The day could be saved;
he was constantly looking up at her
she knew that the day could be saved
not simply by her, also by his presence.
She had loved him.
He knew that.
He still loved her.
But all he needed to know was
she could save the day.
She still had to let him go.
As he slowly slipped into the role
the comfort grew;
with it also grew discomfort.
She had to save the moment,
she had a choice.
The choice was not made for her.
She chose to let him go;
she chose to not let the roles drift.
For she loved him,
she knew love is not one kind
and her love was profound.

COLOUR

Is the colour of mourning Black or White?
And that of festivity White, Red or Green?

I do know the colour of happiness
And that of pain.
I think I know it is a Yellow, Blue and Pink
It is Orange, Violet, Mustard and Red.
I bled from my knee
The colour of pain was then Grey.
I broke my thigh
The colour back then was Green.
I sent a letter, a letter of pain,
This time the colour was Powder Blue.
And every time I am injected
It is the colour Rust I see.

I lost
A friend, I saw a Brown.
A grandparent, a Faded Steel.
A potential lover, a Dying Tree.
An ambition, a Lost Galaxy.
My spirit, an Ethereal Me.
And finally
When I lost myself,
I found a colour, the colour
I was never meant to see.





Is the colour of mourning Black or White?
And that of festivity White, Red or Green?

I do know the colour of happiness
And that of pain.
I think I know it is a Yellow, Blue and Pink
It is Orange, Violet, Mustard and Red.
I bled from my knee
The colour of pain was then Grey.
I broke my thigh
The colour back then was Green.
I sent a letter, a letter of pain,
This time the colour was Powder Blue.
And every time I am injected
It is the colour Rust I see.

I lost
A friend, I saw a Brown.
A grandparent, a Faded Steel.
A potential lover, a Dying Tree.
An ambition, a Lost Galaxy.
My spirit, an Ethereal Me.
And finally
When I lost myself,
I found a colour, the colour
I was never meant to see.

I met the Ant

The ant walked up the hill
The ant was told it was to walk up the hill
The ant refused to hear otherwise
As I said,  "It is ok to not walk up the hill"
The ant did not hear me and passed by.
The ant carried a stone on its back
The stone was engraved with years past
The stone was written in a language strange
Yet the ant walked, with it, up the hill.
I asked the ant "Stop by and try to read,
do read all that is engraved on it."
The ant looked up at me and
Started walking again, up that hill.
I took a few steps ahead
Awaited the ant to reach
And stood in its way as
The ant walked up the hill.
This time refusing to look up,
It tried walking around my feet.
I said again, "Listen to me please."
As I pleaded, the ant looked at me
Neither up at me nor down
I was grateful for this.
I spoke this time softly
The ant heard me out
As I slowly let the ant go its way
I saw the trail it left behind
I looked closer and closer still
Tiny particles I could not recognize.
But then I think my guess was right.

as the shadow sweetly slips in,
I look it into the eye and ask it
"are you truly a shadow
for you ain't black
to my eye you are not black
you are the colour of light
brighter than light"
the thin sheaf of silk slowly slips
it was not a guard which fell
it was a soft curtain of the self
the self which had been lit
by the shadow and its light.

Facelessness

I wanted to be without a face once.
I refused to put a veil on it
I disappeared
I was in love with being faceless
No one asked me to be faceless
I chose to be.
Now my face seems to be resurfacing
And yet I feel faceless
I think I want a new face
The tan on my face worked
For some-time it was new
Now it’s getting stale
I have been waiting to visit a parlour.
My larder is full of things
Things waiting to be used on my skin
I still want to visit a parlour
Because I will have to trust someone
Entrust them with a task even I can do
May be I can’t do it as well as them
And may be still, I don’t need it at all.
What I need is, to be able to trust again
Give the reins of what is mine to another
Not being overpowered
Just trusting, may be blindly.
What if there is a Sulphur reaction
May be I will warn them
But if they still decide to use some
I will be at stake;
May be that will give me a new face.
May be this face will make a difference.
I was never pretty; I believe.
I yet was me.
I still am me.
A-faceless me.
Looking- for-a-new-face me.

The Mirror Selfie

I looked into a mirror, the reflection was distorted
It was beyond recognition, my recognition atleast
I saw a person, she was sitting in my very chair
her hair were different, her eyes looked into mine.
I did not recognize the face i know, but the eyes
the eyes looked like they could have been mine
I looked deep within, I lost what I had seen
Something looked different, although the same
Dilated; the pupils looked into the distance,
I tried to follow their gaze, but i lost sight
The sight of the eyes atleast, the lost eyes.
They were neither happy nor were they sad.
They were searching but not yet mourning.
There had been losses for a long time now
And the mourn from the gaze had gone
The pity had long evaporated into nothing
Confidence long crushed underneath
Something I saw emerge,
I saw a picture of me taken 2 decades ago
I smiled for I did not know that girl
She was happy I could tell
Her smile was not reflected in mine.
I saw a picture of me taken 2 years ago
I smiled for i believed I looked pretty
The picture made me look pretty I believe
I was happy then too,
The smile was genuinely reflecting me.
But the reflection was extremely distorted
Distorted by memory and belief
The self I was looking at repeated
What I thought I was supposed to be.
As I whirled my chair round and round
Slowly disorienting from the reality
I caught a glimpse of a reflection in the mirror,
The reflection which was not supposed to be me
I saw a girl who was smiling broad,
As she looked upon her self,
The mirror still distorted though
Imaged me as myself.
It was not beyond recognition
Nor was she looking into the distance.
She slowly looked into my eyes,
This time truly they were mine.
She smiled that happy smile
The smile I recounted in pictures too.
And getting up from the chair,
She walked towards the mirror blue
As she came closer to the surface,
I could see through her more and more,
I saw her dissolve slowly before me.
As she became one with all the air.
All I could see now was a mirror
It had left me a canvas blank
For me to be any me, that I could dare.

A storm brew behind the closed doors,
the storm was never meant to go by
the storm was never meant to touch you
the storm was never meant to upturn.

It was a storm meant to take me instead
the storm which brew, was there to wash
the storm was there to cleanse and leave
the storm was never meant to kill any.

Neither of us were meant to die
Neither of us were meant to leave
Just sit under the roof outside the storm
And then see it slowly rise and fly by.

How did we come in touch with it
How did we even reach the door
How did we manage to pry it open
And let the storm not take its course.

The storm was maybe an accident
An accident I didn't ever foresee
An accident I wish to erase forever
and bolt the door to that heavy breeze.

We stand on either of the door shafts
Trying hard to close the door shut
Ever time it comes closer to reality
A single gust lets our efforts falter.

And then we are at it again, relentless.

The storm was never meant to upturn
The storm was there to cleanse and leave
The storm was never meant to touch you
And neither of us were meant to die.