Learning and Unlearning

Why the sudden urge to write, after so many years of the pen and paper lying idle? What is this that drives me to put my thoughts between these pages?
For one, there's Change. The only constant in life is change. This change hasn't always been for the better. There are so many regrets, so many moments written off in the past as Fate, so many faces and places lost in the memory, yet so many of them too hard to let go.
My childhood, my Wonder Years. Growing up without a care in the world. The greatest dilemma being which flavour of ice cream to have for dessert. Life was simple, then life changed. Evolution, growing up, becoming more responsible, independence, whatever else it may be called, the fact still remains. In time, we learn. Life lessons imprinted on the mind. Footsteps on a seashore that leave a mark, only to be washed away and remade. Constantly learning and unlearning. Swinging back and forth like an Old Clock's pendulum.
Who am i really? An optimist, a pessimist, a cynic, a believer, the friend and lover or a soul imprisoned behind frozen walls? Facing an identity crisis as I'm forced into corners and made to relearn thinking processes just because I woke up one day and realized that the World isn't what I thought it to be.
Like fuel to an emblazoned fire, there are all these clashing thoughts! I've always wanted to be free and not be tied down by any mortal force. I am also seeking this permanence, be it with friends, family or love. But is it possible to Love so dearly yet be free enough to just get up and leave?
Detachment was my only weapon when it came to dealing with the world. No, I'm not a loner. I like people, as long as there is a certain invisible distance between me and the rest. The Heavy Curtain hung separating the girl that every one knew and the girl locked up inside the heart never to be revealed. I was scared that if people saw the real me, they may not like what they see.
Of late, I let my guard down, enough to let a certain few look behind that curtain. Surprisingly, they did not run. They were not scared or let down or more importantly, they did not judge.
But is this risk worth taking? Is it really worth trusting? Trust-an emotion that was as foreign to me as living in an Igloo. But here I am, caring, loving and trusting. Feeling open, disarmed and vulnerable. Reading my Dusty Old Journals i realized it was something I longed and hoped for back then. Now that i have it all, why does it scare me? What is it i fear?


(an extract from the first page of my Journal)

Run

Is there a place far away,
A place where i could live someday?
Far from the crowded, maddened streets,
Escape this horrid, scorching heat,
A place where grass is always green,
With air so fresh, crisp and clean,
A place where I'm more than just a face,
A plain ol' name, running the race,
Where i know that people are genuine,
Not thinking of ends before they begin,
Don't want to continue this mundane existence,
Without a sense of independence,
Don't want to be a part of the Ton,
Without turning back, wish i could just Run..

Obsession

Watching through lenses,

The pictures do not lie,

Transformation in many forms,

As time steadily flies.

When there was unrest,

Preferred to hide.,

Seeking shelter in mundane vocation,

Rather than cry.

Reality through fogged glasses,

Dreams of clear skies,

Those cocoons of comfort,

Bore moths, not butterflies.

It was easier to submit,

Why the fight?

“Obsessions can destroy you,

Eat you from inside,

Chains that imprison, enslave,

No matter what you try.

My only plea-

Wish this Insanity goodbye!”

She stared into me,

Those hollow, haunted eyes,

Obsession had won.

She replied-

“Kill my passion, slay my soul,”

Alas, there she died…

Behind the Mask

A fully bloomed rose outside,
A withering lily inside,
A smile on her lip, a sparkle in her eye,
A cry in her mind, a tear in her heart.

Everyone likes her for who she is,
Joyful company and fun she is.
But no one understands her real core,
Her life’s not gold, but it is an ore.

A free bird ready to fly,
If she was so, she’d now be in the sky,
A caged heart, and anguished mind,
Fed up of pleasing and being kind.

Her life is envied by one and all,
Jealousy, Expectations, Pride and Falls-
These fill up her life and make it dark.
Her life’s not the moon, but d black velvet around.

Wallowing in self pity when she’s alone,
Partying and laughing with both friends and foes,
Here is an example whose life’s a mist,
She is on her quest to find hope, joy and bliss..


(one of my much older works that i recently stumbled upon)

My Dying Love

My Dying Love don’t you pray for me,
There’s no such thing as immortality,
There was you, then there was me in pain,
Hurt, Battered, bruised in hopeless disdain,
No secret smiles, no love so deep,
Could make up for all the tears I weep.

My Dying love, there you lay,
Amidst the cold and dark enslaved,
The heart that once beat
in tune with mine now pierced.
As I walk away I will not cry,
Your serpent tongue bled me dry.

I try and reach out to you once more,
Then I realize you’re no more.

Though once bitten shy twice,
Crawled to the altar of sacrifice,
Endured driving you in your hearse,
Your lifeless body, much less the curse,
But was easier than tormented moments,
With you in the flesh and so alive.

Sickened by you,
Believed your ruse,
Now crowded pews,
Singing funeral tunes.

As I walk away I will not cry,
Your serpent tongue bled me dry.

Memories

Yesterdays are gone, tomorrow is new,
But we can still hold on to memories though few.
Reminisce about those time in a better view,
Until your heart breaks in two.
One half says "Smile", one half blue,
Neither condescending nor remotely new.
What happened to those you thought you knew?
Why did they have to leave without a clue?
The reasons may still remain askew,
Those days so painful, hurt so true,
But you move on, see life in a different view,
The sky turns a different shade and hue.
All you have left is a memory or two-
This is what builds a stronger You.

My Artwork. I call it "DUALITY"

Jaded Me

Forgotten is the Little Girl,
Who played among flowers and trees,
Replacing the little girl,
Was a lonely heart, a Jaded Me.

Curiosity filled her soul,
She wanted to be free,
But that was long ago,
All that’s left is an anguished plea.

I don’t recall laughing so hard,
Laughing so whole heartedly,
Fed up of everything in and around,
What has Life left to offer me?

When did the Little Girl die?
Why do I feel so empty?
The little Ballerina had grown cold,
Immunized the heart from misery.

But I guess it simply suits me well,
To steer clear of any stormy sea.
Forgotten pasts buried deep inside,
Life lessons offered by Memories.

I don’t need another human,
Offering perpetual company,
I’m sure I’ll be just fine,
Though a lonely heart, a Jaded Me.

Ruby Slippers

If only I could click my Ruby Slippers,
Or find another way to get closer,
To a place of peace and laughter,
I can’t wait much longer.

I live in a world of black and white,
Everyday, surviving is a fight.
In the midst of many worries, strife,
Is this what has become of my life?

Where there are shadows there’ll be light,
A place where I’d truly sleep at night,
Rather than drowning in my plight,
When everything is unconditionally right.

I bought freedom at a price too high,
I have forsaken it all to live in a lie.
With nothing left to call mine,
Except this inner anguished cry.

Within four walls buried by tomes,
Here rots my corpse deep in soil and loam,
Is there anyway I can break this dome?
Surely, “There’s No Place Like Home“.

A Withering Old Tree

Lofty, yet frail,
A Withering Old Tree,
Stands alone on an Island,
In the midst of a sea.

Lo! There it stood!
Nowhere to go.
It saw a storm approaching,
Adding to perennial sorrow.

The patter of a drizzle,
Turned into a pouring rain,
The weeping Hosts of Heaven,
Cried out in anguished pain!

Thunder follows Lightening,
Lightening preceded Fire.
Three of its branches,
To the flame it surrenders.

Why does it hurt?
Why does it pain?
Is there any way,
To numb its burning veins?

Should the Tree live?
Or should it just die?
Or is there anywhere,
It can run and hide?

Then came a silence,
It could hear its own breath,
But the icy touch of loneliness,
Was as cold as a corpse in death.

Not so Lofty anymore,
The Withered Old Tree,
Stood charred and beaten,
Desiccated by World’s cruelty.

On East’s horizon,
The Sun did rise.
Above the clouds,
It shone, shedding its disguise.

At the first ray of hope,
The Tree sighed in relief,
It shook off the scorched skin,
And underneath rose a young, green leaf…