Love

A cold winter morning, a sky full of fog,
An empty street, a couple there, and me,
I walked my path, it led nowhere,
And somehow we ended up in the same café.
I looked at her, her deep blue eyes,
They had so much to say,
I looked at the boy who sat with her,
His eyes, empty, like a novel burnt to ashes.

Since there wasn’t anyone else around,
And the coffee was taking only too long,
My eyes kept wandering back to them.
They both seemed indifferent about me;
And that was alright, but alas!
They seemed so indifferent about each other.
Their fingers intertwined, his hand in hers,
But never a look, nor a smile at each other.

Who were they? I wondered,
Waiting for my cup of coffee.
I could not imagine why they would want to be,
The way they were, together.
For I believed, love was spoken,
Not with words, but through the eyes,
But alas! Their eyes never met!

And suddenly those three words were said,
“I love you”, whispered the boy,
“As do I”, she said in return,
Yet still neither faced each other,
Though now they were all smiles.

The waiter arrived, a bit later,
With my steaming hot cup of cappuccino,
“Isn’t it weird?” I asked him,
“How could they not see each other,
And yet say those words all the same?”
The waiter looked deep at me,
Smiled and said,
“Sir, they both are blind.”

And that day I realized,
How true it is,
When they say that love is blind.

Absence

Far away in a different world,
Where the moon glows bright and the sun sleeps throughout,
You cuddle in my arms and lull off to sleep,
Whilst I stare at you and learn what love is about.

I appear strong and tell you it’s okay,
And you ask me to chill out,
For things will get back to how they were in a while,
So what is this fuss all about?

But like an overdose of alcohol,
Which people remember never to repeat,
An overdose of your absence,
Is killing me underneath.

It’s about the fact that never have I ever,
Loved anyone as much as you,
You’ve sunk deep into my thoughts and my dreams,
Of which left in my life are very few.

So tonight before you go off to sleep,
Imagine you are with me,
In a world where nothing else matters,
And where our hearts are free.

And I’ll pull myself a bit closer to you,
You’d come a little more closer to me,
And I’d smile and keep my brows straight,
Like you’ve always wanted them to be.

Abyss 8

Today I walked up to the sea,
And in the shimmering lights of the sun,
Three-quarters hidden amidst the clouds,
Saw the waves making small white foams.
The waves today, they were all mild,
Calm as the white clouds, no storm to bring.
The rage and fury that I expected,
The roar and the rumble,
And the high and wild tides,
None of them were there.
Perhaps the sea was getting old.
Perhaps it realized it was all for nothing,
The pompousness, the deceit, all for none.

I couldn’t turn my back against it,
Not while you were still a part of it,
And so I looked straight into it,
And in the distance,
Saw a head bobble up, and go down again.
I waited for it to come up,
Waited for a long, long while,
But just like the waves, and just like you,
And just like the time that goes by,
It never came back.
I shouted loud, and heard my echo,
The echo faded away into the ocean,
Much like the brightness of the sun,
Which was now fully hidden behind the clouds.

The evening gave way to a silent night,
No stars celebrated the welcoming of the moon,
No bright black skies to ponder at,
No stars to count, no smiles to see.
And I counted the grains of sand,
Removed whilst writing your name,
Which was soon washed away,
Just as it were to be.
The burden of wishes is too heavy sometimes,
And so sometimes we must let some loose,
A part of our lives, never to come back,
Like I’ve let loose the perennial wish,
Of your return.

I Love You

For the world may not care,
And the seasons might not stop,
And the rivers could keep flowing,
And the song in my mind,
The song in my mind,
That could keep playing,
And those words you said,
Those would keep ringing,
And come back to me every single night,
This one thing,
I cannot lose,
Or simply put,
I cannot afford to,
For the world may not care,
And the lights keep turning,
From red to green to yellow to red,
And people may think,
That within my heart I’m dead,
But you know,
And that’s all that matters.
For people might hate me,
And I couldn’t care lesser,
And the world could loathe me,
I wouldn’t bat an eye,
But you over there,
Standing in the shadows,
Never turn away,
Or I might die,
For I love you,
And that’s the only truth.

What is Love?

I pine to see you yet again,
And though you were but only a friend,
Now I feel you have a part of me,
Which I want to steal back,
So that I can become whole once more,
But can it be done,
Without you by my side?
No I don’t think so,
And if you ask me, my friend,
I would tell you exactly what I think this is,
But I want you to ask yourself,
Ask for once and see if you,
Get the answer to this sweet question,
Is this love?
For love is distance,
For love is being far away,
And not seeing each other for thousands of days.
For love is being upset,
At things which were funny,
Once upon a time.
Let me tell you a story,
Of a boy who thought,
Love is but a figment of the mind,
Never to be true, never to be realized,
Yet when he fell,
He fell so hard,
He came into his senses and he learned of love.
Love is the pain,
Of being separated,
And love is also the joy,
In being separated.
Love is a paradox which none can solve,
And love is a crime, which I absolve.

Tulips

So here we are at last, at the end of another journey. Another round of thank-you’s and goodbye’s need to be done, and I am yet not ready for them. It seems as if only yesterday we met, and somehow time rushes so fast, like sand between the fingers, that you’ve lost almost all of it even if you stop thinking about it just for a while. So why did I choose tulips as the name for the last post? Why not something more conventional? Why not a hibiscus or a chrysanthemum or a lotus?

I associate tulips widely with my nostalgia. This dates back to several years later, when one of the Windows had as its default wallpaper the Tulips. Was it XP? No, XP had the green field. Maybe Windows 2000 or Windows NT or one of those, but it was at that time when I first started using the computer. I used to spend hours trying to draw figures on MS-Paint or play Pinball and beat my own high scores. Those were simpler times. How times have changed now. Now I am a computer engineer, and soon I will become a computer scientist. Where will I get the time to relive those moments? One can never say.

So long. Let me not talk about nostalgia and my previous experiences because that will become both redundant with a lot of my early posts as well as very boring. But the thing is this, and I think you will agree with me on this one fact at least; that nostalgia is something you cannot run away from. You never know what will trigger it, it is like a gunshot, point blank, direct to your brain, and it bleeds out profusely all those memories which have been buried like rubble under big buildings of new thoughts. And then you cannot help but think about them, and join all the broken strings, and tie all the knots, and cross all the t’s and dot all the i’s and it becomes overwhelming and you cannot handle it after a point of time. What do you do then?

You throw the bouquet away.

Lilies

Dreams are in fact the only way of repose, in my understanding. Because that is only time when the mind is at rest, even if not fully. No, I do not mean to evoke psychologists to rubbish my thought by saying that the subconscious is awake at all times, and so is the unconscious during dreams, but as long as the conscious is at rest, you have an option to keep away the worries of the day piled up lazily in a corner like dirty laundry to be washed the next day. And that is exactly why I like to sleep. Because I love to dream. To dream of castles I’ve never been in, and races I have never won, and meadows I have never lay in and lilies I have never smelled.

Unfulfilled dreams and the urge to fulfil them or at least keep dreaming about them until they get fulfilled is perhaps one of the main ways I keep myself happy. Happiness is a rare thing, and looking for it is indeed difficult in my world. Don’t assume me to be a sad person, I am in fact a very jolly and funny guy who can crack the right jokes at the correct time and make those around laugh merrily. I can also bring a smile on a child’s face by giving him a chocolate or an old lady’s face by helping her cross the street. To say I do not derive happiness from these small acts would be cruel. Indeed I do. They do make me happy. And if that surmises to happiness found easily in the world, then by that definition I am indeed a very happy person. But there is more than that to life. There is a personal space, and there is an ego, and an ego needs to be fed, and food is expensive, and it comes at the cost of happiness, inner happiness, not the joys of the world that can be experienced ever so easily.

I sat by the river one day, looked into the water and saw ripples of my reflection smiling back at me, as if it almost knew what went on in my mind at that time. It is funny how reflections are just what we are, but devoid of their own emotions and feelings. They feel what we feel, they show what we ask them to. They do not have an individuality. And many people think that individuality is in fact one of the foremost important things in this world, but indeed in the case of reflections, it is not. So for shadows too. Shadows and reflections. It is such a nice thing to talk about. Shadows, darkness, reflections, brightness. Shadows do not smile or be sad, they are stoic, they are our internal selves. But reflections are what the world sees, whereas the shadow is what it needs to see to learn what is really going on in our heads because at the end of the day, what we show and how much we smile doesn’t count a penny.

My set of posts is almost at an end. Only one more post to go for this series to end. I do not remember why I had started writing this, so it would be difficult to tell you whether or not I feel that I have justified the need of these posts, because I cannot remember the reason why I began in the first place. But sometimes it so happens that we must be happy with the way things end even if we don’t remember the beginning and even if we don’t remember the entire journey but only parts of it, for the end is what counts. They did have a saying, “All’s well that ends well”, and if that is true, then I should believe all is going to be well for me, and that might be the subject of my dreams when I sleep tonight.