Just Breathe

I struggled to come out but I did.

She had to push hard but she did.

They wanted me to cry but I didn’t.

She wanted to hold back but she didn’t.

I tried to breathe out but I didn’t.

She wanted me to live but I didn’t.

My life was on her till I was in her.

It sucks that she had worked hard to push me out.

And then, when it was upon me--

I didn’t.

Consciousness

Night and day, I just heard the clock tick. So much so that it was embedded in my brain. It was a feature I possessed, an extra limb that I needed to perform my daily functions. I heard it as I slept-- my breathing patterned itself to each second in Pavlovian hypnotism. Till that one day when it was so indelible in my head that it became a drone and I thought I would go crazy. Instead of ticking according to time, it started ticking according to my moods. If I was sad, it slowed down, if I was frustrated, it fastened to a pace of continuous buzz, like a fly was stuck in my ear. It was driving me mad. I cut my ears. But it continued to tick. I decided to condition myself to another sensation. I decided to keep rubbing my fingers together so that I get addicted to a tactile awareness. But instead, my ticks adapted to the rubbing, and every time I touched my fingers together, the ticks would get excited, like a dog wagging its tail on being petted. I decided to commit my sense of smell, but then, every time I inhaled I could hear the air click against the inside of my lungs. And then I started seeing the ticks in every strand of hair that fell from my head to my forehead. I started seeing it when my glance moved across the room—it decided to have a rhythm. I could not see a whole image in continuum, because my eyes now moved in incoherent inches. And so one day I decided, I really have gone mad. But in this apparent madness, my senses united at every tick to remind me that I existed.

The Rain and the Renegade

I know the rain falls from the sky, but that is what the world has told me.

What if the world was lying, because the vast white sky is our king?

Am I a renegade if the trees are my lords?

I only see the rain against their backdrop, so why must it belong to the skies?

I see, with every sway in the wind, the leaves beget a string of water,

The sky just roars as the bearer of good news,

When the trees are pregnant with the dew.

It is them that the raindrop serves when it falls unto the ground.

The Funny Little Firefly

Tucked away behind the shadowy tree was a funny little firefly.

She thought no one could see her if she fluttered quietly by herself.

She did not seek a mate,

Nor did she seek a deadly fate,

She had no light patterns, no beauteous trait,

Except that of maintaining her lonely state.

But one day, she saw another firefly,

That flew in circles around her tree,

Her light went on and off and on,

She seemed happy, she seemed free.

Now this scared the funny little firefly,

She felt so pointless, like she could die

And no one would even know she did,

Because through her life, she only hid.

And so decided the funny little firefly,

That she would suck it up and suck it in,

And make her own light patterns and beats,

And fly up and about,
To deep and within.

A Call to Death

The smile to his eyes--

In his smile, the fright forfeits,

In his eyes, it ages well,

And when he laughs, his wrinkled cheeks,

Lift his eyes in sweet dispel.

The eyes to his face--

The battles lost, he has forgone,

But lose he did, he did disgrace,

And when he laughs, his gaiety eyes,

Gleam forth from amid his face.

The face to his tears--

He holds his grief inside of him,

His face quells the fears he bore,

And when he cries, he sees that face,

Trapped within the tears he stores.

The tears to his smile--

He sits within the pool of tears,

And smiles for all that has become,

And when he cries, he laughs, he cries,

He laughs, he cries, and then succumbs.

Colocalization

The green dot shimmered inside the cell,

Encapsulated in its own little organelle.

Fading across barriers, swallowing the plasm,

Apposing the membrane, chasm by chasm.

It looked so beautiful in its proud stance,

Alone but espoused in endosomal romance.

It advanced in my cell, acidified and blown,

Collecting membrane for what it called home.

But despite its amorosity with fellow inmates,

It stayed true to its discrediting, lysosomal fate.

Whilst the lysosome stood still, waiting by bay,

Unmoved like the devil, athirst for prey.

It provoked my endosome by a sojourn so mellow.

That my gullible green flashed into a yellow.

There! It fused unto the red!

And I see more colors--

But now it’s dead.

Permanence

The leaves shall fall and crackle beneath thy feet,
But the wood that begets shall stay mighty strong,
Even when the snow cripples unto the heat,
The branches shall wave and whisk, "So long!"

Inspired by this wonderful poem by Aman Khanna:
https://www.facebook.com/notes/aman-khanna/memories-from-change/10150897588896570