A Midnight Story

Tender nights and stormy skies
A quiet breath, so soft a sigh
Tales unknown, lures the mind
But heavy lids refuse to pry.

One of a distant memory
Another, a forbidden dream
Somewhere, a few foggy faces
Lucid eyes and voices honeyed.

Rain tickles the air lightly
Weaving my thoughts into sweet agony
Webbed and fuzzy, muffled and messy
Losing their warmth, the sheets around me.

A cool void laces my fingers
As familiar as a time worn lover
Tracing the curves of moonlit smiles
Are the iris depths of our gentle eyes.

I can feel the stirrings
Of a timeless yearning, when
That loyal shift of my well-versed heart
Draws me in as an artist to his art.

We play this game often enough
The dark our witness, silence its charm
Until a flash mars the scene
With thunder rising to its feet.

"I thought you wouldn't come tonight,"
We talk in whispers, thunder and I,
That I waited, it rumbles in delight
I shush it gently, caressing its might.

Outside the window, a torrent rages
The chill's gone, nestled in an embrace
Soon they come, so quietly uttered,
I smile when I hear my favorite words-

"Will you play tonight?" Thunder sighs
Coaxing me from bed, the request in disguise
I look over my shoulder, willing it to stay
And with the purest love, I begin to play.


(Images are my own)

It’s Time

It’s been awhile
That we drove for a mile,
The sun shining bright
And the full moon high.
Do you remember me
pointing out to the sky?
As you rode through the night
Letting me fly.

It’s been awhile
Since we danced to a song,
Barefeet in the dark,
In the shadows we belonged.
Don’t you have memories
Of stolen moments as these?
Where the song played right
Along with the night.

Time heals, but does it really
Fix the broken or soothe over only;
Timeless, they say, some stories are
Could ours have been too,
If the end wasn’t near?
Oh but, how would I know,
Since the end is here.
Oh but, what would I know,
Now that the end is here.

The Girl by the Window

I discovered windows one afternoon and after that, nothing was ever the same. – Anne Spollen, The Shape of Water.

The one spot in the house where you’ll always find me.

The site of every greeting and farewell I’ve been a part of. Strangers forego the bell and come straight to my window, friends forget the doors and start conversations right here. From the exuberant waves to some who just turned the corner into our lane to subtle glances exchanged with those uncertain, I’ve probably spent ninety percent of my life at home by these windows. Watching, breathing, questioning, welcoming – and at necessary times, ignoring – the world outside. While, more often than not, inviting the assumption that I study the entire time I’m sat here. Not completely untrue if said study involves reading, writing, creating, thinking, planning, conversing, being.

Even way back, living for some years as a paying guest in a new city, I picked the bed by the window to ensure that the first thing to grace me in the mornings is the brilliant green canopy of leaves on the tall tree outside that gently filtered the sunlight to nudge my sleepy eyes.

Why am I always looking at life through a window? I don’t know.
But if I ever write a piece on me, the apt title shall simply be “The Girl by the Window”.

#sigh #blessedlife

Do you also love to look at life through a window?

More to Life

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“Open up,” a gentle knock says
Curious and unwilling, I linger in my haze
Let me be, my lazy eyes say
I’ll sleep it off, just another dull day.

There’s a shift in my dream,
A child with a wide beam
Twirled in glee with eyes never dim
Could there be a life not so prim?

Oh, but it’s just a dream,
That couldn’t be me, in years hasn’t been
Work’s waiting on the other side of sleep
Top of my game is where I need to be.

“Open, please,” the meek sound pleads.
Do I wanna know where the familiar voice leads?
I brace myself, as I open the door
Only to be met with sights of yore.

Long-buried pieces of a long-forgotten life
Looked at me unsure, resolve building with my smile.

Oh, it was no dream, I realise it now
Just my book of music sheets singing to me loud.
Paints and brushes and ideas with a pep
Waited with bated breath at my doorstep.

I searched for myself, as they jumped in my arms
Didn’t have to look far, been right here all along.

Found a new purpose, or an old one, you might say
Shut the door on a life that barely made me gay.
Why do we make it all about work and a pay?
There’s so much more to life, you don’t say.

The Song that calls me Home

There was once, a song or two
That called me home, home to you.

I was lost in a haze, of sun and sand
A drive by the ocean, to another land
A sweet escape, it was meant to be
Past all the bitterness, I wanted to see
Few new colours, a new face maybe
A smile in a while, to set me free.

I should’ve known, seen it coming
For it wasn’t new, but a long time running.

The voice crooned, a soft melody
Taking me places I had left behind me.
A whisper in my ear, a caress on my skin
A tickle on my arm, the song played me like a string.

Turning around, no longer certain
I let the roads show me the way
With a little hope, and a flutter in my heart
For a little more could break me apart.

I thought I knew, saw it coming
Could’ve fooled myself, with words promising.
Silence and hurt greeted me so warm
For a moment I wondered,
If this is where I now belonged.

Left no trace when you left this place
The one in our hearts,
We used to call home
I’m back in the streets
Coursing through lanes
Of memories old and dreams long gone.

The music is the same,
Just a tad more blue
As it no longer sounds like the song I knew
The one that you sang, and I held so true
The song that brought me home to you.

(Photograph captured in the Tawang-Bomdila route in Arunachal Pradesh, India)