Earth day…what does it really mean?

Earth day

We observe 22nd April as Earth day, all around the world. But does this mere proclamation mean anything for thousands like those I still witness ‘playing’ with nature today? Indifferent to what each leaf they pluck contributes to the void this ignorance can impart tomorrow?

Isn’t it the same as the psychotic killings of innocent souls by the destructive forces of the world? Engulfed by the monsters of death for no legitimate reasons whatsoever? Aren’t we the destructors of our own destiny? Think about it…maybe we are indeed missing a point. 

The point of connection. 

Axed and forgotten

In the gardens of life

Thrown and fettered 

In extermination to thrive

Torn in sync

With a ludicrous love

Proving to themselves

Their powerful nerve 

And as billet-doux of death

thrown on humanity

Plucked like leaves

From the branches of insanity.

The travelogue of my life 

We often chose to shut ourselves down, maybe for a moment or even a month, to clear the thoughts that so circumvent in our heads. And what we tend to ignore in this process is the voice, screaming out of every pore of our body to listen to that one person we should gamble all our trust upon- Us. In the urge to do what others show is right for an individual, we lose the strength of our sound. We lose sight of our goals. And most importantly we lose trust in our beliefs. We cradle in the laps of others, forgetting with time who we actually sought to be. And thus, turn out to be people the world wanted to see us as. 

The mirror to reality often acts as a barrier to dreams. Can we fill vaults only by being rational and pragmatic in terms defined by those who never steeped away from the convention?

Resolve and risk. 

Resolve to stand by your dreams and risk your life for it. Resolve to sketch a life you love and risk all your abilities upon it. We don’t need to learn by the hard way. Determination is always positioned higher than dread. The will to stand against the world and chose a path untraveled makes for a better travelogue than places the world can always venture.

My travelogue constitutes my journey into a life I dare to not only dream but to convert into a reality I wish to live in. It consists of all the routes unguided and maps undefined. It illustrates pictures to a destiny I plan and the principles I decide. 

Never be afraid to bear your soul in your words. Never be afraid to pilot the plane to your success and the destiny you chose. And assume the power to lead your own fight, with voices that struggle inside and noises that try to distract from outside.

Ultimately, the person you end up being is just the difference between who you want to be and who you chose to be. 

Define yourself in terms you wish to be read as. The world can never ignore exceptions. 

Mute voices, scribbling pens 

When life beats you down and crushes your soul, art reminds that you have one.  
It’s not a reflection of thoughts. It’s a reflection of images in our minds. 

It’s not a well thought plan. It’s a random action of picking up the pen and scribbling aimlessly unless something so abstract yet beautiful streams out of the nib.

Whenever words lose meaning, we take to ink. 

Whenever our voices fade away amidst the cries of the world, we take to ink. 

Whenever we become oblivion to the critiques of our soul, we take to ink. 

Whenever we find ourselves sinking into the waves of time, we take to ink. 

The moment we die inside, we take to ink. 

We take to ink to live different lives. 

We take to ink to love more harder. 

We take to ink to shed more tears. 

We don’t want the world to pay heed to us. 

We don’t wish to shout louder than other screams.

We only take to ink when all that’s left is the paper, and a lot to leave behind. 

Wandering nights 

Some times, affected by some thought or picture in my mind, I begin spinning stories around it that seem too real that they start becoming a part of your life.

What would happen if someday the person who meant the world to you would leave you alone to face the world, but because of your own mistake? Could you bear the ignorance they impart now, far away to even feel what you wish they could hear one last time? 

A PAGE FROM MY SOUL

Who I look for I cannot find in the pages of the books resting on my table, neither on the screens of hypothetical connections. 

If only time was right, it would have been so much more beautiful, you, me and what we could have been. If only time had been right. 

I could not give what I was to in those hours. I was bound by traps and chains of protection, that engulfed these thoughts and the dare to even dream of it into a black hole. You are older, wiser by your years. And so I hope you understand. You must, or I’ll try, try till the day you tell me, eye to eye that you have moved on. 

I could not share it then. Neither can I now. But you have to understand why. And that I cannot tell behind these deceptive screens. The wait is endless, unknown and untimed. But I know I will tell someday, when we are not drawn away by forces unbeatable. 

I know not if it is the same pain you are trying to impart now. I don’t know, if you would ever do that. You claim to the world that you’ll not. But I feel like a different stakeholder in your memories. What you are doing, is certainly, if it is indeed meant to be, imparting the same kind of impatience and turbulence that I probably did. But you didn’t preach to be this. I won’t blame you, I can’t. But in my circumstances, neither can I blame myself. 

Be a part of what you miss, and you’ll know you had more. How I wish I could be what you are, but isn’t the grass always greener on the other side? I feel maybe it’s right if you are trying to punish me by imparting the same ignorance to wish to abolish by the light of your knowledge. Is it then so fair as it may seem now? 

Swap sides for once. I’m not untying responsibilities off my hands, I’m just too unsure whom to blame, my actions or my situations? 

All I can wait for now, is the day when I can share this with you, with all my heart. Till then I’ll wait. But I’ll never stop trying. Even if I’m miles apart. Even if I’m too far to express and matter in your life anymore. 

I can’t tell right now why it happened that happened, but when I do I hope you understand, with the same heart I tried understanding you. We are not different. But don’t be what I was forced to all this time back. You don’t have to be. I have hurt myself in it more than you. If my silence wounded your heart, it almost kills my soul everyday. 

Atleast in the end, I don’t wish to be the one who gave up too soon, or didn’t try at all. I’ll try, even if it takes forever. And when the day comes, I’ll know my efforts were meant for a purpose and I hope they do not go unheard, unseen, unfelt…

Writing 101, poetry – “beloved”

Today’s challenge is the word “beloved”. The word beloved instantly reminds us of people we have loved all our lives, whatever our situations might lead us to. So here is my take on the topic with a poem on long distance relationships that face the biggest tests and tribulations of trust and time, hoping to catch the emotions that many of us out there, bury deep within. 
 

Across the ocean
Rests your heart
Can I reach 

A soul so far
Distance has teared

The connection of past

10,000 miles

12 hours to pass
Boundaries created 

a crack, so deep

I can’t climb 

A wall so steep
Either wait

Or move on

Because time and distance

Are slowing my speed
Yet, there’s a connection

But how long will it last

Where are you?

I am shunned to ask
Faces have dried

Words not left

Your voice mute

In the day’s unrest
My hand is empty

My heart, with a hole

My eyes are wet

With a memory old
How long will I survive

On images of past

On stories we had

Or memories that last
It’s been years,

There will be more to go

Year after year

No soul to hold
Can you live 

With this untied knot

With a disconnected connection

With an unbounded bond?
And when if we do see

What we have become

After years of ravelling 

Alone, under different suns 
Will we recognise 

Or accept

The people, 

we have become 
Will it be the same

When you see me again

After years of a relation 

Far and strained 
Continents apart

Are we looking at the selves

That we chose years ago

But then drifted ahead
Longer are destinations

Longer are the threads

Difficult to hold now,

Difficult to knit
So think again, before you accept

This fate far fetched

I’ll be waiting 

But can you ignore the rest? 

A story to sketch…

Life is a rainbow for those who embrace its colours with love. Life is a maze for those who easily loss themselves in its mystery. Life is a challenge for those who fight to survive. And a story for those who continually weave its flow, no matter along or against the tides of time. But when all is said and all is done, and every page of life has come to its own end, the epilogues of life, are often ignored in a hurry to keep the first book down and start a new one. What of the last chapters of life? What are those like? Are they to be feared every time we stitch together a new tale, or embraced with the same vigour, we fought, to be “the” egg that was accepted for existence? 

What comes after “end” is oblivion, a space no one has survived to delineate. Is it like something we have experienced before? Maybe everyday, maybe someday. Depends on the kind of life you chose to live. And more so, the kind of rain, you wished you drench in. 

Rain, with its varying forms and expressions, leaves a different impact in each life it touches. So does death. There is no alarm to predict when, nor a jar to measure how much. Sometimes, the weather department may be able to hint an accurate measure of it’s intensity, but ultimately it’s the master of its own commands. The Weather man is on the mercy of the clouds, every time he predicts the unpredictable arrival. 

Sometimes it’s gentle, a mere touch, sufficient to quench the thirst of the land. Sometimes, so vigorous, that its wrath cannot be faced. Sometimes, so fragile, that ignorance is all we can impart. Sometimes, slow enough to prepare us of what is to come. And sometimes, thunderous enough to snatch everything in sight, in a single blink of the eye. Adulating the panache of its mighty fury, the rambunctious monsters of lighting and thunder, may sometimes announce its arrival. But sometimes, indolent and slothful in approach and some other times, threatening only amongst the nested shadows of the clouds it rests within. 

Sometimes, you yourself might want to dance in the soft drops, that cleanse the souls done with their time, bearing the animosity of human ignorance for long and leaving behind a treasure of memories, they had once shared. A relief from the clutches of a life, no longer respected or abnegated of existence. Simply forgotten. 

Sometimes, a storm of raucous dignity, leaving half written stories, pages left to be filled. Uprooting all of a sudden, all that once stood for who we were and who we wanted to be. Cause never is the soul shattered forever. It’s rather, lost in the tornado of time, never to be mentioned again. 

Or it could be just the same, ordinary, windy, precipitation of common world, nothing but a mere part of the water cycle. Coming in, probably, to us teach us lessons, we so often ignore to understand.

 Each drop is a life passing by. Each storm, a story unwritten. But with the correct measure of light and water, of the sun rays and droplets reflected off our souls, something so mystical yet beautiful could be woven, the spectrum of seven colours. The mirrors of life, may not do that at once. But with every falling drop and drifting cloud, is a trouble gone by, a chance to complete our story once again and a hope to find the lost sunlight amidst the dark clouds of life. 

And once we know how to withstand the vagaries of this rain, living would no longer be a journey towards the epilogue of death, but rather, a story- well written, well read. 

Are you sure – Post #3

Magic in the air

Sitting in a dark room and pondering over what went wrong, is indeed the last thing I would do in my life. If I took a wrong turn in this beautiful journey, standing at the corner and lamenting over my next step would only result in squandering the precious time, life has accredited us with. Instead, look upon the new path you have discovered and experience the enchanting aura  of the optimism in the air.
Life gives us no second chance to succumb back to the second we lost. Once gone, forever gone. The words thrown in the space that engulfs us all, cannot be drawn back. But life does not stop at that junction. It inspires us, every moment to open our eyes to a world that cannot be seen, to the magic, we so often choose to ignore.
A simple word of appreciation makes a child’s day. A simple smile of love melts a girl’s heart. A simple pat on the back instantly encourages a hard working soul. So why stumble at the speed breaker and turn to walk away into a melancholy you left behind? Why not step ahead into the sunshine and spread it to the mute audience who silently crave for it?
We can be the magicians of our own world. Wishing for a miracle is more important than lamenting upon a mistake. More than often, the mystical powers do make our day. So why not make someone else’s by sprinkling some pixie dust into a mucky marsh?
Time is running so fast that looking back seems like a long journey. So let’s make the one coming up, something to remember for all we cherish. A warm hug and a soft kiss is what I’m going to give my mom right away. A small ‘thank you’ to my household help, a simple but deep ‘sorry’ to the friend I hurt yesterday and those three magical words, ” I love you” to everyone close to my heart before time leaves me behind.
It’s these small joys that spread magnanimous amounts of love in our life. It’s these small things that make me believe that indeed, there is some magic in the air…..and that’s Me.