People's minds shouldn't be like those rigid boxes,
That you draw with a ruler and pencil,
In your math notebook.
Edges straight.
Measurements right.
Area known.
Dimensions unchanging.

People's minds should be like inkblots,
that spill over edges.
Here and there.
Forming shapes you never knew existed.
Not defined.
Non-linear raw memories,
Of that ink pen that weeped,
Suffocated,
by the weight of the books,
In your school bag.
Art,
That cannot be confined.

-

My friend, you ask me, "How are you dear?"
The truth this time,is something I fear.

I wouldn't tell thee,that I sank in the sea.
That I gasp for air,in the currents beneath .

I won't tell you that I am furious with fate,the jester.
Who makes a joke of all,that I dream to be.

Neither would you know,
That hope hasn't called in quite a while.
He left the day I most wanted him by me.
And that I stay awake at night, doubting if he has ceased to be.

But I shall tell you this.
This.
That I know what it feels to be,
An abandoned little boat,
Floating in the waters.
Weary of the sea.

-

I've always felt that,
spiderlings,
were little scary atoms,
walking around on eight legs.
But never thought that,
they were,
little babies trotting along,
To a new life.
They needed feeding.
They needed shelter.
They needed a loving mother's embrace.

Such were the crazy thoughts,
Swarming through my head.
As I lay on my bed,
doing nothing.
Staring at the tiny brown thing, that crossed the white-ceiling.
On eight legs.

And this may happen to you too.
If you have nothing better to do.

-

I have always loved lost love.
Tenfold better than the love that I've loved .
Gifted me little packets of time, Frozen,
In my head ,my heart.

I choose them like a child picks a chocolate,
Theres the one that I loved ,didn't like me at all.
The one I hated, but he loved me to bits.
The one who adored.
The one left unsaid.
The one that kept ringing again,
whispering in my ears.
The one I longed for.
The one who never gave up.
The one I truly loved.
And,
The one who wasn't mine.

And all of them bitter-sweet, glitter-wrapped,
Warps in time.
And I become a time traveller.
And they come talk to me , again.

-

Mountains come with valleys.
Oceans have craters.
The sun eclipses once in a while.
The moon has a black side too.

And behind the smiles.
All the happy moments.
Why do we expect that people
Don't have innate darkness too?

-

When despair crawls under your skin.
And breath is weighed down by stone.
And all is lost ,without cause.
When your mind is prison,
Impenetrable wall,
Cell of solitude.

That is when,
You need a friend.
A friend.
A friend.

To remember.
To remind.
That prison locks can be broken.
That walls can be jumped.
That there are other jailbirds too.
And other cells and other captives.

-

Dont choke me with your measuring tapes .
Let me breathe.

Dont hit me on the head with your weighing scales.
Let me live.

Don't contain me in mere numbers.
Let me dream.

Dont cut- copy-paste me from fitness ads.
Let me feel.

Let my self expression burst from my seams like a flooding river.
Let my waves thrash about,
not confined by your defenitions of beauty.

Billboard ads aren't on my list.
Neither are beauty pageants.
Nor are fashionista fibs.

But there is pain.
There are desires.
There are fires.

-

My heart, shattered,
Into a trillion tiny pieces,
Went up like a brilliant fireworks display.

Behold all.

Blood-spurts,splattered,
Like flaming coal.
Fell like tiny red pomegranate seeds on the floor.

Behold all

And then, gradually,
Flesh stuck to flesh.
Blood to blood.
And back to a beating-pumping hell-of-a-heart again.

And that is how time heals.
Everything.

Behold all.

-

Look for homes in people,
Because you see, people aren't hotel suites
To check-in and check-out.

People are warm hugs and comforting smiles,
Messed up hair and sleepy eyes.
And smell of the garam-masala of a tasty home cooked meal.

Not the cut-to-proportion delicacies served to order,like
the #cliches on social media.
Not the stifling voice in your head that says follow table etiquette.
Not the waiter who is courteous just because he knows he will be tipped.

You thank the waiter.You smile at the Steward, out of courtsey.
And then you leave.

Please make homes out of people.
Prepare to stay when you enter.
Love when you say so.
And if you leave,return.

-

We die a few times in life .And we bury those parts of ourselves.
Over and over.
Then we mourn. And we deliver mini-funeral sermons.
Sometimes we stand shivering alone at our own dark graves. Sometimes with the comfort of a loyal friend's shoulder.
And weep.
And weep.
And weep.

And then we are born a few times in life.Again and again.
All the childbirth-pangs borne by us.
All the longing,the waiting.
We sing us birthday songs.
We celebrate.Sometimes alone.Sometimes sharing the joy of a good friend.
And we smile.
And smile.
And smile.

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