Monday, August 24, 2015


The cheeks brushed against
Those salty drops; storms blazing
Inside made a wreck

The eyes slept with night
Sun peeking at lashes
Drying night’s remains

Linking up at haiku horizon:) So glad to be back

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Know Thyself

She says that having courage does not mean that we are unafraid. Having courage means that we have faced our fears. We are able to say “I have fallen but I will get up”. As she listens to these words of wisdom, tears choke up her throat. There is a her-story ( not history) that lies behind the choke felt in the throat. Thinking of the days where she had struggled, alone, brings immense pain. Every day was about fighting with the weak spirits, a tornado, tugging on the door and thrashing on the window pain, of a room she called her ‘home’. Every night, the waters of anguish would get dried on the pillow she would try to rest on. The next morning, cloaked in the colors of her clothes, she would stride, to face the dreariness and the new-ness that the day would bring along. There were some days which would teach her so much about the pain of others that her fears seemed like a tiny ant in front of an elephant. Each day she tried to be grateful for things she had and people she met. There were days she would be so absorbed by the cacophony of existential questions, that the thought of leaving the life offered more solace than finding the answers. But she knew that life was a gift, that no matter how much she cursed and berated herself, there were parts of her which she loved. The only difference was that she had stopped loving herself. Life had become a never ending struggle of proving her worth to people around. Faith and Hope had become her long lost friends. In the midst of all this, she continued to rise. She had heard someone say “Fall down seven times, stand up eight”. In fact she had become habitual of standing up so much that she lost the count.

Today the struggle continues. With-in self. There are a million tug of wars that have churned out threads of this ball of heart. The mind is rest-less. Peace is yearned for. At times she wonders “Does peace feels peaceful enough? Or is it just our projection of how peace is synonymous to bliss?” Life never stops; volcanoes shall erupt, waters shall rise and earth shall split, yet life shall continue…..Till when? She asks…….

A whisper says“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them”
With tears streaming down her face she said “ I’ll try” as she always did…………

P.S: The lines in italics in the beginning and at the end have been said by Maya Angelou.

Thursday, August 13, 2015

The melting candle

The wick of the candle has been burning. It’s been 3 months since it was lit. To the eye that looks at the wax that has melted the weight of the wait, it feels nothing less than pain morphing itself into solid water.

The other day the heavens roared in anger. They shouted at the clouds “Can’t you see her? Carrying on, with hiccups in her throat, and words in her mouth, unable to say what she truly feels?.....Go, travel the oceans and cease the distance!” She looked up at the lightening, scared, melting away, as the days passed.  

The breeze would carry his conversations, mixed with grains of sand, fragrances of the other land and the saltiness of the waters. The other day, when she found herself staring at her reflection, she melted like there was no tomorrow. The moon winced in pain. The wax told her to hold on, for what if there was no more left to melt? She gathered herself, flickered for few moments. And began to burn herself again…..and again….and again….for there was someone burning too.

A haiku everyday: Motley

Hello everybody, hope you are doing well?

word of the day: Motley (adjective, noun). Meaning: incongruously varied in appearance or character; disparate

Synonyms: varied, eclectic, miscellaneous

Every day I see
A motley of emotions
Dancing inside me

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

A haiku for everyday

Learning new words have always been interesting for me.. Ever listened carefully to the sound every word makes. Some sound smooth, swift, others sound harsh and crude. 

Word for today: Bilk ( verb) : Meaning : obtain or withhold money from someone by deceit or without justification ; cheat or fraud

They continue to
Bilk our heard earned money; and waste
It in open drain

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Tuesdays with Morrie : Afterglow

I’m getting fond of Mitch Albom now. He befriended me one fine day as I was surfing through Amazon. He just came by and flashed himself by offering me faith, just when I needed. I spent some good days with him, soaking in all that he had experienced, only to see me start walking on my experiential journey. I gathered faith, through essence and in spirit. I think the beauty of special friends is that you keep re-visiting them, even if it seems like eternities passed between you and them. Every meeting is like a beautiful chapter, written in conversations, added to the book of life. If this metaphor was to come true any day, I would randomly open a page and start reminiscing along the pages.

Few days back Mitch called me. He knew Buddhism is what I had found my calling in. Funny, isn’t it? After all these years of wait and wonder for a Guru I could believe in, I found that the faith was no where outside but with-in me. I could see the power of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo reach my soul, cleansing my spirit with every chant. He asked me to spend some time with his favourite teacher and coach Morrie. I was all for it. Pages after pages wisdom overflowed, making me think of the person I have been, the values I stand for, the culture that imposes itself on me and the love I feel for my loved ones. All through this journey, not once Mitch conversed with me and yet he did. He let me in his world of ‘lessons learnt’ with Morrie. When people are so beautiful inside you are head over heels in love with them. Isn’t it? Ah! I’m glad to have fallen in love with such people in my life!

There’s something I feel going up and down inside my chest. I don’t know what it is. My spirit or the warm fuzzy afterglow of Tuesdays with Morrie?

A memory: The other day I shared with my brother that I’m working on publishing something these days.
He said “I hope not fiction or something like Do this, do that?”
 “You mean self help books?”
“Oh! Not at all”
“Thank God”
“Haha! Cum’on I know I’m not good at writing fiction. All I want is my book of poems to get published someday”.

P.S: I purposely didn’t add “book review” in the title. A book so sacred as this one deserves beautiful words, not clich├ęd ones!

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