The Invisible Hand

So happy in so little

So sad with so much

The gap between the haves and have nots

Is more often than not bridged

With what we call a smile

It’s a curve

And, at times, a curveball

It’s either served

On a platter

Or at a buffet, free for all

It carries with it the ghosts of unshed tears

Of trials, tribulations and all our fears

And silent screams of anguish

And efforts rendered futile

But they are what fuel and drive it

Through that very last mile

An ode to writing

Writing takes my pain and turns it into something beautiful. It draws from my sorrow and colours it with a rainbow. It sets me free and lights me up. It’s a hug from my mother and from my dad a chin up.

I hope I can do for you what writing does for me. I hope you can read this once and learn to simply be.

When it Rains, it Pours

I’ve experienced a different kind of monsoon this year. In a strange new city, amidst vaguely familiar people. I heard the pitter patter of raindrops falling against my window panes. I heard the thunderstorm unleashing at your end too over our early morning calls. The coffee tastes different, more fulfilling somehow. The days pass by quickly, less mundane somehow. And weekends, oh the weekends are divine. For on weekends, the rains truly shine. And on weekends, you find the time to be mine. If only for a moment, if only till it’s raining outside.

If only

If I could bear witness to how the dawning of a new day feels to the night sky

If I could but fathom how the presence of a baby’s laughter rejuvenates wizened, wrinkled skin

If I could even vaguely imagine how the withdrawal of high tides bereaves the rocky shore

If I could simply know, feel and experience all the wonders and mysteries of this world, I’d like to believe I’d still be awed by the beauty of it all

Enough is enough

Enough with the lies

The deceit

The smokescreen

Enough with the hiding

The embarrassment

The disguising

Enough with the erasure

The concealment

The disbelief

Enough with the overthinking

Of how others perceive me

From now on

I plan to be myself

Purely and unapologetically myself

Because, guess what?

I am enough

Question of Choice

I’m stronger than you’ll ever give me credit for

Cause I know all too well

That the only difference between right and wrong

Is what I choose to do

You’re weaker than I could have ever imagined

Because you don’t seem to realise yet

That the only difference between love and hate

Is who you choose to be

Bucket List

A life full of meaning. If not for the world, then just for my own self.

A love that matters. Might not leave a mark in your life, but indelible in my heart.

A thought, a poem or a story – not long enough to be printed in a book but strong enough to be imprinted in your mind.

Holding onto each other. Might not always hold hands – sometimes just wrapping my fingers around your littlest one would do.

Swaying to music unheard. Hair dancing in the wind. Eyes squinting under a sunny sky. Laughter twinkling till I die.

I’ve shown you mine, now won’t you tell me yours?