Before I kick the bucket

On the last day of my life, I wish to rise early and smell the morning air. To go for a walk amongst beautifully coloured flowers under a perfect, powder blue sky. I’d probably have milkshake for breakfast or pancakes or oats. Cannot pin it down yet, but something sweet for sure. I’d call up my best friend and ask her to come over. I’d discuss a recently read book with her over a glass of red wine. Or two. Both, the book and the wine. I’d spend the afternoon with my family – laughing, squabbling and laughing again. I’d enjoy the evening with the love of my life. Slow dancing to fine music that we remembered by heart. I’d go to bed content but before that, I’d write a poem in my notebook. Sigh!

But. Yes, there’s always a but. But since I don’t know which day would be my last – one can never really know for sure. I’d like to live like this each day. Is that too much to ask for?


The truth of a lie

Have you ever been held hostage

By the power of a beautifully framed lie

Have you thought of going on believing

Till the very day that you die

Or will you fight to save your soul

When the river runs dry

Tell me, will you choose the truth

When the whole world goes awry

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

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?