Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Can I take your palm, and relate our future?

And then, she smiled.
As they walked, hand in hand, oblivious to the stares around, she did, thus.
For every question he'd demand, she'd smile in retort.
For all the things unsaid.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

When the blue caterpillar moved.

My earliest memory of travelling in a train would be the annual vacations to Hyderabad and Vizag. I've been going there since forever, and the mere reflections of them, make me feel happy and child-like, and slightly, for some unknown reason, obscure. I am assuming, based on carefully woven conversations, that I was quite the spirited kid, who would never settle down. Never mind the fact, that I initially imagined the train to be a blue caterpillar, on the move.
Yes, I think it was the seats. Yes, I indeed loved them the most about the journey, and the window, and the many entertaining images on the way, that this country successfully presented. Also, prior to the journey, I'd coax my father to buy me a lot of chocolates for the ride, which, obviously never lasted for more than a couple of hours. The sugar intake played an important role in my hyperactivity in the train. But then, there are these blurred images that you interacted with during those journeys. They present no emotion, no melancholy whatsoever, but these blurred images present an aspect of your past, that you cannot go back to.
And somewhere in the distance, trains evoke a small story in my head today.

She called out to Nina, who ran to her balcony, to catch the glimpse of the afternoon train scurrying by.
"Its high time you got your studies wrapped up Nina, the trains would come and go", so said the ignoramus.
"Lauren, have you even thought about the people who traveled in those trains, covering endless regions. Do you think that they think about us, as they pass these landscapes?"
"Nina, I haven't thought about all of that. But then there are these tales of yore that my senses have been often subjected to. Stories often arise out of simple journeys. The journeys, would not be categorically such, but more in the metaphorical sense. Each relationship is a journey in the true sense of the word. The physical presence of each other, would just be an additional frosting. As you stand here, wondering of those very mystical faces, you might actually end up knowing one of them someday. And he might grow to be very special to you. And during one of the many casual conversations that you'd share, he'd mention he's been through this part of the country, and then, you'd have a common thread to reflect and laugh about."
Suddenly, she didn't seem so ignorant any more. 

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Lights don't beam like they should.

I wouldn't mind letting go of things.
How and why materialism is always given a lot of importance, I understand, but for me, personally, the world would have been a lot better, if I didn't care.
I'm slowly changing into the woman I want to be. I'm gaining a lot more closure, and my priorities are changing for the better. 
I think it was a mistake not to drink today.
Because the world needs to be seen with a more careless light.
I wish attainment was as easy as it seems to the idle mind. 
When the dreamy eyes, are slowly loosing consciousness, happiness seems closer than it actually is. But then of course, morning comes with its share of harsh realities. But when you're just about to go to sleep, there is this awkward moment, when happiness seems close enough for you to hug it.
Similar patterns happens when you cry yourself to sleep. Your insides hurt so much, that grief seems to be sleeping next to you. 
I want genuine happiness, the kind that makes your eyes smile.
I just want to pour my heart out. 

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

When "all you need is love"

I've been wondering about it for far too long.
If possibly, love could be such, with no holds barred, with rules being damned, and people being ignored.
When the only thing that mattered was your love itself.
When one is oblivious to the other feelings that cramped the cerebrum.
When the passion for craving was so deep, and so intense, that you had to have that person, and no one else. 
Its just a thought.

And as she blushed, the adornment swayed to make way for the hidden smiles.
That love and love alone could perhaps infuse,
and as she strained to be contemplative,
he called.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

The time poetry ran dry.

It is often that I do not care,
but that night presented a grim picture,
when assumptions were apprehended,
and distastes were spelled out.
While I bore the brunt of the animosity,
and I was slightly shriveled,
at how clear misunderstandings can be.
I smiled, and sobbed.
Clear, gurgled sobs.
Not unhappy.
Just misunderstood.
Presented as the picture of abhorrence,
I chose to stay mum.
And as I question the unfairness of it all,
the words that you so unleashed,
come back to me, like a gust of wind would,
and the sobs choose to appear,
and I'm left weak and insecure.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Just when she thought that the world wasn't being articulate, did he come and sweep her off her feet, to the Arcadia of dreams, that she only thought about. All this while, the permanent figurine in her life was a void. He just filled it up. 
He wouldn't leave her for anyone else. He owned her, now, even more so.  

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Just saying!

I'm silently reeling under the impressions that so many people have on me. 
Some are fun to talk to. Long after the conversations cease to exist, I silently go back to them. I like that feeling.
The kind of feeling that only N and S used to give me.

Boy, you've been kind of stubborn lately, also a bit immature.
But there are reasons, beyond normal comprehension, as to why we exist.
I think, I make enough sense now.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Conversation perils.

It starts, without much ado. 
Like the silence that seeps into awkward conversations, 
when there's nothing more to ramble upon.
'Cause goodness, as a virtue ceases to exist.
And you and I perform, to the tunes of our opinionated rhythms.
Diplomacy, well maintained.
As you and I smile, trying to scrape through the cloddishness. 
If I would have been the spectator, and not the actor,
how heartily would I have laughed, oh how heartily!