Fears

The fear of clearing things out in my head
The fear of understanding my fear
The fear of categorically writing where I stand
The fear of defining what it all has been
The fear of counting every similar situation
The fear of being unable to pick up for someone I care
The fear of not being the me I hoped to be
The fear of reading about something I don't want to see
The fear of hope and the feeling of nice
The fear of forgetting the feeling of nice
The fear of sometimes daring to feel
The fear of turning into an embryo again
The fear of hiding behind a tree
The fear of being hit on the back
The fear of breaking trust
The fear of the possible truths
The fear of probability
The fear of polarity
The fear of living inside
The fear of a popping vein
The fear of going insane
The fear of writing my mind
The fear of hiding inside
The fear of knowing
The fear of sharing
The fear of caring
And the fear of being.

Of Love and Lost Love

She loved, but constantly told herself 

how it was a bad idea.
But it wasn't an idea was it?
It was a feeling of being in pursuit

The pursuit of the only place where 

thought and life coexisted.

The pursuit of having to leave behind

A trail of love and lost love.

Both walking parallel as they followed her

They were not the best of friends

But with so much in common;

As they walked behind her

They couldn't help but strike a conversation.

A conversation about finding and losing

Of loan and of the debt never paid

Of living and yet not existing

Of trials and sufferings

Both had that in common; didn't they?

It was at dusk, when lit by the fading light

They saw she was now approaching an edge

The edge of the flat world she had walked,

Wanting to circumnavigate.

She was sure she would be back at the start.

But they watched her walk towards the edge

The edge of vast nothingness

Separated from all that had ever existed.

She seemed all but sad with this encounter.

The unexpected called out to her

As she gazed at the faded line between the two worlds,

She arched her back

And gracefully took a leap.

Almost in a swift diving motion 

She entered the beautiful vast acean.

A deep black ocean of nothingness.

The nothingness with the hope of something.

And the two followed her with loyality.

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.