Enchanted

One of the few things noticed while walking in a maze,
Is how earnestly the next turn is beseeching you gaze,
Although you already know this isn’t any race,
Yet, you fervently want to just get out of the place.

You told me I would know no silence, as long as my fury was at war,
Choiceless, I knew that withholding it would cause my heart to char,
I tried hard, but found no other way, except to release,
Because sometimes, fighting is the only way, to peace.

You told me life wasn’t worthy, without potential for a dream,
But mere dreaming is not easy as life makes it seem,
So, for yours to come true, I wouldn’t spare myself the knife,
Because sometimes, death is the only donor, to life.

You told me I would never know thirst, unless I drank some wisdom,
But analysing cause and effect seems a little too weird and random,
So, to learn more on you, I had to force my identity off the ledge,
Because sometimes, ignorance is the only reason, for knowledge.

You told me, every work I spoke, was time spent not listening,
But how could I relegate my ears to keep forever hearing,
So, to hear more from you, I decided to mute myself for the magic,
Because sometimes, silence is the only voice, for music.

You told me, everything I saw, was only my version of reality,
But it was unbearable to believe, that every fact has duality,
So, to save you the pain, I resigned myself to the untruth,
Because sometimes, lie is the only face, for truth.

You told me, from this point on, we would have to go our own way,
But being together for a lifetime, I ran out of things to say,
So, to let you have your own way, I could surely despise myself somehow,
Because sometimes, hatred is the only companion, to love.

This one is for the Mirror, stemming as it does from some very intense experiences. How often do we see a conflict between the choices we have, and the choices we wish we had? When life leaves you with only one path, and it is not one you are willing to be nudged along, it often takes the diametrically opposite reason, to make you walk down the path. Not because you love the path, but because the path is the only destination for your love.

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Yes & No

It is surprising how two little words can play with your life,
Like frozen butter being teased by a serrated knife,
They hang on at the tip of a person’s tongue,
And then vanish like the tune of a paean unsung.

The word everyone wants to hear, is a definite yes,
But unfortunately, life is more complicated than chess,
Thus choice is something we confer, merely for show,
Because the word we can least bear, is a crushing no.

We must have asked each other this, a million times,
Within the confines of our own mind, like silent chimes,
And we look into each other’s eyes, guessing what the other would say,
But whatever the word, it always had to wait for some other day.

Times when we were happy, it was the last thing on mind,
Times when we were sad, it was too awkward to remind,
And so we would shrug it off, as something for tomorrow,
Naively believing, that there is a holiday for sorrow.

Reminds you of the nights, when I held your sobbing head,
While you haltingly pondered, which way things would head,
You tried unsuccessfully to hold back every tear, to prevent me from wiping,
While I tried, in vain, to hold back the world, to prevent you from weeping.

With cloudy eyes, and a cloudier mind, you tell me,
Tonight is the beginning, of a future we both want to see,
And that tonight if I asked you, you couldn’t say no,
That you were willing to leave everything and just go.

But tonight is a time I would never ask you,
Although that’s something you never knew,
And I know this adamance will take you by surprise,
But I promise, to only ask you, when you really have a choice.

Obviously for a Beacon. Two words, but two worlds apart. It’s like St. Peter refereeing between two doors, and Morpheus behind you saying “I can only show you the door, you’re the one that has to walk through it”. This one is inspired by, and dedicated to the serial Remington Steele. Very rare;y do you come across something that can change your outlook to mundane and important things in life, in such a significant manner, as this serial did. In fact, two of the lines from the poem are actually paraphrased dialogues from one of the episodes. That is how deep an impact it made on my life.

So deep an impact that the next one, ‘Think’ my 200th poem on this blog, is also from the serial.

They are one of the smallest frequently used words in conversation, yes and no. But nevertheless in one circumstance, they are anything but trivial, the answer from a life partner. So how do we ingeniously devious beings counter the risk? By playing out an elaborate ritual, restaurants, movies, champagne, flowers, sweet nothings, joyrides, the works. And after all that is through, a visit to the jeweller, and a patient wait before going for the kill. You see, the timing has to be perfect, so we wait like a tiger waiting for the unsuspecting deer to lower its guard.

But you see, the small catch is, there is no unsuspecting deer, you should probably strike it and change it to ‘expectant deer’. There is only a deer playing along through the entire charade, with a one-word speaking part. The catch is, the deer might decide to improvise, then you are really screwed. Because, all of your preparations, all of your routines, prepared you for the yes, so much so, that the no was merely an insignificant statistical possibility. But what happens when the tables are turned, and the yes becomes an insignificant statistical possibility? Are you prepared enough for the day when the deer stalks the tiger, and you have nowhere to hide?

The thing is, we want something so badly, that we want to believe the other person wants it as much, and so try to rub it off onto them, at times and circumstances when they are cornered into agreeing. I mean, if somebody spent a zillion bucks to make you feel like royalty, and then in return asked you a simple thing like ‘go walk into this cage for me’, it would feel downright awkward to say anything but yes, irrespective of the consequences. But, true love lies in choice, and that sometimes means abiding by and respecting the other person’s choice, however conflicting and detrimental it may be to our own choice. If you really love someone, then why should you not give them a fair chance at exercising their choice, unless of course you fear that their rational-minded choice may not be something palatable to you. Sometimes it sounds like a politician who has done months of canvassing, and then on D-Day hires a limo to drop the voter and a valet to hold an umbrella over the voter’s head until he finishes voting. For some weird reason, that smells of rank insecurity, but then maybe, love today, is really that.

What the voter fails to sometimes comprehend is, what happens after the vote is cast? Will the valet and limo still be in service for them? The answer to that, is what guides the real freedom of choice.

Sleeping Buds

Looking around at their cousins taking in the sun,
Life for flora was definitely a whole lot of fun,
All they had to do, was bide their today as a bud,
And tomorrow would show the magic that grew from mud.

Swaying along to the lilting tunes of the breeze,
Proud of the persistent visit from the bees,
By morning, they too would wear the colours of blossom,
Spreading the fragrance that rose from their bosom.

At the crack of dawn, a dozen people came silently,
And plucked them from their future thrones, violently,
They showed no guilt, no remorse, only the boredom of the chore,
Their fatigue, the only indicator that they had to do a lot more.

A clinical snip cut off a thousand dreams in a single instant,
Into the truck, with every moment, their home grew distant,
Wrapped along with a thousand brothers of a dozen colours,
They wondered if this was the only reason for the existence of flowers.

To be taped together and cast into a shapely vase,
While a guy waited nonchalantly for his lass,
To bear the unabashed, if only momentary, gushing of the woman,
Before the talk moved to important things, things that were human.

When there were no more guests left, to come and stare,
Their wilted figures were too much for the waiter to bear,
So they landed up unceremoniously into the trash,
End of story, a thousand lives terminated in a flash.

Only one thought was on their mind, as they finally closed eyes,
What would happen to their siblings at the next sunrise,
Ones who were innocently sleeping with dreams of tomorrow,
Unknowing, that theirs too would be a journey of sorrow.

This one is for the one of the most important Beacons of them all, Veturi Sundara Rammurthy. Words are insufficient to describe what he has contributed to my life, and hence suffice it to say, i am forever indebted to him.

This is also my personal belief on flowers. Flowers were made by God to be seen on plants and enjoyed, not killed and planted in vases, like tigers in a zoo. Sure, a hundred thousand get to see the tiger at the zoo, people who would never have got to the jungles, but do you think the tiger likes it one single bit. Atleast animals have PETA since they can growl/howl/scowl/cry. Flowers have nobody.

Every time someone passes by a bouquet, they exclaim at the sheer beauty of the flowers, and then go their way, probably because that is all the flowers mean to them, some nice looking toy to look at for a moment, and get going with life. They see my complete disinterest in the flowers and ask me if i hate them. The truth is unfortunately very far from it. I love flowers, but not as corpses to fulfill a girl’s fantasy, not as objects to admire after killing, not as useless rot the next day. Even the previous day’s newspaper has some resale value the next day, so people preserve them despite the information no longer being useful, flowers, well that’s another story.

So enough of rambling, i just don’t like flowers away¬† from their plants, period.

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