#14 Scars

I vividly remember the first one I got on my head,

Coming back from kindergarten, as I fell face down

A four-year-old flying across the home playground.

While I don’t remember the blood and pain,

I do remember sharing the tale over and over again

As I sat in class with my buddies all around,

Wearing the iodine-stained cotton - 

Less like a bandage, more like a crown,

Being applauded like a brave warrior by my friends.

As they admired the scar peeping out where my hairline ends.

Over the years, the wound has healed, 

those friendships didn’t last

But that scar, it’s still lies there, a dead remnant of that past.

Instead of narrating the tale, I try to cover it now.

Over time, pride has transformed to embarrassment somehow.

And that’s true for all the the other scars my body holds

They might be hoping that their stories get told

But all I do is silence them all the time

With flowing clothes,

Or any overly cheerful, “of course, I’m fine!”

Only to sometimes peek at them in the darkness of the night

For each of them feels like a terribly ugly sight

A painful reminder to the times the other didn’t care

Or of times when I did dare

To take a leap of faith, certain I would fly

Only to come crashing down,

my fall broken by those dreams lying on the ground.

Over time, these scars have become strong boundary lines

Unyielding, ruthlessly, separating your pain from mine.

Somehow each one convinced that we are the only ones that are broken

While the cry for help, for connection remain unspoken.

Each day, I engage in this charade of normalcy

Trying to convince my bruised heart to hold on to this fallacy

But the heart, seems to want to break out from this bind

Desperately hoping that someday we will find

The courage to uncover these scars and tell their tales

Ready at last to push back those veils

And fully see each other –

as both bruised, and brave.

#13 Ode to Something I love

She stretches her branches at the eve of spring
Like a quiet, magnificent queen
Holding up garlands of delicate lavender blossoms
An unlikely hue in scanty canopies of green.
Almost as if to tempt the season of love
To stay a little longer in these loveless concrete jungles.

Otherwise she stays discreet through the year,

One among many in the harem of urban trees.
But proudly claims her spot in the sun,
gently dropping her blossoms in the mild summer breeze
Offering her welcoming shade to passersby
To salvage their dreams melting in the ruthless cityscape.

Oh magnificent jacaranda standing tall!

Not only are you the beacon of new beginnings
But that gorgeous carpet you spread on our drab streets
Lays there patiently, marking
The melancholic celebration of endings too.

#12 Random Musings

Life seems to be wrapped in timelessness
As one day flows into another day
Besides the changing shadows the sun casts
Everything else is just draped in greys.
I go through the motions
Like a well oiled robot
Moving skilfully across the patterns
the light beams cast across the floor.
And though outwardly it all seems fine,
unlike a robot,
there is this beating heart of mine
That's slowly but surely sinking into despair,
Desperately searching for adventure in the shadows.
Yes, I know I have responsibilities
They are programmed in my DNA. 
How can I ever forget!
So, it’s not an epic hero's journey I seek
Just little nibbles to cope with the tedium that's set
A bit of Adventure not more than
the specs of mozzarella tossed on pizza on that cheat day.
Or like thin anklets hugging feet that have forgotten to dance.  
Or for as much of time that the air is filled with the burst of the cuckoo's notes
before it is silenced by the cacophony of the crows.
Or just as much as the tiny sliver of the moon in the summer skies
before it is swallowed by yet another amaavas night. 
Surely an adventure that little will not disrupt 
this tedious, unending routine to which I must conform
But who's say how little little really is
For after all, a butterfly fluttering its wings somewhere, 
Is known to cause a storm. 

#11: The Curtains Close

The curtains close at their will

Or perhaps when Grandfather Time pulls the string.

Though this holds true for each of Life’s act,

No one ever let’s this secret out

When you first step on life’s stage -

The lines all rehearsed,

Your mask, your costume all in place

As you take the spotlight for the part you believe

You were born to play.

And over the nervousness, the stage fright

You believe you will be the star of the day.

But that never happens,  

You leave your act incomplete

For the curtains close at their will

Or perhaps when Grandfather Time pulls the string.

And though now you know this as the rules of the stage  

You show up

Hoping that perhaps this time

You will get to fully deliver those lines

The expressions, the moves in perfect sync

With every co-actor sharing the stage with you

And you believe

Each shot you take will be given a fair chance

Each handshake of yours will meet a friendly smile

Each apology accepted by a forgiving heart

But the child's ignorance is simply replaced by the adult's denial

As that never happens,

The exchanges rarely feel complete

For the curtains close at their will

Or perhaps when Grandfather Time pulls the string.

And in the darkness that befalls on us all,
complete confusion prevails,
With muddled lines, missed cues
and notes in discordant scales.
But we persist with the act, replaying each exchange 

Over and over again, like the hamster on his wheel
Constantly moving, yet going nowhere at all.
But perhaps this is what Life's act was meant to be
Persevering in the darkness hoping for the dawn
For no matter what, the show must go on
Even if the curtains seem to close at their will
Or when Grandfather Time pulled the strings. 

#10 - 5 tips for a healthy heart

5 tips for a healthy heart

It was her heart that finally did her in

Just like that, one July evening,

It just stopped beating.

How could it happen like this?

It didn’t make any sense at all

She was in a hospital with

every doctor, every device at her call.

She had the checkups,

the measured, low sodium diet

Pills of all sizes from morning to night.

Then how come her heart never did heal

From the fears, the disappointments

No medical specialist could reveal.

In the days, weeks, months

of dealing with the aftermath

I didn’t even know where to start

To mend my own broken heart.

And through days of endless tears

And nights of deep despair,

And rants at a life that seemed so unfair

The light slowly but surely did seep in

Through my wounds, and my heart began to heal

My grief taught me precious lessons,

though they came at a great cost,

I learnt to make a new start,

even when all seemed lost.

And yet, ever so once in a while, I do wish

If together we had another shot at this

I would lean across the table and hold her hand

And say for you to have a healthy heart, here’s the plan:

1) Deep in your heart, know that you are enough

2) Go ahead, show you vulnerability – stop being all tough

3) Let go of the past – it’s not worth your time

4) Play hard and 5) love harder 

And you’ll be fine.

#9 The Alchemist

(prompt - a poem that begins with the title of your favourite book)

The Alchemist

is who I seek

Someone who holds in his hand

The secret that could transform this land,

These chaotic times we live in

The mistrust, the misgivings, 

And create a path 

so that we find our way back

to our shared humanity.

For even as I struggle

To make sense
of this insanity around 

I seek 

the science, 

the magic,
that could transform 

Despair to hope 

Fear to joy 

Tedium to adventure 

Isolation to connection 

Hatred to understanding 

Tears to laughter.

For the walls are getting higher

The cries more desperate

Only to drown in the hollow promises

from self-proclaimed messiahs standing tall. 

Only an alchemist 

could transform it all.

And even as I search

In the deepening darkness around

The sunrise reminds me

That what I seek

The science
The magic

In alchemy I won't find.

Instead I need to look

Into the heart of a child.

#8 Sunrise

They say that before the dawn

Is the darkest hour.

Is that why Nature in Her infinite wisdom

Splashes the most vibrant hues

Unabashed, unbridled across the skies

To mark the sunrise?

The way the crimson, the orange, the teeny sliver of violet

Swirl in perfect harmony over the grey canvas

So that we may remember

as we start the day,

That there is hope

And beauty

And infinite possibilities,

Despite the darkness and the unknown fears

that the night drew over us.

I must confess -

there aren’t many sunrises

that I have borne witness to.

But each time I have

The sunrise soars over me to remind me,

That there is glory in starting all over again,

And that as a child of that same wise nature,  

that brings this gift of dawn to me,

I too have the perfection and beauty of the morning sky

despite the shadows I cast.