Skip to main content

Blinded but Free

Hands on my eyes,
I walked through the tunnel
That fate willed should impose itself
On the bandanna-laced lady.
Pitch black was the tunnel but no embers
Could the cloth that filmed my eyes give way to
Even when the Sun smoldered in all fierceness.
I was blinded but free.
For options I had few, amounting to none,
Walking straight ahead, unwavering, stolid,
I'd put all my stakes on that one.
And poured in it all trust and hope,
That warmth which the friction of the greatest
Ambitions, hopes, dreams, fancies, fantasies,
Only could kindle in the absence of luxury,
In  confrontation with a waft of all the tribulations
That life could hand out; but I was faced with none,
Just with a gripping uncertainty that fettered all doubts,
Because it heralded the most colossal trepidation..
I was blinded but free.
Free from pangs of hesitation, tremors of fear,
Blinded by the power of belief,
Because I knew, that the tunnel was corked
From the light by my apprehensions.
So I walked through the tunnel, and it might even
Be singing sunshine around me, but I wouldn't know,
As long as I'm enveloped by that wicked bandanna,
I'll find the light, for I would have uncorked that cork,
By plunging into brightness without seeking the light,
And clouding it with eternal fear.
So wherever I am,
Be it in the coals of darkness or in the beams of light,
I am blinded but free.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

(How I Wish) People Were Like Poems

Today, I wish people were more like poems.  A sad truth is dawning on me.  I can't just be. Most things just are. No proof required. No justification. Here I feel like an instance Of a class. Some kind of template  With some methods Instantiated. Many of my methods are public. Others comment on them. If I encapsulate, They pry. If I am abstract, They talk. What's going on? I'm not going to plead any more. I'll just shut all the doors. Make all the methods and variables private. Too many people tampering with the balance of it all. Our lives are not portraits or leaflets to hand out. Media often makes us feel so, but existence is way older, Authentic and organic- than the glitzy hood of social media. Human beings, like plants, need space, nourishment and nurturing To thrive. Are plants dependent on these things? Can they not stand on their own roots? They can, and they do. But you cannot neglect  The environmental variables that make them happen. So don't comment on ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Predictability Plays Spoilsport

"Comfort's journey from the familiar to the unpredictable..." In the age of AI, if you are an AI Engineer like I am, you would swear by predictability. It's indispensable. We will find patterns in your genetic tree. We'll find them even in your whim of a Gulab Jamun or Barfi. We'll try to connect dots that are distant by miles. Yet, I'm here to tell you that we cannot afford predictability today. Sounds crazy and totally contradictory right? But I can be weird.   I'm here to tell you about randomness. I want you to experience it too. Well, you're smart people, readers. I may not be as smart. You know why we can't enforce patterns.   Someone will read them. Someone will exploit them.  Someone will feed them to an AI (Tool) and figure out what to do with them. You see what I mean? I'm being random. Randomness is not entirely useless.  I want to be equally random. I am stupid, gullible, naive and I'm wandering... You can say that I can be ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Clandestine

Sometimes we wait too long, To speak our minds. We let lingering truths linger, We let sporadic clocks, chime.. We allow patient seams to fritter away Like a sparrow does with the timber of the tune That she was shrouded by; shrill words tearing  Ears, each word she utters, careful, today. While the first day it was a free reign, until Some unctuous winds carried to her, criticism. Just the same way as copper utensils in a house Of steel, are anyone's delight, until bronzed,  With wear and use, both are the victims Of sundry needs and glances. Just the same way, some things, Are stowed away in careful pockets Because they have borne a lot of perusing When kept in the open.  Like love. Like hurt. Like envy. Like silence. Trust and truth are two things I can list, That are given, that are l'habitude. I tell the truth because it is, it exists, It is what I perceive, it is what I've lived.. And I keep your trust, because I've learnt That it'll help you keep mine, it wil...
Post a Comment
Read more