walking that road

when love came calling

I warded it off many times..

and when I succumbed,

it is not for one that is my own..

you came to me I know not why
I walked with you knowing full well
that you are not gonna stay
but leave me halfway

heart heavy with grief I smile up at you
under this radiant sunset..

I know I have to let go

it is better you say, for you and me..

I walk for the joy of being at your side
the joy that is momentary
I walk knowing it for sure
that I have to walk back alone...

I walk this road with you
the road that leads nowhere..
I walk knowing the pain
of walking back alone

sense of belonging..

is lost..!!

lost in thoughts..
lost in memories..
lost in herself nd the world around..

at a loss for words..
though words flow like a stream..
lost for a smile..
lost in a fear that grips tight the heart..
fear of loss..

loss of self..
lost to the world..
lost to the people around..

presences..
thoughts..
actions ..
words..

chaos and nothingness..
random words strung together..
trying to find meaning..
for living..
for loving..
for being..
in this mad mad world..

Grey Shades of People

Life brings to us characters. Characters having all shades of grey in them.. We make a mistake when we try to see them only in black and white.. Then the shades of grey go missing or misinterpreted.. Like the guy who speaks American English and acts I don’t care. He tries to put up the image of a so called ‘cool dude’ but underneath is as vulnerable and as confused as anyone else. Or the girl who tries to hide in the intellectual smoke screen which she creates for herself. Who adamantly refuses the fact that she likes to socialise though her eyes sparkle when she gets even a little nod of acceptance..the all bearing all understanding woman who tries to take away or minimize the huge burdens life throws at her by trying to solve and sort out things for others. The girl who gets boggled up trying to figure out life, to prioritise and in the process gets lost half in the conversation.. The girl who so wants everything in her life to go according to time table that she works like a Swiss clock and when things go wrong breakdown and cry herself to sleep like a baby.. the girl who really likes her friend but cannot say so and defiantly denies so due to ‘what will society say’. And the guy who is the same, they go on without naming that which they have between them..

Denial is in some way the best way of survival.. Some go for it while some try to find solace in faith, some in smokes, some in conversation.. from a distance we all seem to have that perfect life atleast for those who view us as people who have achieved something in life. but we all secretly or openly carry our load of burdens. Be it the fact that I’m not good looking or I cant seem to strike a note with people or I am not as good as pple think me to be or my professional side is screwed or I don’t have what that is called a personal life.. We all camouflage, we overcome, we overlook our flaws at the same time trying to be someone, something in front of others. Our grey shades we try to bleach, those who don’t do that end up being judged. In our haste we mix more black rather than white and backfire on our own efforts. But we still move on, we go on.. we misunderstand and get misunderstood.. We try to make up, sometimes genuinely, sometimes just for the sake of it.. we try to fill voids left by people by new people and the hurt left by them by newer ones.. we go alone, we drown in crowds, we apply different tactics.. and life goes on.. to repeat itself, in new circumstances, in new colours..

Melancholy: my name

Melancholy, my name. 
If I need to be named after an emotion, I would choose melancholy. It sounds so sweet to the ear: melan-koli. The word is a beautiful poem, it has music in it, a certain slow soft rhythm. It has beauty in it, written in a flowing cursive hand, with just the right amount of sweetness, sadness, and a pinch of longing perhaps.
Unlike other non-sunny emotions, my melancholy carries no bitterness. Again I won’t call it an emotion, it is rather a disposition passed on from the womb, from mother to child, and if the child is a daughter, then to the next generation until no daughter is born anymore. Perhaps, something that is passed on perhaps to the firstborn daughter, sort of like a legacy.

Melancholy was my mother, in some ways. And was my maternal grandmother. I am my mother’s firstborn. My mother was my grandmother’s first daughter. My grandmother, though the youngest, was the only girl in a family of nine siblings. And beyond that, I do not know.