Man

That, which I could not see, deluged me with emotions I thought I could not feel.

That, which I only heard, calibrated my senses to utter these words.

Thy music is my complete joy for it connects all my faculties to make me realize that I am whole.

Negative Space

I held the sphere of this world and remodeled it into a block.

Where there were three perpendicular directions in space in the ball of the earth,

I made infinite radial dimensions that bundled into a rectangular planet.

What difference did these shapes make?

What difference did it make to where I stand, when where I stood was outside the plane of actuality?

None at all.

Except then, when the radius corresponding to the fourth dimension of time sprang back and forth and blew up the universe into fragmented points.

Then, when those points got scattered, arose a world of multiple perspectives wherein I was part of that plane, or volume, or multidimensional something.

At that point of radius, the shape did make a difference--

For it ceased to exist.

Mulholland Drive

You are caged within your head

Close your eyes and experience the words within you

Words that your mind does not conceive

Words that are realized by floating letters coming together in front of your eyes

Words that your eyelashes try to obviate

Words that you conceptualize from between them

Words that make up those lines when you read between those lines.

You are caged within your head, for you try to imagine.

Words are not the progeny of your imagination.

They are the only reality.

Remember this day

There is no such thing as keeping your options open. When you know what you want, there are no options. So don’t ever forget who you are, and you’ll never have to take a decision in your life.

Childhood

You know, sometimes when rummaging through old stuff, you find that little guitar or that teeny casio you used to play as a kid. You find a drawing you made with pastels that you remember loving to your heart’s core, because it was the first time you ‘drew’ reflections in the water and were satisfied with the end result. You find your old Enid Blytons and cards your friends gave you on birthdays, and you rediscover this show you used to watch that absolutely changed your perspective on life. And then you realize, you miss being that person. And the saddest part is, you don’t remember when you stopped being it. When did you stop loving every stroke you painted? When did you stop loving every note you played, every word you wrote, every equation you solved?

The answer is, never.

You had just forgotten.