Sometimes there is absolute meaninglessness in finding meaning to things beyond your control. The idea is to move on with the stoic grace of your own positivity because the moment you start to find meaning there is no possibility of snapping out of 'why', 'how' or 'when'.
I saw this woman, a floral print on her cotton dupatta
walking in and out of the maze of the herb garden
for a fleeting moment I thought she was my mother
with her passion for plants, pets and petrichor
its going to rain today, she would say
with her self taught meteorological expertise
she had never been wrong, she would say with ease
the woman came to me and asked with unease
Are you okay? Do you need something?
I wish I could tell her I see my mother in everything.
So the world unfolds slowly like Michelangelo's dream inside your heart. One thing inside your head and the other outside. Your heart is a dappled snowstorm. Your mind is an archipelago of twists and turns. One boat capsizes, another takes you to the shore. You revisit tropical storms and arrive inside the parenthesis of eclipses. Heaven and Hell are just words. You resurrect your poetry. You make meaning of the unspoken and the unsaid. You live like rivers collapsing inside the arms of the sea, tired of meandering. There is always a thin line between flailing and flying. But you discover your wings. The future is written in the glory of the present tense. So I dedicate these lines to me, to the woman who knows that yielding is not harvest.
*Back in time when I was struggling with weightier issues....
These poems started out as little reminders to myself as I navigated different terrains and landscapes, experiencing things like I had never done before. There was always a ruse or a pretext to not speak the unspoken or to not write the unwritten. But in life, there are moments when truth is all that matters and everything a person has been saying using ‘sugar coated’ words holds no ground at all. What is the point of writing if the fear of judgment, review or criticism compels an artist to re-trace creative footsteps just to make the journey seem write worthy?
Like an artist who dips the paintbrush in the palette of life and reveals the vibrant landscape of the soul with unflinching honesty, I have tried to write what I felt in the innermost regions of my heart. Often, I have tried to find answers to questions that life poses. Often, I have found silence. There is no fixed template or frame to deal with the complexities of life, be it grief, loneliness, depression, despair and several other challenges that we face in our daily lives. However, there is universality of experience and this joins the hearts of people despite geographical & mental boundaries. And in this shared experience we all realize that we are in a way, somewhat unhinged.
Unhinged available at the Lulu Bookstore: