Islanded.

Waves upon waves.
Rays upon rays.
I lay there,
A secluded island.
Straining out of reach,
And then springing back.
Holding myself aloft,
And then being slack.
Thoughts gently lapping at me,
The shores crept inward.
Thoughts clouding over me,
My heart stirred.
Time blurred into one,
Lost, as I was.
In the distance, I saw them,
Speaking, approaching.
Holding maps
To my deepest whims.
Wielding the power
To turn me inside out.
Thousands have come
Before them and
Thousands shall come after.
For within myself, there exists
A labyrinthine haven.
I see them.
They do not see me.

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The Universe of You

You were but a small boy,
Ready to be enveloped by the mighty
And the invigorating.
The Heavens convened,
Smiling down at you.
You, who glowed with wonder,
An impish smile lurking on your mien.
They imbued your life with
Experiences to last a lifetime,
Knowing full well, you’d thrive.
The stars aligned, preparing to
Release you to a world that
Could bloom with your thoughtfulness.
Flesh and blood came together,
In a hurry to carve you into all that you could be.
As you trek through the wilderness,
And dive into the ocean,
The Heavens congratulate themselves,
For a job well done.
They had hoped to see you living happily,
But you’ve left them astounded
By conquering every moment.
The Universe of You pulses with potential.
Do yourself proud.

– Meera

Telltale Reality

Walls groan and
Staircases sigh.
The ceiling rat-a-tats
With fictional marbles.
Doors whine,
Reminiscent of the old.
Curtains quarrel
So as to invite stories.
A dilapidated house.
It clings to its inhabitants.
It lives long after they are gone.
It sleeps blanketed by their memories.
And wakes again, ready for more.

 

– Meera

A Volatile World

Image courtesy – Google.

It’s a volatile world,
The very foundation sizzles.
Crackling like a witch’s brew,
Waiting to be stirred.
Rearing its bigoted head,
Surveying the great potential
For a divide & rule.
How easy it must seem,
To create a spark
And prod it so?
To lay waste, all differences?
It seethes and sputters
With a callousness so dire
That it reduces to dust
All else by a breath of fire.
It croons to sleep, a city
Of unsuspecting folks.
While the lava slithers down
And incinerates them all.
Many wars and many failures later,
What remains of this world?
Ignorance & arrogance to say the least.

– Meera

Oh, the quandary!

All this thinking.
This relentless reasoning
And persistent pondering
Leads nowhere.
Not now.

The wonted adjustments
And clinging to the familiar.
The dreams of new
And varied days.
They don’t meet.

A thousand words
Walk down every alley.
As i holler songs about
Being young & me.
They don’t rhyme.

The wishing well,
The magic mirror,
The cryptic crystals,
Doze negligently.

Perhaps the planning
Is destructive.
Perhaps days are meant
To be lived as unorganized
As our pasts in the attic.

Beginnings are like that.
Lost & found.
Gainful & compromising.
Dull & thrilling.

Someday, these cobwebs
Will elicit laughter.
But tonight,
Everything’s a pickle.

– Meera

Diversities in Black

Like the dead of night.
Like the womb before light.
Glistening tresses and
Ravens in flight.

The nyctophiliac’s black
The mourner’s black
Black in the seeds to
The victorious black.

Black that festers fear
Black that draws near
Squinting black eyes
Black ripples that are clear.

The expensive blacks
The pauper’s blacks
And those bruised bruised blacks.

A black for the stars
A black for the wars

Of hermeneutics and origins,
What shall we call this black –
One of love?
One of hate?
But black is black,
And all these blacks
Are as majestic
As raw
As the black black universe.

– Meera

Let Today Be a Fete

Let today be a fete.
A remembrance of your strength.
With you, we channel our laughter.
Not because yours faltered,
But hath the sun ever marred the moon?
Unlikely.
And so nothing, that has the gall to
Approach you , is insurmountable.
Blind ’em with your goodness.
With us concocting an everlasting potion,
Let today be a fete.
A remembrance of your strength.

– Meera

If Jobs Didn’t Pay..

As the earth goes round,
New professions sprout.
But what if our careers
Didn’t pay us?

A job could be to money
As a stone is to a tissue-
Inconsequential.
Irrelevant.

Perhaps then we’d earn
On our character, certain points.
To be collected, spent,
Gifted and valued.

Image Courtesy – Google

A liminal bot programmed
To grant us fair wages
Would then call, “Next!”
As every being lined up
To receive their worthy share.

Could our careers then
Be free of any hassle,
That may stoop to
Undermine its importance.

Could our careers then
Be our own and not
Tarnished by other’s opinions.

A just world that would be.
A happy realm of
Blooming passions and
Voluntary learning.

If only our jobs were to money,
What a stone is to a tissue.
If only our characters
Were more than judged.

– Meera.

The Lesser of Two Evils

Vicious & Bold,
There roams the earth
From legends & tales,
Creatures to behold.

Image Courtesy – Google

Now they’ve arrived,
No disputing races
No mercy or mistake
Will in their ways, subside.

Eye to eye,
They stare us down.
Without a blink
Snuff us out .

And yet I hold dear,
This foreign entity
Who, the lesser of two evils
Dominates all here.

To this day and this end,
I wait. Surely there’s a
Greater doom to mend.

– Meera