Wednesday, 29 November 2017

Water Bodies (Part 1)

It is that time of the day again- night. The security guard's whistling sessions are creeping me out more than I already am; the dogs are howling in chorus, allowing my heartbeat to synchronise with it; and finally, there is the ticking of the clock that is growing more and more prominent with each passing second.
I have come off to a place where no one can question me, no one can judge me and no one can dictate me. If being alone is what everyone else wants, so be it. And as I say this, I pull out all the elements from my body, one by one. My shadow is the first one to leave, and honestly, this action doesn't even surprise me. I then lay my mind and heart on the ground, and they begin quarrelling while walking hand in hand. Now, it is my soul's turn. It acts a bit reluctant at first, but it gives up as I apply more force. It stretches out of my body and wanders around the stars, not knowing what to do next. My conscience tries to talk some sense into me, but I shush it and let it dissolve in the atmosphere.
The street lights conk off, foreshadowing a series of events. A few bubbles appear and dance around me as if I am the supreme light, but in reality, I am just a target of their crystal ball like properties. I know they are teasers for my upcoming plight or rather additions to the current one.
I try and prick the first bubble- the texture of which feels gooey- with my index finger, but it pulls me into a different world; one with an ideal starry night at a seaside, bearing just the right amount of darkness and the right amount of sparkle. But then again I know, this scenery isn't as pristine as it looks. 
A quarter part of my body watches over the gentle sea that balanced both its soothing self and its rage admirably, while my soles attempt to prove their obstinacy by halting their movement. They start longing for an outrageous wish, of transforming the ever beautiful sand dunes into quicksand. And this desire, to my astonishment, crawls into my nerves like an epidemic. I witness it come alive as the perfect blend of oatmeal and gold vanishes and a swamp comes into existence.
The adamant marshland tries to swallow me up, but a sudden downpour lends me assistance in standing back up. It transports me to a distant place and it occurs to me that the conniving droplets were saving me for themselves. Luckily, I am able to locate a safe spot, just enough to protect me from the merciless raindrops. I wait for the shower to subside and so it does. I extend my hand out in the form of a cup to be sure of its departure and subsequently pull my limbs out of the shade and start walking towards nowhere. However, the coast remains clear only for a while as I meet the torrent of water halfway with no place to run or to hide. I decide that I am not up for a battle and flee from the scene, letting the raindrops smack me as they please. Maybe giving in will show cowardice on my part, but I do not feel like I am in a position to justify my actions, even to myself. And I do not need to either, with my conscience being gone.
I run and run only to be drenched by another water body again- my sweat. The muggy atmosphere causes it to stick to my skin. I pause for a moment to regain my breath, but all the sweat seems to drain me. My mouth feels dry. I do not feel thirsty in particular, yet...

To be continued...

Washing emotions away
(Picture credits: Sara Herranz)

Thursday, 15 June 2017

The bee, the butterfly and the blossom

Dawn had just begun sprinkling her fairy dust on our homeland, and it clearly meant another day of struggle for me. To others what I experienced was just another natural phenomena, but to me, it was something greater; something worth pondering over.
Being a flower meant I had certain responsibilities to fulfil, and catering to other's needs was one of them or maybe all of them. Either way, I had to please everyone just by being present; be it for early morning strollers or for a canine's claim for territory.
My usual contemplation was often interrupted by the butterfly's noiseless arrival. The fluttering of her wings was as subtle as one's blinking of eyes while the patterns on it were so detailed and symmetrical, that her body seemed like a fine piece of tapestry. Like a pair of scissors, she would fold her wings, with the exception of slicing the winds into a scented breeze. Using the word 'scissors' or any other pointed object for that matter and her name in the same sentence could have been morally incorrect and visually disturbing, but that's what helped in creating a juxtaposition with her dainty self.
Young girls saw her as another 'pretty thing' nature had to offer and they frequently set out to chase her. They, however, remained oblivious to the fact that she was swift in her movements. Perhaps the human species used her as a metaphor not because she was a universal emblem of love but because this was the closest they could get to her. And honestly, who could have even guessed that she was once tightly wrapped in a silken covering and even before that was locked to the ground?
Just when I would attempt to give her a description better than that of 'The Mill on the Floss,' she would come and perch herself gently on one of my petals. As a reflex, my petals would stretch out further and form a curve in a manner that would allow her to fit snugly. Not to sound vain, but when she landed on me, it felt like she was adding to my beauty. The motifs on her front fell perfectly in sync with my artistic structure. Together we made a lovely pair of one charming being atop the other.
She was certainly one pleasant soul, and the nectar she collected appeared bland in front of her as it was I who would end up relishing on her sweet aftertaste once she made her departure.
It was only a matter of minutes before my busy afternoons were put to a halt by one busy creature herself. Her stinger was always upright like some high-headed noble and probably too sharp for others to notice her mellow and grounded side. One could say that she was the epitome of 'Pride' but at the same time subject to 'Prejudice.' She was, of course, impulsive and blatant in her conduct and in many cases, these traits overpowered her. For instance, if a passer-by would trace my ends out of affection, she would be quick to charge at him or her. In her defence, she was just being on the lookout for me. In fact, she was that one spirit who in spite of being reckless could induce the right notions in my mind.
Furthermore, her sipping on my nectar left me with a tingling sensation- something moderate yet extreme; something more balanced. Nothing could have been more proper and well in place than this.
Could I have been any luckier?
One let me experience unfamiliar senses, the other made me more sensible.
One followed the laws of nature, the other justified it as well.
One was magical, the other mystical.

But as soon as I would summarise a comparison between the two, dusk would make it dawn on me- that they were possibly an ideal match, and I was unknowingly providing them with a potion that would let their saga blossom.

One true pairing
(Picture credits: Unknown; Source: We heart it)

Tuesday, 3 January 2017

And she learnt to fly

She often found herself
Lost in a bundle of thoughts,
Sadly, what belonged to her
Were the adjoining three dots.

She stood out
In her balcony,
Others looked up
With a look of pity.

'On cloud nine'
Was a baseless paradigm
'In seventh heaven'
Was used for the sake of rhyme.

The feathers of her pillow
Flew her to a dreamy creamy world
Needless to say, once dawn awoke
There were no wings to unfurl.

The caterpillar had it better
While its days in a confined space
Were calculated, were numbered
Hers were all but a fancy lace.

Folding a satin brooch of a butterfly
And a pair of scissors as a tool
She ripped off all its embellishments
To wind it around a wooden spool.

All she ever longed for
Was to witness a free fall
But the universe and her desire
Were engaged in an eternal brawl.

So she wove herself a set of wings
By letting her quill spill and sigh,
And others couldn't possibly fathom
That she had actually learnt to fly.

~Poem 33

"What if I fall?" "Oh but my darling, what if you fly?" -e.h
(Picture credits- Unknown; Source: We heart it)