A- Lone
A-Lone is a word,
Too heavy to carry alone.
The mind wanders in,
Search of a soul;
Hand in search of,
Another to hold;
Not, necessarily a mate,
But, a mate indeed!
To Satiate a longing,
Of Belonging!
A-Lone is a word,
Too heavy to carry alone!
Lost
All decked up in a long silk skirt and a blouse, small jhumkas dangling from her ears, with double plait, decorated with a string of jasmine flowers, was a girl, who had eyes full of dreams and a smile of pure innocence. She grew up in an agraharam deeply routed in Tamil Brahmin culture in an environment of classical and devotional songs, Poojas, the classical dance and the romance of a bygone Era of the temple cult.
She grew up along with the young India pulled in to the storm of science, technology and the IT boom.
By then she had married a soul mate who resonated her traditions and most importantly her love for fun.
Now, at 37, she has blended well in to this new techie cult of meetings, deadlines, targets, commitments, jargons, and appraisals. There is no Pooja, no piety, classical song , or dance, not even a belief or faith. At a place which is alien, comfortable and confusing at the same time.
The husband still resonating the same traditions, the children looking in to the future with more modern and western culture, most of the near family migrating to different parts of the world, where is the environment she was familiar to, and what is the home?
Where is the girl in long silk skirt and blouse, with a double plaited hair adorning jasmine flowers? Where are the eyes which had a lot of dreams and where is the innocent smile? What is her identity?
She is neither here , nor there, exhausted, disoriented and .. completely LOST!
The Pain- Of Loss
Much to endure, is
The pain of Loss!
Loss of Love,
The support;
Of companionship,
The self worth;
Loss of time,
The Life itself;
Of inner calm,
The peace;
Dark indeed, it's everywhere;
Lights not seen, anywhere;
Much to endure, is
Indeed the pain of Loss!
Despair @ Covid Times
A bloated figure,
Full of pressure:
Will it all end, in
A funeral Pyre!
No joy, no hope,
No hand, to behold;
No time, to laugh and lax;
No more to rant and cry;
The piercing pain,
The Lonesomeness;
Not to mention,
The spread of virus:
Chores galore: And
The Killer stress!
Is there even a purpose?
A bloated figure,
Full of pressure;
Will it all end, in
A funeral Pyre!
A Vacant Call
Of anger, of despair!
All frustrated, deep
In my head;
Short of breathe,
With painful sighs:
For want of company,
Love and nicety;
To shut for once,
All negativity;
Blames, the tantrum,
Bad mouths, the noise;
Low point; Know
I do not:
What to do, with Life!
Him
I call him my friend.
Around whom,
The most beautiful!
Always I feel.
A warm mug of coffee,
Soothing my soul;
Not perfect, Not around;
Stubborn: yet loving.
Insanely humorous!
Flip side of me, the coin;
Born for me: Obsessive,
With all inhibitions;
One moment; I hold him,
I know, I am home!
Aug 7, 2020 - A Black day marked in Gold
The day indeed was black.
