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When it’s over


On the last day of each travel, I feel very light. 

So very light.

But not in a good way,for it’s my heart that’s wasting away each time.

I shed some of it on endless walks along the waterfront.

Some shards fell away as the shimmering city lights enveloped the darkened skies.

Some bits withered away over endless conversations, tinkling glasses and wine bottles that flowed through the night.

A big chunk of it dropped as I sat in silence for days, watching a strange new world pulse around me, unfold around me, like a movie.

It almost stopped beating, when the leaves and the birds smattered against the blue sky, filled the canvas with bright vivid colours

A language stood between us, but my heart understood every word.

Every place was unfamiliar but my heart felt the warmth of each wonderful discovery.

I’ve lost my heart but it feels full.

Of invisible memories, laughter and joy.

All I need now is a new destination, a new river, a new journey , a new road.

My feet will start moving and my heart will be whole again, only to waste away once more.

Wings

One foot in front of the other. 

And the race begins.

They are racing each other, time, the phone calls, the appointments and the chaos that I’m leaving behind.

There is no finish line, and I don’t care if I come back.

All they know is that they are the wind that will lift me and take me far away.

The adrenaline pulses,keeping time with my throbbing temples.

The tributaries of sweat, charting a new course every few minutes.

My heart beats drum into my ears, drowning out the rest of the world.

My hair billowing in the breeze, trailing behind me like my very own superhero cape.

I really do feel like a hero right now.

I’ve conquered hunger, pebbles, potholes, rain, grime, sweat and pain.

I’ll feel like giving up a million times, but I know in a heartbeat I could do it all again.

My legs will find me a new world everyday.

I don’t need a map,

A road,

A compass to steer me,

Today, every obstacle will stay out of my way.

Hand in hand


It should make me jealous but it fills my heart with joy.

It really should make me jealous but when I see you two together I just can’t stop smiling.

I see how those tiny hands find their way to you in the darkness, when my unyielding and fatigued body has tuned out her plaintive cries.

Those big brown eyes darting nervously to the door every few minutes, when the sun starts to set.

She will follow your footprints in the sand for miles till the tide finally consumes them.

She never tires of stroking your head when you surrender it to that almost invisible and tiny lap.

I’ve seen her hugging your t-shirts to fill her nostrils with you when you’re away.

That desperate moaning wail that stumbles and follows you to the door when you can’t stay.

Drifting in and out of sleep, so often she calls for you, a determined , demanding voice that I cannot tame.

That happy dance she’s choreographed just for you, the first man in her heart’s hall of fame.

I made her heart inside me, and I know for eternity I can stake my claim.

But that same heart has a beautiful, colourful, throbbing piece, with only her daddy’s name.

Red Bosphorus


Every part of me aches.Racked by a nameless fever or rage, despair, hopelessness.

I was infected by tears, mutilated bodies, lives torn asunder and ashes of hope.

Hope that were dashed against walls by terror, guns, knives, bombs.

I look at you gasping for breath now, clutching , grasping for composure and it breaks my heart.

I walked your cobbled streets, walking to nowhere, breathing in the industriousness and determination of those fishermen selling hamsi every day. Served with just the right drizzle of salt and smiles.

My heart rose and fell with the tides of the Bosphorous.

My eyes glazed with wonder as they swallowed the grand mosques and minarets dotting your Crimson skies

How my aching feet danced away with those little childrenin the streets of Grand Bazaar.

Rows upon rows of twinkling chandelier studded lanes lighting up sparkles of hope.

My hands are now still. Sometimes wringing in wretched frustration, sometimes in prayer.

Look what they have done to you my poor darling.

Those warm smiles , embraces and chatter have dissolved into tears and are flowing away, turning your shores red.

Let our prayers, memories and love be the raincoat that shields you from this storm of hate.

Let them lash, let them rage and spew hatred outside.

They will never get to your golden soul, but one day the world will get to them. And they will have nowhere to hide.

Dark Skies


There is something that brings out the melancholy when it rainsIn the sheets of blinding rain I see faces, of people loved and lost.

Pouring onto my window pane, questioning, thundering, complaining, how life flowed along like an ebullient little river, without them.

Wasted sinuous streams find their way to the gutters, gushing out of sight like the trips and plans that never materialised.

Pregnant, voluptuous waves crashing onto the shores, frothing, seething, venting a nameless rage.

Blinding lightning stokes unknown fires buried deep in the dark shadowy recesses of my heart.

The pitter patter on the porch through the night, competing with the ticking clock on the mantel, a constant reminder of the never ending race against time.

Tick tock. Tick tock.Tick tock.

But then the next morning a cool breeze hits my face, the clouds turn white, the slight drizzle is like a warm embrace.

I breathe deep and fill my lungs with a beautiful, bright day,

Oh I know you’re there, rumbling in the distance, but you’re still some miles away.

Hush…


Honking Horns, roaring machines, angry screams and a frustrated shout.

Welcome to the city, noise is what it’s all about.

Sometimes I think, to let my own thoughts in,

I need to drown out the world and lose the crowds.

Once upon a time there lived a little girl.

Who told many tales to a murmuring brook.

The whistling wind in the willows heard her secret.

The chirping birds listened intently, but knew all too well how to keep it.

She played with her friends in the tall grass, filling the air with chortles and laughter.

The owl hooted a lullaby every night while she dreamed of a happy ever after.

The brook is parched, it’s dead and gone.

It won’t speak to her anymore, her childhood stories lie waiting and forlorn.

The wind has dissipated lost amid tall towers.

The chirping birds drowned out, they’ve lost their power.

The owl wails a melancholy song of the times that have been shown the door.

The sound of silence, the sound of happiness is no more.

Imagine


I saw it. Clearly. And then it was gone.

A white fluffy rabbit jumped over the sun and suddenly became a reindeer.

Did you see that? Did you see?

There is so much I see that goes unseen.

When I look at the gnarled bark of a tree, a wrinkled old man always peers back at me.

A receding dance of spilt water on the table always leaves an anaconda in it’s wake
.

When the rain is splattering the windshield relentlessly, a liquid fireworks display breaks out in front of my eyes.

Just the other day I saw a battle unfold at the bottom of my cereal bowl.

With rebellious flakes of corn battling the elements on tides of tumultuous milk.

The tree behind my house, billowing in the breeze often guides me with its big leafy hand, when I find myself heading in no particular direction.

Coffee stains on important pages, so dramatic, so decisive, yet depicting myriad scenes from day to day life.

Do they find me or am I looking for them?

Isint it ironical though?

There are no boundaries to the imagination, in a world defined by them.

Stop

image

It starts with a churn.
As if the insides of my stomach were a blender.
Knots are tied, tighter and tighter,
Butterflies crowd together flitting nervously.
And my heard thuds, listlessly. Like it’s run out of fuel and stranded on a lonely road
I’ve seen this enough haven’t I?
I’ve been here often enough haven’t I?
But why does watching you leave every time, feel like the first time, hurt as much as the first time. Maybe I don’t even remember the first time but I have a feeling it wasn’t pleasant.
I’ve often wished that dusty old suitcase, as you pull it down, would part with a handle.
Or that rusty zip would finally finally stop in its tracks.
Maybe the soul of that departing shoe could meet its maker.
Or even that sputtering engine of the shaky old taxi downstairs could decide to take an afternoon siesta?
But the world now knows not to indulge my silly fantasies.
Alas.
That handle will stand firm.
That zip will run its course.
The shoe will purposefully stride away.
That engine will be waiting for you, warm and ready.
You will plant a kiss on my cheek, hug me till my core feels warm,
And then say a casual ‘see you soon’ with a smile that hasn’t seen a day’s worth of gloom.
How I wish I could be that way.
Why must I be so sad about a phenomenon that is recurring yet has no true permanence?
To the cadence of your departing feet, I shut the door, clear the coffee mugs, send the butterflies home, telling them not to return till you return, and leave again.
Foolish, hopeless heart of mine.

Fearless

 

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In a land faraway lived a shadow of Doubt.
But one fine day it came home, never slept, always alert, always up and about.
It suffocated me everyday with its power and might.
Each step each decision, always wrong, no matter how hard I tried.
It strangled my happiness before I could make merry.
Uprooting all my hope in its tearing hurry.
What if everything is lost? Dare I risk it all?
Success was a faraway dream, how could it not? Doubt wouldn’t even let me fall.
Then one fine morning I decided I would not be afraid.
I would hurt I would suffer, but then that would be my own destiny, my own fate.
I might not have the answers, but I will not live in fear all my life.
You don’t control me anymore, Doubt, I now banish you from my life.

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