Living in the grey

Living in the area of greyness,

We rarely find,

The darkest black or the purest white,

To be the background of the sprinkled gold.

Once in a while, we look up,

To find the whiteness of the clouds,

Floating across the pool of blue.

We wonder at the dancing network of light

playing the patterns of life,

With its tangled nervous system.

And  lose ourselves in the puffed up clouds that melt to form a rainbow.

Suddenly be aware of thoughts that remain stacked one upon other,

Like those tissue papers arranged in the stack, 

used to wipe off dirt,

And then, to be thrown away.

We hurry off,  

 Move on fretting about an unsettled issue.

Walking Under The shades of green

The greens form irregular patterns over the road,

The bright yellow illuminations break all frontiers,

Fade the impression of the greens.

Somewhere between the appearance and the disappearance,

The impressions slide into an apparent invisibility,

Reduced to an awkward grey, they skulk in corners.

Suddenly, they shoot up,

Then it simply disappears.

Or does it? 

The  impressions breath in the illuminations and die in it.

Fading and appearing,

Never disappearing,

How am I to define you?

The lonely island

I am an island,

surrounded by the ocean,
That walls me out of the rest of the world.

The waves continuously creep into my shores,

Slowly and steadily,

Eating my shores away and taking my sands off into its bed.

Every day I change my facade as the ocean continuously breaks my frontiers.

There are times when  the ocean brews a storm beyond the horizon,

And it marches on with steady steps to trample my terrain mercilessly.

And I watch helplessly as it wrecks havoc,

riding wildly across me.                                                                                                                                        
 Every day, I lose my battle,

For I do not know what else to do.

I give away little by little,

And take all the hues, all the blues , with me.

Sometimes I wonder what am I, 

The island or the ocean?

I do not know where one ends, and where the other begins.

And yet what you see is just the lonely little island,
 So pleasant, warm and sunny.

For you do not know what storms  pass through me

And the battle  I lose, day by day.

One day, even before you realize,

All that would be left would be just the huge ocean.

You would be left to wonder,

Was there not an island out there in the middle of the ocean,

lonely and apart?

It

It’s a new beginning,

I do not know how many more faltered steps my legs would take,

As it measures the paths to be treaded on.

I sit here with a burdened heart,

Not yet ready to be free of the clutches of the insecurities of a tomorrow.

My eyes found the vast sky,

dark and still,

looming large above me,

 Encompassing my soul,

 Strangely housed in by my body.

Nights with my grandma

There is a small village,

And a home  that sprawls across the wilderness,
Unknown to the world.

THAT is my ancestral home.

The light that breaks darkness

Barely reached the corners,

And the windows could seal off light!

Nights were the darkest there.

THERE, my grandma treaded with soft steps,

Spreading the warmth of her affection.

Every night I would fondly run into her room,

Dimly lit by a small lamp.

 I jumped into her bed, demanding a story.

Her warmth filled the room,

As she embraced me 

And took me into the world of folklore, myths and epics,

Feeding my young mind with colours and dreams.

All so beautifully woven,

In the dark canvas of my grandma’s room.