WANDERINGS OF A NOMAD

Another one of my older stuff, trying to explore the night time, when all of us are sleeping, getting over what happened during the course of day and hoping for an even better tomorrow. Some making promises to themselves that tomorrow would be different, others thanking God for the day they had, slowly creeping into the wonderland of dreams. Some of us are waiting for sleep and others struggle to keep awake. Some listen to the  eerie silence of the night and others are trying to differentiate the call of night birds against the backdrop of traffic.   But what about the night, it stays awake slithering between empty spaces, hiding from light. Night is wonderful, with it's promises of sleep it mitigates our pain; and with it's promises of morning it gives us hope. Night brings along darkness, which hides away the stark reality and lets us dream.  Maybe that is why most of the impractical but wonderful suggestions are made at night time. Reality and  practicality

Well here is something I wrote quite a few years back, more than 4 to 5 years ago...just found it somewhere so thought I would put it up. It is strange to think how optimistic I was about love and how I've changed. Not that I have become pessimist, just that more real. Life has a way of giving one the lesson they are always trying to duck, but it's all worth the journey in the end. I used to believe in miracles of love, now I believe in miracles of life. Life is more than just one emotion even if that emotion is something as strong as love. This poem was written while travelling and talks about someone madly in love and willing to sacrifice that for what he believes to be an eventual good, when somewhere he realizes it would be foolish to do so. And he returns back to..... The rhythmic movements of the train, Resonated in the silence of my brain. Outside the melodious wet rain, Slowly calmed and soothed my pain. A water drop on my hand started to play, Maybe a d

It rained against the panes of my window, Little eager drops hitting on the glass, Smiling, laughing these drops of tears go, And in time their fleeting lives would pass. The momentary illusion that is existence, Filling up every sense of ours, purging, Blurring the lines between real and pretense, Brimming with ourselves the ego is surging. I held my hand outside, to hold a few, Drops whose existence I'd interfere with, And deep inside somewhere my ego knew, That all this life was just a temporary gift. DROPS of FIRST LIFE Photo courtesy: Neel Srivastava 

I was a key lost in the desert, alone and lonely, There were a million grains of sand all around, And I lay there silent, quiet and only, For the grains of sand just shifted their ground. It was hot, burning white hot in the day My body glistening, bright silver in pain The evenings were a lighter shade of grey, At nights the biting cold gave illusion of rain. No way to tell time, I didn't understand lunar clock, Sometimes like wayward clouds, the past would resurface, Making me wonder about my unfortunate lock, Knowing I would never again see her tranquil face. Time would eventually bury me in the moving sand And in the damp darkness buried I would know That fate had dealt the awaited, fatal final hand And so to the skies upward my soul would flow. The Key of Solitude Photo Courtesy: Colourbox.com

Sleep you keep me up at nights, as I wait for you, the monster of my choice. You are my tormentor teasing me, flirting with my eyelids. I close them and you like a prankster walk away and then I open my eyes to be awake, only to find you lurking in the corners again. Do you not care that today has been tiring and that tomorrow might be a big day for me with dreams unseen and hopes yet unmet. I want to sleep in peace, forgetting today and preparing tomorrow when I sail through the uncharted oceans of what can be. I beg you sleep, come to me. I want to embrace you tonight and not play this game of two estranged lovers meeting and parting endlessly through time. Oh and now I see you coming to me, slowly, softly willing to embrace. I must not move or twitch for I never know when you might change your mind. Finally we meet, and now we can traverse together, through varied landscapes, changing with the random shades of night. God!! It’s already morning and as a

Is it wrong to be numb? Why does the word have a negative connotation? Is it not just a natural reaction to certain circumstances and emotions? Then why is there this disposition to dissuade numbness? Is pure white not numb, does silence not endorse numbness? Peace is another form of numbness but peace is positive and numbness is not. Why? Shutting the windows of my mind, Erasing the thoughts left behind. The sorrows of past had faded, Into stillness, for which I had traded. Slowing down thoughts, numbing brain, Steady acid rain on the plains of pain. There was no shouting, no screaming, No flickering and no lights beaming. The dark was comforting, it was still, Soothing my soul with a comforting chill. No screeching thoughts passing through, Instead creepers of silence now grew. I was the only one of many and I was the dot, As I realized numbness is freedom not sought.

I wanted to meet God, to look to feel, To remove all illusions and see what's real, To live my life in the pure, holy way, That's how in this life i wanted to stay. So I searched, searched far and near, Looking for him, looking everywhere, My temple of peace I had to find, And that just kept playing on my mind. I went to dargahs, temple and church, I was shocked when it didn't help much, There were priests, fathers and prayers, And incense stick, candles and flowers in layers. But I was still seeking the one, And glimpses of him I had none, The bells, prayers and rituals fascinated me, But still God I could not see. Why do you mock me, why do you tease, Dear God please help me find the temple of peace, I searched for days and years, And slowly I was crippled by fears. To set beliefs I was giving in, Looked like life's illusion would win, And walking in farm one day I see, A small temple underneath a huge tree.

The phoenix rises from ashes like hopes from rubble of shattered dreams, like smiles from the lips of a broken heart. The phoenix is a heart that loves even after it gets broken time and again, the phoenix is a mother who keeps the faith in her child no matter what, and the phoenix is all those who chose to dream again. We are all phoenixes in our lives, dreams and aspirations. Life and chance may shatter our dreams but what makes a phoenix is the spirit which no one can break. Someday we know we too will spread our wings and soar like the mythical bird, the world can char our feathers in the fire of hate, ingratitude or simple apathy. But the fire does burn out, the ashes do collect and the spirit glides on beyond growing stronger. The phoenix is symbolic of life, love and growth and these are the symbols which give meaning to rebirth of self and soul. I shall rise again, yet again from the charred ashes My soul cannot be destroyed in mortal clashes The fire burning me