Mirrors

Standing between two mirrors
And looking at your own images
Mirrors within mirrors - all full of your own image
And helping your eyes find where it ends,
An exercise in futility.

Sometimes, coming back to yourself
Is like waking up from a million dreams
Waking up from a sleep, within a sleep
And tracing it all back to the real sleep
And the real reality.

They try to fence it for us, all in good faith.
Give us only one mirror, so that we don't
Drive ourselves insane.
They try to tell us to walk a path that has been
Etched on the Earth's heart - all for the sake of sanity.

But then, the image becomes reality..
With no questions asked, no answers sought..
And our image, sometimes becomes the only reality..
Where is the beauty then, of all the images?
Of you in all your forms, real and surreal
Of not believing in all of them, but of kind acceptance?

And, the understanding that if not all,
Some around me, may also have
Their own two mirrors to look into..
And the rest may choose to see..
Their image as the only reality!

Decant

There is only so much you can dream
Some days just pass by making
Little paper balls out of rejected dreams..
Too optimistic, too dramatic, too sweet
Too contrived and hard to believe..

It rains outside incessantly, and your feet,
Lend their spirits to your mind..
So it keeps flashing stories at you..
Stories, that would never become reality
And even if they do, they would perhaps be not as good,
As when they were stories on a rainy afternoon.

Nostalgia is overrated too.
How you hanker for a place and the time
That made that place what it is in your mind,
On return, the place has happily moved on,
It has embraced its future confidently without you..

You throw a few more paper balls into the bin
And get back to work. Try to worry about something.
If not worry, just a space, a comma for the sake of solace,
I wonder how sometimes, cynics and dreamers
Are brought to the same place!

Paradigms

We have no patience whatsoever,
To step back and look at our data points.
No! Don't come to us with those parametric equations!
We have decided that it is going to be a line.

Well, don't question our methods -
For they were written before your were conceived!
They have been tested enough, they are fine.
All these years, time after time
They have always given a line.

Why do you bother about close-to-the-axis..
And how does it matter what is higher?
We don't waste our time in reinventing it
When we know that it is called an outlier.

We know how you feel - and we sympathize
For once upon a time, we were young too.
But we learned very quick to see the line
And now, that is what you should do.

All this theory of letting it unfold on its own,
Is very romantic but if we may interject,
Try and find your own line soon, and
If you can help it, do away with the intercept!

You see, you are safe on the line
For there is only so much you can fall,
And there is more company here
High up it tends to get very lonely
And it will risk a larger fall dear!

On a line, you can easily compare
And see where everyone else has gone.
These little deltas work as gradients or medals.
Depending which side you are on.

The world just makes much more sense on a line
Life is an assembly line my friend,
So don't open that can of worms for us
With your parabolic trends.

In a fragile moment towards the end,
When your foggy eyes would want to see it clear,
You will never remember it as a fancy curve,
Life would then look strangely Linear!

Summer Tantrums

Nature is so motherly sometimes,
Trying to distract me from the scorching heat,
Turning the sky maddeningly purple
By bringing the Jacarandas out of their retreat!
Or mixing in some Jasmine into the tree sweat,
As I walk uphill, under the Sun's smother,
Interrupting my sulky annoyance
By bursts of fragrances one after the other
When I try to wake up before the Sun,
To steal some breeze away from the world,
She rewards me with a different gift,
The summer song of the summer bird!
Sometimes, when nothing works
And I surrender, helplessly to his overwhelming power,
She takes pity on her baby again,
And sends me her special afternoon showers.

Bitter Sunsets

I first painted her sitting by the river
With nothing but her long hair
Draping her back
The slight curve of innocent opulence,
Her narrow waist inadvertently made..
I soaked my soul in the colors I used
And my eyes moistened as my brush
Covered the canvas like an effortless dancer..
But she left, abruptly, gathering her clothes

In my resolve to forget her,
I whitewashed my canvas for my next painting
Painted a flower girl, who wilted in the summer
Then I painted a seductress over her,
I liked myself for what people began to think I was,
A lonely traveler with an eye for beauty
And I liked how I made them wonder
If I would whitewash their bodies too..

Sometimes, after a seeking sunset
When there is a lot of dust between me
And the uncertain horizon, I can see myself
Retracing her curves again, from beneath
All those layers, of color and whitewash.
Embittered and embattled, with nothing
To look forward to and nothing to go back for..

I can only confess to the sunsets,
That I should have used a new canvas..
Then, perhaps, I would have been able to know
If I really am a good painter,
Or if I can just draw her well...

In memory

Which page from your ancient past
Inspires this tear grandma?

Oh, little one, these days
My eyes have lost their bastion
My mind fools me into thinking
That the tears will hide
In the folds of my wrinkled face..
And no one will know they are still made..
But my little one can see them
So I should be more careful..

Or you could just share your story,
I am not little anymore you know..

To tell you the truth little one,
It is easier to feel the tears
Than to trace them back, to the ball of wool,
That the cat got his little string from..
It is not like you, with that boy who left last summer..
Leaving you so many tear stained pillows..
And that is the only thing your little mind
Has sewn together with tears..
It is so many years, so many people
That tears are easier to remember than them..

Why do you smile now grandma?
Who inspires this smile..

To tell you the truth little one,
All of those who brought that tear before..
So many of them, that it is just easier to smile
Than name them all!

Stories

Do you seek the freedom that I enjoy?

Yes, I do.
Your freedom to be a girl, a woman and a man..
At your own eccentric whim.
Your freedom to wake up and lie down in the sun..
Your freedom to have waffles for dinner
And a steak sandwich for breakfast
Your freedom to call anyone an idiot and move on..
Your freedom to be happy with your choice
And your freedom to change your mind,
When the happiness fades away.
I envy all of that.
And how about you? Are you happy?
You must find my restricted life quite silly..

On the contrary..
Sometimes I do feel
That someone should mark a square for me
And then I can be free in that boundary
Paint my little square the way I want
And enjoy the colorful security
Of having an entire square, just for me.
As long as I have a sky overhead
That has a few stars in it, not the whole galaxy.
As long as I can invite my friends to visit me..
I would be happy, knowing that there is a place
That completely belongs to me.
Being completely free is not easy.

I wonder if we could both move
A little towards each other..
A little closer, maybe just close enough
To hold hands across our boundaries..
Well, across my boundary..

No, I have a boundary too..
It is my mind and I like it a lot..
I try to control all the little things I can..
In order to have that boundary..
It doesn't work all the time
Sometimes the lines between pleasure and pain
Get frighteningly murky..
But every time you set a new boundary,
There comes a time, when you surely defy it.

Funny you say that, for I have none..
In my mind, I run free
I pack and move every hour
To a new reality, just for company..
I try and imagine what I could have done
Had I not been what I am today
And the possibilities astound me..
But every interlude comes back to
A more certain reality..
And my physical boundaries
Tease me.

But I must confess, I feel much better
Knowing that your freedom is not your slave..

And I think I am glad, that my boundaries
Are not glass-lined fences..

Just holding hands for comfort is enough
As long as we share our stories. :)