LOVE-TIE

That is a string you see

No no, not a rope,its a string

you don't hang on to it, you do that to ropes

strings are fragile, you don't even hold on

you just tug at it

so you see, you have to handle it gently

and do you know what can keep it strong?

be the layers of fiber on it?

There is one that of trust

it lays at the core

holding the string strong

and it can be blinding you know

the trust

it develops over time, and yet

 it is fragile too.

If mishandled,

it snaps right back at you

and all the years that weaved it

they turn into shards in a blink

So you must keep it strong

And then there is respect

Big word eh? 'Respect'?

It comes with admiration

you don't just have to love

you must respect, 'cause if not given

 the loved one doesn't feel loved

and then she can never be brought back

mind it my friend, never 

'cause she is gone and vanished

and the string is now broken

you keep extending your arms out

while she, never comes back

and your arms remain empty

forever.

Maybe, she has died. 

Never Hold On

Life has it's own ways of teaching you. Mostly, the hard ways.

Bring me not the hearts

That will slip away and say good bye

Let me not to the shards

Of broken links, that all but sigh

Lend me not creepers that are attached

Yet give me, that grows and forever winds 

For when, on hearts, are hearts latched

Another beautiful heart, it hardly finds

Take me to the utopia

where breaks are not seen or heard

or grant me the euphoria 

of hearts conquered, love unaltered

If not all this, teach me. 

To let that hand slip away

Not to cling and let'em be

Not to hold on, let'em sway

yet teach me not to give up

for lost hope is love lost and removed

teach me to let go....gracefully

for if it comes back, you know it is never removed  

Macabre or Audacity

Shun the society, and the norms,
They thought
Shunned they were, from the shalom,
They sought

Anticipated something, the daylight got else,
Alas! Abysmal!
The journey though the dark, the climb up the wells,
In vain. Dismal!

They seek no more than acceptance
A freedom
Macabre it is, even the admittance 
Hence, seldom

Felons they are not, yet now, are they?
Call it delinquency?
They only want to be happy and ‘gay’Call it audacity!

OHANA

It’s in those distraught and rough times that you test yourself.

Your wisdom.

Your tolerance.

Your patience.

It’s in those times when everything inside of you breaks, that you are vulnerable. You are prone to recklessness.

You might take that careless and reckless path. You might forget what people who love you, and whom you love, told you. You might do what you mustn’t. You might go against all expectations.
It’s not your fault. Not entirely. It may be your first, and you learn only by your mistakes. You might not be able to hold yourself for the first time. You might not be strong enough this first time. You might not be able to consume the frustration, the anger, the FAILURE the first time.
You do what you KNOW is wrong, but what you THINK is right, only for that moment, a justification given to yourself, to consume it all- the loss, the anger, the distress.
Yet, you can always come back home.
Home is where people that matter to you- who love you and whom you love- reside.
You can always come back home, to them.

It’s their words that reach to your heart. It’s their embrace you crave. It’s their shoulders you can cry on. You don’t have to consume it anymore. You have to let it out. They make you let it out.So that, it never consumes you again. It was your first. It becomes your last. You remember what they told you. You remember you KNEW you were doing wrong, but, now, you are stronger.

 You are made stronger by your home and the people inside.

The people you came back to.

Your OHANA.

A World Full of Mirage

Simplicity.

A mere word now.

We understood it quite better when we were young though. When happiness was in our parents’ arms. When pleasure was the sight of a river flowing in the serenity of the early morn.  When reality was what we saw and what we perceived.
Reality, I said.

Well, when I come to think of it, I am already questioning the very existence of it. Is the world we

live in a reality or merely an illusion? Was it an illusion when we ran into our father’s arms as kids and found our happiness? Was it an illusion when we heard the birds chirping on the trees. Was it what we wanted to see, or what we perceive is a game played on our minds by an ‘Illusionist’?

Am I REAL?

Do I perceive the people around me?

Or is someone making me perceive?

Though this article is a product of mine as a consequence of watching the stupendously and very impressively well-scripted movie the Illusionist, the thought that followed is not based on fictitious grounds, rather, it is a scientific notion that I am pondering upon.
Solipsism.

Solipsism is theory in philosophy and psychiatry that boldly states that the existence of any entity other than one’s own mind is questionable and dubious. It is solely the one’s own mind that exists and sees what it perceives on its own. The world around it might or might not be an illusion. It is uncertain as it is beyond the periphery of the mind.
In a normal language, we are all victims of global schizophrenia.

The theory, however, seems to have an equal inclination towards both philosophy and science/psychiatry for me. And isn’t it?
I reckon you all will agree that everything is transient and transitory. What possible explanation could there be to the transitory nature of everything around than the fact that it is all our imagination and creation. And it vanishes as and when our mind wants it to.
So, the next time you go out to enjoy with your friends or have a moment with your family, cherish it. That’s because your mind wants you to see those things so that you cherish them throughout your lives.

Tides of time and us…

Little hands held strong fingers as tiny feet trotted to keep up with the other, bigger, pair. It was a beautiful day and birds chirped as the little girl, just woken out of her dreams by her father, strolled in the gardens learning a song that he sang, in a melodious and strong voice that made the morning even more scintillating. She loved to walk along him. He was the one she wanted to go o every time she lost a toy, or when she did not like her school teacher, or when she had hit that bully of the class, or when she simply wanted to play.

There was a wave of wind, a cold and gentle breeze that drifted the hands a little apart. It took away some of the impertinence from the air and brought in a teenager.

She was now young, in her initial teens and still had that innocent smile and a charm that was palpable around her. They walked together, her father and her. The daughter could now match steps with him and she still revered him. He was his go-to-guy. She needed him when she felt low or under-confident. Though she couldn’t tell him everything, she felt easy in his company, and life suddenly untangled itself whenever she was with him.

There was another wave of wind- this time, chillier, colder. It drifted the two a further apart and carried with itself, an experience that it bestowed on the two of them.

The girl had turned into a lady, while the father had gained much experience owing to his age. They seldom talked. She could solve her problems on her own now, and felt that her decisions were her own. The father only needed to know those decisions once they were made. Yes, there were still certain times, she needed his suggestions, wanted the go-to-guy back, but, she did not want to bother him anymore. The father, felt drifted apart. But, wanted her to live her own life and thus donned silence. There was still reverence in the daughter’s heart and love in the father’s. It seemed that they were both reaching out to each other, but, the tides of times were pulling them apart.

Yet, they still live in each other’s hearts, and know that the love in the heart of one for the other has not diminished at all.


   

Be proud, or get a life!

Those pages, with poems that can reach straight to your heart, kept on piling up in the personal diary of the mother, who, whenever could get the time, let her emotions flow into beautiful poetry. Alas! No one knew about them, not even her family. So no one could appreciate them. What if they judged her by reading them? What if they thought that they were a reflection of her own life, and started sympathising with her? They were merely poems that she wrote out of sheer pleasure. What if no one understood that?
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As the young lad made his way to the auditorium with his ballet shoes- yes! Ballet shoes- in his bag, he felt the tingle of nervousness in his stomach. Yet, he was sure that those were certainly not the ‘good butterflies of the stomach’ that turn nervousness into excitement before the auditions. The nervousness was the type that turned into fear when you stand on the stage in front of the whole crowd, the fear that the audience would judge before even giving him a chance, the fear that he would have an image stuck to his personality throughout his life, if he didn’t get the acceptance he deserved.
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That attire was good-to-go for college according to her, yet she had to be sure of her physical appearance. She kept looking in the mirror several times to save herself from the scrutinising eyes of her friends, close friends, class friends, the occasional ‘Hi and Bye’ friends, acquaintances and maybe potential crushes or mere on-look-ers. While, those cargos and tank top pretty much made her style, and screamed what she really was- a carefree young lass who is only stepping out to make a difference in her own way- now had to change in a regular jeans and starched and tucked-in shirt. She was afraid of the judgement- the judgement by the people she might run into during the day.
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On several occasions we come across situations where we are afraid that people might judge us. We are afraid of being constantly scrutinised by our own people, of the fact that the world expects us to be a person that we probably aren’t, that if we let our true selves be revealed, we won’t be accepted. So, we try to fuse in, changing ourselves at several points of time and embracing alien ways of living, as those are what must define us to the people around us, and in the process, we lose ourselves. We are lost to an alien that has now impersonated us, merely because we let it. The consequence: we may be able to don another skin so that people could identify with us (or maybe so that we identify with people) but, we can’t do it for long. We feel uncomfortable and out of place. We crave to be back in own skin. We look for people who would understand us for who we really, but, it may be too late. The friends we have like us for being someone we aren’t and the friends we could have are invisible to us, probably do not exist in our world. Life becomes a depressing cobweb. 
The world puts on us, a zillion unsaid conditions that we have to constantly remind ourselves of. We can’t be archaic, we can’t be orthodox either. Yet, we can’t be of novel mind-sets. Our words carry no value if we go ahead and give a free advice to someone who needs it, and if we don’t, we are tagged as indifferent. We can’t be too outgoing given the temperament of the society, yet, we have to for our peers and for ourselves. We have to choose our words, think to ourselves and be careful of not being loud. And there are a deluge of circumstances where we have to think twice, thrice or may be tons of times before taking a step. With all the dilemma hovering in the little grey matter of ours, that is already too busy working to make a stable career (which, again, was prudently chosen keeping in mind that the society in general shouldn’t be judgemental about our intellect, or seriousness towards life, or character, or maybe another parameter altogether which is not even remotely related to the choice of one’s career), we need to let our emotions flow out in front of someone who understands us and likes us for being our real selves.
That ‘someone’ can be us, when we try to introspect, give ourselves some time, think about what we want from life and what we want to give life. That ‘someone’ may even be a close friend- a person you can speak your heart out to, and mind my words, you find them RARELY. They are to be treasured. They are precious. And just when we think that we can be ‘US’ in front of someone without being judged, you are judged and tagged again. For being with her/him.
In this entire conundrum, where do we seek the answers? Who is to be blamed? Who is to improve?
The world IS there to be judgemental, we are old enough and we have lived enough to understand that by now. How much we are affected by the judgement, whether we turn a deaf ear to it or listen and change ourselves for them, is a choice that WE make and a decision that that WE take. Why blame anyone for letting the alien in and impersonate us?
We are what we are.
 Be proud.
 Or get a life!