The Happy Wanderer

Someone drew out thick black boundaries Claiming that the boundaries drew themselves Around her. It was the black magic Of her intellect, or her physique or  Her creativity- they said. Tipping The fencing with golden slivers And a golden gate, which she was told Would open if it was beckoned by deserving. But that's too much to believe of The girl who lets rainbows  Dance in the solidity of each color. Rainbows can't gallivant in black light, They quivered, shivered and crept away. And she saw only too clearly, the bold Strokes of black that confined her Mercilessly. Her eyes were black With despair. She reckoned something Within her was the artist of black. Voices eager and shallow reiterated Her first instinct. But they were only  Wise and caring to her then. Voices Drawn in self-imposed boundaries Which appeared self-sure, confident To the one who had actually so been. She bore the pain with patience and Toyed with the...

The wings of summer had been botched by humongous rain-clouds, as peals of sunlight remained streaked against the forlorn tapestry of the unknown. The gallows were being opened. The glint of the metal dashed against a pair of chestnut-brown eyes, searing through a horrific melange of paradoxes. Aware, yet oblivious. Cognizant, yet deranged. Willful, yet carefree. Mystic, yet worldly… Those very eyes that had betrayed nothing, that had retained an unnerving state of emotional equilibrium, an eerie degree of poise, had just shed their inscrutability. But with no spectators. They were alone, awake to the realization that an aura of self-composure had just been penetrated. They were free from public scrutiny. But were they free from judgement?   Thoughts swiveled in concentric circles through eyes that could give away as easily as they could shield. The foremost was this: Someone is about to be judged who is completely alien to judgement. That was true. If eyes could dis...

Colors flinging on bare screens Azure washes and magenta tides. A new life being born Crescent strokes and dashed stokes Clement skies, a new world Grey eyes wallowing with New emotions. No one thought that Monochromatic pictures of grey Botches of white and black streaks Could be beauty. The deep grey eyes saw the world In black and white So she created her world in colors And took everyone's word For its godliness. Those grey eyes, soft as velvet Yet as forgiving as wool Held within them a creator's pride And a sufferer's confusion. Our world sees in color But perceives in black and white So some saw one While others saw the other.

Stillness, pressing its feelers On every human being, disregarding Age, metier, disposition, position. Throttling the gay rhythm of our lives, Like the slow purge of virulence that Has been inflicting meditated, painful deaths. Just like a motion picture, when the reel is faulty. One day teeming with life and activity, The next abruptly brought to close, panic Flooding the Earth, uncertainty gripping Every nation, caste, sect, class. As we stood, hand in hand, only metaphorically, A fresh light illuminated our lives, as a quest for Solidarity, unity, surpassed our regular worldly desires. So what if this is a war, but which war could have brought The world on the same stage more than this one? It is a war that will avert real wars in the future. A battle that will forge mutual respect and trust, Curtailing ill-founded sentiments that were brewing, Now forced to beat a hasty retreat, and review The concerns and energies that humankind actually needs. What a Cur...

Look at that young one there, frolicking without a care, Pirouetting through tunnels of chores to the Cove of Pleasure. Basking in the sunlight that casts but a glint on the Lustrous Lake. Fingering the ferns in the Forest of Foes, all easy and ready for combat. Look at that young one, standing joyous and free,  With self-advancement as first priority.  Look at that young one, wishing to tough it out in the Cavern of Opportunities, Wishing to wear off the 'I'm home' look and on the fine brink of success. Her lifelong dream, like a subconscious strain, was to clasp that Torch of Excellence. Which may bring so much light, as to dazzle up the World of Economy To the brink of injuring the eyes. And she cranes towards that dream, jostling through the Measly Maze of Competition. But how far does the Light of Luminous Lasers spread its wings Does it reach the homes of others, a victor in its reach? Or is it merely a victor in its intensity? An i...

Got the song in my head, Running like a cassette, And I feel my wings spread out wide.. Got the breeze in my bones, It's keeping me going, As I feel the pulse just coursing..( coursing) Where did you go, that voice of mine, Playing levels of tricks inside..( inside) Where are the miracles you make? Where are the chances you take? Are they just throttled, choked up, In that throat of mine? ( mine ) All effusion which could become me, Just stays within, hoping to be free.. Hoping to be free.. Long days, tired hands, but the spirit can stand The test of time, it's running away with me, But it just coughs up within, not ready to be free. Not ready to be free.. So you think I am shy, Well, that's a strange epithet, Because I'll own I'm not shy enough To keep my dreams to my chest.. I will let them all soar in the sky, Making a rainbow up so high, I can hear myself speak but the voice just Stays inside. You can try all you want, Beckoning it...