SIGNATURE STANCE

I hate the cold. I hate the numbness. I hate the dampness that covers the window pane. But today you could say I was all blinded by the freezing intensity. My naked body crave to be touched… a gentle tap to stir me up. I am not used to this nudity, but it matters less when the soul seems shrouded and stiff as stone. How can I feel so unbelievably numb yet be crying so profusely deep in? I try to lift my body only in vain for I feel some one’s still there on top of me. My fingers part way, I feel them shivering. They run through the glass pane gently moving the mist. A glance out scanning the cold world, and I catch a pleasing sight of a woman, brushing her child’s hair. Her fingers gently going through the curls and her lips quietly moving. It should be that special song. The song that pours out the peace of a mother’s heart. Mother used to sing me one, rock me in her lap. I wasn't a baby then… still it was sweet, the only lovable bits of my broken childhood. My eyes are strain

The wishing well longed for the coin, the true one lone tossed high. Some just tricky to fall right through, whilst their lay behind one… prized by the imps… Alike the serene water gliding down the mount, there are plenty of souls open to countless readings… yet heap of others closing their space blocking our gaze. Their secret fills the air... deceiving you in a hundred thousand ways. As in no one knows the truth, the obviousness of the fake you. Have a look around, the life... the people... nothing equals the water, not even the drops that lie in the foothills. They wait along for the perfect time to hit, with bait so faultless to doubt. A face hard to find, or searched less behind the games played. It resides in you, me and all the spirits... behold, familiarize through the hymn of the wayfarer …for the stories he saw defines it better. The vagueness lie deep down, yet the silken lines smarten it. It’s hard to hold to myself now as even the smiles carry a tinge of pretense. The

A melancholy of a familiar tale, Stomping the castle of the dream, Behold the face of every girl, The eve hood born with a curse alike… The wedding bells knock the door, And here goes the knitting of the dream, The fuss and roar of a little mind, The tint of shades to the ring of a glass, Pick and drop for the choice is vast, Says the mind of an edgy girl, For the dreams weaved is to grow, And for once will be the moment… Tone of lilac of a long loved tulip, And the quarts of string melt melody into air, A step await a fresh phase, As the carpet lead her to the stage… A drop of tear in the place of curve, And the hush-hush not to be heard, The lilacs crushed on the floor, And the empty seats on the dome, The silence before the consent, And the pause after the ‘I do’, A flash evoking the staleness of soul, Leaves the bride with the broken castle of her dreams... 

Out… Out again… a leap… rise... escape… and into the veil of goodness merge the shade of the wicked one after the other... Uninterrupted … Finally revealing the dread of gods thereby poisoning the innocent dumb hearts on earth… and thus unfolding the mysterious tale of the Pandora box. Nevertheless there lies a last boon of solace for the beauty that set open the jar of mystery… challenging the doom yet to come... HOPE ! Leaving us to come up with a pack of keys… to untangle the puzzle of secrecy making it best of all than mere realism. And so the last unleashed drop of goodness brings back the gone fancy of kids… all set to listen to yet another fable… “The soul that has conceived one wickedness can nurse no good thereafter “... This has been the watchword of life for many of my friends who held high the notions of destruction for this sinking world of corrupt leaders, critics and sadists – we call them the Pandora horns. As not everyone is capable of masking the worst curse of

Sensing the stench of a nasty eve, I sit like a corpse, Stiff and cold Gazing outside to see the charm of nature My mind hard and frozen from inside… One fine morning it was, When the deadliest news reached my ears, Of a girl who got brutally raped, By heartless minds on earth… Miles apart were we, Attached to in no phase of life Knowing little of her self I spare a thought for the demise… Feeling close to her Being a woman, the only cause… A rain drop fall on me, And the drizzle shook me from the thoughts. The pain of helplessness so potent, I wish to cry aloud… But fearing the human world Even tears loath to come down… Being taught to live as the ordinary, At the feet of men for all the time, Sacrifices well thought-out as innate Getting nothing in return… The feminist in me rise swift with time, Craving to question the evils For why pleasure for seconds take a life? Seeing myself in her position, As the sole breadwinner of a family… I could perhaps im

Isn’t it interesting that we are one such species capable of creating a tornado of thoughts in a jiffy? Weaving a chain of memories surrounded by a number of ideas, though we never think deep on each of it, its amazing how a thought takes us into another and then to the other… finally dispersing peace of mind. Even now while reading this write up, it wouldn’t be easy to focus on a topic for the words totally different from one another urge you to follow their world. And to me, this is one such freedom even the under – privileged, poor, rich, black, whitish… people from all walks of life get to enjoy. The only thing not to be judged by the society, free of all rules nevertheless uncontrollable. Else even dreams lie in the foot of the so called norms built by us. How easy would it be to live life if we learn not to regret anything that brings a smile, and not blindly follow what is given to understand? Over estimation is indeed a very dangerous flaw as is said by higher minds on

A Gaze so restless at the corners of eye, An edgy hunt for a regret that lie, The buried calls of time that fly, And a scar that lie so new as dew... Seeking the heat of love in vain, For the awful bit of guilt that lurk, And a name engraved so new, As a stone welded on a flame..