Year: 2016

Old pal,
I believe that you’re caught up in the greys of life,
So much that when black enters, it never feels out of the blue,
You seem to be aiming for white, which fades away too soon,
However, you fail to realise that even in blues,
There exist magnificent hues
Now what you need to do is view life as a blank page,
And then create an abstract image
But don’t settle for what’s made of wax,
Trust me, it’s a hoax in the form of a box,
Pick up the set of pastels instead,
And I guarantee –
There will be reds and carmine too,
There will be greens and jade too,
There will be yellows and ochre too,
You could be inclusive of orange and purple too,
And you may even find room for pink and brown too
Now, if you still choose to stick with monochrome
Then there is no hope for you
Recall how you art teacher would insist
On your filling in the white gaps as much as possible
And apply the same rule to your life
Only then will you truly appreciate the light
That falls in naturally.

To peel a broken heart,
You do not require a pair of sterile gloves,
But only a string of words,
Uttered without a second thought.

To feel a broken heart,
You do not require any special tool,
Glance at the victim in the eye,
And be on the lookout for the telltale spark.

To heal a broken heart,
You do not require another heart,
Wire your brain in such a manner,
That it always gains the upper hand.

To seal a broken heart,
You do not require a dozen stitches,
Just put on the suit of the Tin Man,
Without his bizarre wish of course.

Your ideal broken heart (Picture credits: Emma Parker)

Here in cityscapes
I just want the delicate breeze
To lend me a butterfly kiss
And carry away the gloom from the afternoon.

These cloudscapes are way too tempting
They make me want to float with them
But I am doomed with logic and limits
And left with mediocre alternatives.

I step into streetscapes
Out of my midday discomfort
I trace the graffiti and picturesque walls
Searching for signs of paradise, but fail miserably.

I sprint across moonscapes
They aren’t appeasing, they don’t suffice
In letting me witness how a moonbow is cast
Or providing a guiding light towards home.

So I rely on dreamscapes
To dream within a dream may not be
A random act of escapism after all
At least I get to adjust what I envision.

Ribbons or bows
Till a tiny tot
Tugged at his toes.

Promptly, but not intentionally
I snatched the place of his lady love
And she was now bound to be on
Either side of my glove.

Everything he bought for her
Now came in a pair of two
But somehow the reverse
Was rarely ever true.

It was never a matter of shame
To serve him by pulling out his socks
And he could be the one
To slip me into frocks.

Our bond was a fresh example of faith
And when he would throw me up in the sky
Even a perfect couple remained curious
For when I would let out a cry.

As time flew by
Puberty struck me
Mild touches turned awkward
Not even with the exception of a bruised knee.

Tantrums no longer worked in my favour
Nor could I argue that red wasn’t a harsher pink
Instead he was now ready with a cane
And that was enough to break our sync.

Thrice upon a time,
I chose the glossy finished wood
It seemed like a dime,
From where I stood.

An ounce of forgiveness,
Along with a downpour of the holy river
Has only caused me to be a mess
And a walking wound generator.

Even the banyan tree shakes its head,
And lowers its prop roots further
To say I don’t deserve even a death bed,
Let alone being pardoned by a mother.

Throughout the path,
I subconsciously got tangled in ivy
Assuming I wouldn’t require a calamine bath,
And brush everything off slyly.

Now I sit here by the lake,
All alone on a slimy wooden log
For my own goodness’ sake,
Passing the buck on the fog.

I can easily ask for a third second chance,
And after yet another repeated sigh
I will vow not to call it a happenstance,
But the real doubt is- Will I?