Grasp

As I flip through the pages

Tearing apart the bounds between me and all else 

Clutching to the wheels 

Of my chair

In the confinement of knowing,

The cast on my fractured limb

Plasters more than my bones.

Trying to fuse the cracks

Kneeling in the omniscience 

Letting go, letting God

Letting the free form script

Decided the course of a will that wants control.

I soar in my thought, leaving behind my limitations.

As I read through volumes after volumes 

Of days, deceptions, illusions

Forcing the readers on my nose bridge

I see the wisdom

Magnified in that tryst

Then I smile, for at that moment of knowing 

I know everything 

When I know I know nothing.

Imperfect

She has a glaring flaw

A flaw that eludes her, blurred 

In the brightness of what she chooses to see.

She, the sweet child, to have that blemish

Like a beauty enhancer 

Like a blessing in disguise,

An inability to guise, a shortcoming to pretend 

Tending to every emotion with parental love

Giving what she can, without an agenda,

A veil, an ulterior motive.

She smiles with her heart, with no sifters in place

She loves with her soul - like love is supposed to be I hear

She speaks like she’s making love to the truth

Or shelling in silence and dwelling in peace

Sweetheart the flawed Her

No manifesto in tow

She shines on the puddles and the planes

Streaming through body bending crevices of sorrows and joys

She has a distracting flaw, that attracts shallow judgements

Made under sinister smiles

For the world has misplaced consciences

Lost in the narrow lanes of personal narratives.

She is what you see, If you see what she is, that is!

For that’s a flaw in itself to see things as they be

As you and me are flawless in word and deed

Our selves dwell in inflated amor

Spread and shared with the a faultless existence

Sometimes I feel sorry for the flawed Her

As a part of this irony called love.

Isn’t it a virtue to feel sorry? Ask the self 

Or may be don’t ask it. Let it be.

I’ll leave the flawed Her alone

Saving her the loneliness of being an odd ball

In a perfect world!

Present

One day the Sun rises
Over the Greek Isles
A witness stands by watching
Gasping at the view
After thousands of miles of voyage
Foraying through where to catch this occurrence
Contemplating, planning and packing those bags
All for this sight, this sighting.

That day, when the Sun rises by those sapphire waters
Glazing bright icing on the salty sea
A soul ponders in thought, lost in awe
Wondering where else to catch Him rise
How else to experience this flutters, these feelings
Of the Sun that rises, somewhere by the ocean
Or those mighty mountains
May be over a monument, or lavender fields in Provence.

As those thoughts filter through the living light
A giving awareness dawns upon the being
The next stop, the watcher decides
Should be at home, those familiar lanes.

Those lanes might not tumble into paved perfection
Those planes might not be doused with tulips
But this very Sun rises there, this very warmth hugs the skin.
So the bystander wanderer reaches home
The vagabond harnesses those dreams that waver
The nomad grasps those quests and leashes them in today
And watches those golden rays graze right before
The grass that cushions his daily path
His bespoke Sun rises right there, each day
All he has to do is not to stray.

This n That

As the Golden State limps back to normalcy, The spousal unit comes up with never before, unique and out of the box ideas to venture out of the house. He started reading some MD's best seller about healing and is a paragon in advocating the benefits of walking to all and sundry. 'All and sundry' in question is yours truly, thanks to the confined audience he gets due the social distancing lately. I have to admit that though I am not a fitness freak by any stretch of imagination, I'd always loved walking all my life. So the hubby and I walk these days in the nearby park - which is a lovely spread of everything a outdoorsy adventurous type seeks and also what everything a nature lover like me seeks - Just the other day, I heard this resonating, rhythmic tap tap tap while I took the fleet of stairs paved through the creek to launch me into the park. I looked up to spot a tiny feller with a beak that looked like it was carved out of iron pecking away at a far away branch of the walnut tree. I even tried to film him in on my smart phone - but the sun placement didn't yield share-worthy results. So anyway, the stroll gets punctuated with such diversions but who's really a fitness freak here? So, it's all okay without any plot holes - The path only has yummy twists and turns and no wonder the weighing scales don't budge much for me.

It was a relief to note that businesses are slowly but surely limping back to normalcy, opening their doors to patrons. We realized the outlets were open and decided to drive by just to gauge the atmosphere outside. I am happy to report that the parking lot had quiet a few cars and people ventured out with masks, probably armed with other precautions and lingered around the open strip. We didn't really step out but decided to drive by the picturesque Winery route to breathe in some fresh air and feast on some green scenery. As we drove past, the little one expressed desire to buy some slime. Now talking about the many facets of slime dear people, is going to be a diversion that wouldn't let me blog about this or that, so I'll pass that while making a mental note to use it as a prompt for one of my blogs one of these days. 

So the slime acquiring stop happened when we all decided to step into a store. While we traced the sparsely occupied isles of the store, I spotted a pair of pillow cases that are dressing up the pillows in my room as we speak, snuggling up with James Bond. James Bond is a stuff white tiger that I got as a return gift for my now fifteen year old niece's third birthday that was celebrated in her hometown Mumbai. As we were asked to pick a toy for the kids post party that was hosted in Hamley's, I sidelined my then barely two year old first born who didn't have to vocabulary to convey her choices and did a little bit of match fixing to make her pick James Bond the white tiger. Ever since, James Bond had been my favorite (or one of the few favorites) that was a steady companion on my writing desk, book case or the bed. Now, I don't cuddle with him (as he is, err, too tiny and I need body pillows to support my frame) but he has been a joy for ever in literal terminology. 

So back to the pillow case spotting - seldom do I pick thing off the shelf and buy them as my shopping style isn't impulsive. The contemplation lets me choose wisely and pick things like James Bond that kind of become as permanent a fixture as they can become in this impermanent life. Now let's no digress into the impermanence thingie as well as that won't end well, or that won't end so to speak ;) So the pillow cases were white, the preferred shade of my bed linens and they have these cute cues - and they have flowers and they have the yin and yang in the safety and adventure they seem to suggest. When I picked them, I thought of James Bond and me - The yin and yang. I promptly peeled the cases off of their snug packaging and put them on the pillows, grabbed James Bond to pose for my blog and viola, I had a whole this and that forming in my head and heartscape.

So here we are, with a picture peek into my head, heart and home - and here is James Bond, the cutest white tiger known to human kind. I'll capture him up close sometime to show off the pool like blue eyes he has and I'll bet my last dollar that it'll inspire you to swoon if not write random lines in your random verses about 'the blue eyes you'd fallen in love with' :) And by the way, I say James Bond is the cutest stuff white tiger of all because on one instance, a very sassy and out spoken art student of mine asked me for James Bond as a birthday present. Now on this particular occasion, I brought this little girl a case of colors for her birthday (that I usually, voluntarily celebrate for my students in my classroom) "I want the white tiger instead of these" She pointed to James Bond and demanded. I for the first (and hopefully the only time in my life) kind of dodged someone and denied them what they asked for, though it was in a very sly political manner. "James Bond has been with us for so long and he is not new. I shall find you a new one next time around but you can have the colors and anything else you please till then" I negotiated. The little girl settled for the colors, a box of chocolates and a shiny bracelet with mild reluctance but I from then on, made sure that it wasn't in the eye shot of any little kids my age (mental age that is) And one fine day,  the second born was old  enough to demand things and I cannot, no matter how hard I try, dodge those demands. So James Bond goes on his adventures now and then to tacky sticky play surfaces and I am off late, looking for ways to keep him clean. We'll see how that goes.

But for now, and at the end of the days he strays, James Bond is securely placed back in clean, loving condition like he is tonight - and I am sure he'll keep me safe while I'll keep him wild.

And what delightful irony James Bond's life in in the company of Elloco Numero Ono :)

(Published in first draft glory and may contain spelling blunders and the occasional skipped words, which my world wide brethren are humbly requested, as always, to condone :) )

 

Address

As I walk along the unknown  lane
I come face to face with the faceless
The stuff that hits you hard
And sets in deep, despite the invisibility.
The stuff that you sense instead of see
The wounds that are made of phantom stones
That are hauled at your soul.

As I take things in my stride
I swallow the fears, examine the scrapes in new light
Hey, these are lessons! I revel in the perspective.
I walk along the street of experience;
A thing that is felt not spotted
Playing peekaboo, penetrating beyond the bones
Revealing the formless insights, whispering the wordless wisdom.

As I stroll along the roads of perceptions
They broaden like paths laid in magical tales
Making surface tension on water
Morph into a sheets of paved sidewalks
Enablers of these visions, set a runway
To take off with with the wings of discernment
Suddenly making air and water
Into palpable trails leading to the rational -
As funny as it sounds.

As silly as it rings, I walk this track
Where the lines of duality blur into a oneness
Where rights and wrongs fuse into fairness
Where pain and pleasure concoct into bliss
I know not what this course entails
Or where it leads or what it presents
I look around to see where I am
'Serendipity' the signpost reads.

Connect

Walk with me to the other side

Of these paths suspended in mid air

Like fond dreams dwelling in deep sleep

Germinating seeds of yearning 

In the subconscious

These roads laid in the sky

Grazing the fog

Extend and connect 

Fantasies to the factual.

Bridge the gaps

From the antonyms of life

Surging the wings to the synonyms of hope.

But if you see the pathways blur

Don't hesitate in confusion

Let the curtains rise on faith

And take a leap

You might fail to see

But you shall prevail to seek.

Make the connect

And let the trust set in

Paving paths from visions to the truth.

Photo by Jerome Dominici 

Spread

Hope you know

The Kaleidoscope of dreams

That shift and shape 

In your thoughts

Adorn my heart

Like love knots

Made in intricate twists

Never to be unraveled

Staying twisted like an infinite symbol.

Wish you know

The little flutters

My hearts feels 

Every time you throw a careless glance

In my blessed direction

Beats are skipped

Footsteps are tripped

Finding solace, regaining balance

Clutching to the crutches 

Of your childlike smiles

That linger like an aura around you.

Trust you know

Like incense you spread your grace

Filling the air 

With your fragrance of fondness

Flirting in your gentle presence

I falter and fall

Deep diving in your eyes

Feeling the chill of love

Engrossed in that moment.

Wondering if it is your prowess

Or my Candor

That colors these reflections.

Photo by Elina Sazonova from Pexels

Contagious

I wear a mask now

A literal one

Meant in the literal way!

The figurative counterparts

Laugh in mock.

I live in a bubble now

Looking through the opening

Guarding life

By shunning to live.

The delightful irony

Laughs out loud

As empty lanes

Dwindle into eerie homes

I carry a shield now

Guarding me from what can be

Carefully concealing who I am

To what I was.

The existing distances

Between people

Get visible now

Just like the masks we wear

The fears, the worries

Take forms and shapes

Erasing the lines 

Between real and the reality.

I smile with my eyes now

Hoping someone can see it, feel it

And then I sigh with my soul now

Realizing how an invisible smile

Can't be see, when the visible ones escape visions.

I live a little more now

Probably, this is what the materialization 

Of the abstract taught me.

I love with my every cell now

May be the take away is finally taken.

Photo by Gustavo Fring from Pexels

Meeting

On the other side of the glass

There's a world

May be a whole entire Galaxy

Swimming and swirling

Gliding and swaying

Like stars in space

Like comets in sky.

Forests of kelp

Spread like curtains of silk

Through which, Sharks in tiger grab

Pirouette around like trained ballerinas.

On this side of the glass

I stare in awe

At the galaxy of life

Immersed under water.

Sea stars grazing the sand

Like stars graze the dream land

King crabs maneuvering around

Like robots on remotes.

Sea horses sway 

In a mock gallop in the ocean abound

I gape bemused

Bedazzled in the aqua swirls.

On the other side of the glass

I see a looking glass

Wherein my form seems like a fleck of dirt

My existences blurs in these waves of wonder.

Surrendered to the mastercraft

My eyes well up in bliss

In a meeting of a fleck and the formidable

A perspective is born, and an ego is blurred.

In between Lines

She paces down the corridor in anticipation. She has taken care of  every last detail. There are bright Chrysanthemums in the vase - the enticing smell of blue berry muffins wafting through the length and breadth of their eclectic home. She thinks of his obscene sweet tooth and smiles while filling the candy dish with the gourmet dark chocolate truffles she got from his favorite shop in the downtown. 

wood wick candles make crackling sounds in the background illuminating the fireplace mantle. She loves candle light and the sound of water. The table top fountain sprays a mist as it gurgles in glee. 

The door bell rings. Her smile blooms ear to ear. She adjusts her hair and opens the door. Their eyes meet. He lugs his bag into the house. "How was the flight?" she asks. "Not bad. But the trip was hectic. I could barely sleep zooming past so many timezones"

"Lunch is ready" she offers "Take a shower, eat something and go to bed"

He nods in agreement, smiling and holding her from the side. She awkwardly places her head on his shoulder and says "Hurry up. You look famished"

As she sets the table he approaches from behind "Look what I got you!" This is an announcement she doesn't like to hear. The smile from her face disappears. He pulls out a sleek case and puts it infront of her, offering her to take it from his hands."What is this?" she asks looking blank. He senses what's about to come. "Open it" he urges. You might like it.

She opens the case and finds a mother of pearl watch with a silver chain. Her taut face stays nonchalant. She snaps the case close and looks at him annoyed. Her features shrink into a frown "And why do you think I need another watch added to the two dozen watches I already hoard? Do I look like I have a lifestyle for a watch wardrobe?" 

"But you like mother of pearl" He pleads "And this one is going to look so good on your wrist. You can wear it as a bracelet if not as a time piece"

She looses her cool "How many watches, purses and scarfs do I need? You know I don't know how to respect these expensive accessories. I  don't like what you bring home time and again. It is negative energy in the home when I hoard them and have no use for these gifts. Didn't I tell you I don't like or need gifts? When would you really honor my wish and not impose your own preferences on me?"

Her voice becomes shrill. She loses all her natural cool and darts out of the nook. He follows her with the case in his hand "But I wanted to bring you something. As a token of love. You are on my mind when I travel and I feel good when I get you something"

"And how about you think about how I feel for a minute? You just keep at it no matter how many times I forbid you from splurging on things that don't matter or indicate anything to me. How about you, for a flash, think of what I want instead of what you want me to want??"

She knows how these episodes go. She makes mental notes before he comes to not react to these regular occurrences. She writes down lines in her journal ' 'accept what he brings you, don't fuss about them' - But the moment she sees those gifts something inside of her transforms into a momentary alien that doesn't in the least behaves like how she actually is. It is amusing how these triggers slay her and make her succumb to the emotion, to the loss of temper. She looks cross, flashing her meanest best look in his direction and walks into her study, closing the door after her. He stands outside gently calling out to her "Honey - I know you don't like these, the next time around, I'll make sure I'll get you something you love"

"I don't love anything, and please give up on searching to find and bring home the things I love, now leave me alone" She yells back, settling on the floor, leaning into the wall. An awkward silence fills the space and he walks away to take a shower.

She sits there for a while, losing track of time and losing grip on herself. She leans into her knees and sobs silently. Letting out all the stress of missing him, of being this wonder woman juggling work and home, being his pillar of strength. The wonder woman jumps out the window and she is time and again face to face with the inner child that cannot really extract into words all the relief she feels and the release of all the missing she undergoes while he is away.

She walks out of the room, gathering herself, setting the table and serving the food. He comes in like a reprimanded child. 

"Next time around, I won't bring you anything you don't like" He assures her. She stays mum and serves him food. But a part of her wants to scream out that it is not the gift that makes her react, it is not the irrelevance of it. It is just the fact that she misses him so sorely and her brave act fails her. She just needs a pretext to cry and wash that pain away - his gifts offer her the perfect domino effect. She wishes to tell him that no materials can compare to the comfort he brings her and he really doesn't need to put any thought to choose what she loves - cause when he arrives, he has taken care of it.

The silly woman doesn't want to take the aid of her words to convey this simple fact. It is probably because she wants to be understood without a word being uttered. The peekaboo of their communication gaps surface in these gift bringing rituals. 

He holds her hand and draws her close to him. They hug tenderly in silence where the unspoken angst melts and love fills in the space between them. But the unsaid words linger in between the lines.

 Blessed are souls that understand the unspoken language of the heart.

Quest

One day I set out to find a trinket

A pick me up to brighten my day

May be I would display it on my desk

To offer me a flash of inspiration 

When the block smashes the blog

And I sit feeling abandoned by the creative Gods.

I looked far and wide

Near and here 

The world is an overflow of things that stir

Only if the coolers you wear don't become the blinders

Only if the universe isn't fit into the blind spot in this Ego ride.

What if the brains fail? We do have jump-starters for asking

So I set out, armed with my irises and a lens

And looked to open the treasure trove of revelations.

I spot lush foliage

With etched edges and pronounced outlines

If the creator worked his magic on each humble leaf

I must after all be able to recreate a small heap of words

To imitate his craftsmanship, I thought.

And I thought well I suppose.

As I catch a humming bird hovering above a bloom

Looking like machinery in motion, suspended in mid air

His lurid wings holding me hostage

In mesmerized awe, I freeze.

The penalty, or reward I know not what

Was a capture of the bird on a well timed lens.

I marvel at the detail, swoon at the vibrancy

The thought of the trinket escapes the confines.

Who needs idols when the ideals shine bright?

Who needs ornaments to adorn and spruce

When expression tumbles down in a wordy jumble

I throw blocks to wind and weave a repose

Of something in between a verse and prose.

I know not to write odes - I am no Keats

Each time I attempt to praise I face many defeats.

But sincere reverence stages a sentiment of its own

And sings praise of the creation, discovering the unknown.