You’ll find me (Part II)

I’m trying to find a soul,

Wandering and lost.

I’m looking.

For the meaning and purpose of every insect on this land. The curiosity is almost never ending.

This search, this desire.

Are we really meant to live in four walls?

Did we free ourselves from the womb to be choked in our own breath?

Must all of this be so cliché?

Do both a village wife and the president of the United States really go to heaven?

Do they both really possess a soul?

Or are they both individually possessed?

Both by dominations, one a man and other with a country full of men

Both weighed down by duties of their own kinds.

One on a bullock cart and the other in a limo.

Do you actually remember your wedding day as a celebration or was it a union of two sacrifices? Another hassle.

Are you the river or the ocean?

What if you learn that you are indeed the bank where the two meet?

Is there a word to define passion?

Must you always disgrace my love for anything and everything?

Must we always have to cry for what is not ours and stand tall for what we do?

Does it not become awfully heavy? This burden of a false world?

Must this piece of writing have a name for you to be allured to?

Why can I not take pleasure in the way this pen presses its hard self against the soft paper?

Can we not be like animals? If we do have the instincts?

Are we not them?

Are they not us?

Cruelty is dangerous, animal-ism isn’t.

Why can I not be happy with what I have and be drunk with these words?

Do you not see how utterly beautiful they are and how fondly and madly in love they are?

Must we have a licence for everything?

Why can I not find my home?

How do I better enjoy the insanity of myself?

You the wondrous soul,

In me you have found your home,

Your lust has taken its toll.

The Peace I Choose.

 

If you were to hear,

If you were to listen,

Only if you’d excuse yourself and give an ear;

To the birds chirping you’d hear them cry,

 about the sky,

They’ll tell you how they choke as they fly

how you ruined their home making yours.

How the clear blue sky is dusty black,

How the wars have ruined everybody.

 

We’ll build houses and villas,

We’ll go countries and cities,

To find an escape.

 

Escape from the monotony of life and the purposelessness of it all.

Will you bury the money with you when you’re gone?

Will your platinum card or vip treatment open the gates of heaven for you?

 

Let’s dream about a day,

A clear morning, the sun shines bright,

You wake up and pick up the morning newspaper.

You read about the beautiful girls that have been welcomed on earth,

and the ministers going to people and talking.

No guns, no fighting, no votes, no elections, no marketing.

Just talking.

Sweet words of love and a breeze of flowers swish past you,

 as you sit in the open yard of your house.

House, the one you can call home.

 

Your daughter walks to school, fearless.

They teach her to nurture and make life, a fruitful one.

Men in the society are just men, not monsters of molestation.

The grass is actually green, and not artificially planted.

 

 

In such a world,

Mother earth, rejoices and blesses.

There are no floods, no tsunamis.

Rain, not acidic.

Just rain, pure and fresh straight from heaven,

And It doesn’t drop down on streets,

But on the ground, on earth. ‘Bhoomi’

Where it belongs, where it nurtures and brings new life.

 

The day the cycle of life, comes back

The day we all are one.

The day there is no money, no currency, no exchanges

That day will be “peace”,

Quiet. Tranquillity. Stillness.

 

 

That very day mankind will learn humanity.

 

 

 

 

Our Greatest Fear —Marianne Williamson

Our Greatest Fear —Marianne Williamson

it is our light not our darkness that most frightens us

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other

people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of
God that is within us.

It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people
permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.

—Marianne Williamson

An Abstract Fallacy.

© Neon Photography – Jigyasa Malhotra

It’s small, this world of ours; petite,

And so we shall meet.

I have a little heart but many thoughts and so I must be free.
I could hate you but why must I?
You are armoured , I’m chained

Addictions barely go forgone.

The path lies, a lot to travel..

But I’m tired, such a cliché.

Wound up in wires of my own selfish thoughts,
Let go!

Absurd are conversations and promises

Thoughtless is thy mind.

Wound up with stories of its own,
The soul wonders in thou search.

For little can lustful corners,
Mocking eyes,
Painful tears and good food give.

The air is too less if you can’t breathe.
Alcohol too little, if you can’t see.
The punishments of your mistakes too many,
For fate is to destiny
And pain is to love.

The struggle shall go on,
and so will we,

Eating, breathing, sleeping, holding hands and kissing,

with other lovers,

if not each others.

But this world is of god,

and it is small, petite.

And so, we shall meet.

I Found Paradise In the Crippled Utopian World- I found god.

 The vastness of the blue bodies, randomly painted with colours of green and white here are there.  My planet seems perfect.  A Utopian world of god, paradise.

Now anger rules the innocent heart, she hates herself for who she’s become. For who she’s turned into. Anger blames people around her but is that really the cause…?

 

Where every word is care, every hand held is faith, every feeling is love! The place where the trees don’t bow in weakness, birds don’t lie on the ground dead, the clouds are not black and water’s not purple.

(Colours are good, if they belong in the right place.)

 

Lot’s of doctor’s appointments, tests and medications. They say, symptoms of this and that.  She’s deaf to the words now.  Lot’s of research on what could be, but even the internet doesn’t answer anything for free. Lost.  Scared. Shattered. Where  should she really be?

 

In that world there are no curses, no devils, no hell.   For tell me who defines good and bad, who really chooses right and wrong?  It’s all relativity.

Where love resides,  all is good. Where faith stands, all is well.  Where I live, is heaven.  That  utopian world, is my home.

 

She often wants to run from her in capabilities ,  for the lost  strength, for the fear gained. Her outer shell is too egoistic, too self centered , too small, and too naïve. She curses herself day and night.

Now, outgrown for her mother’s lap

Distant from her father’s embrace

Stuck.  In the middle of nothing but a gamble of discouraging thoughts.

 

“Man can now fly in the air like a bird, swim under the ocean like a fish, he can burrow into the ground like a mole. Now if only he could walk the earth like a man, this would be paradise.”

She weeps, with everything she see’s. Hatred, remorse , guilt, for no one but herself. There are help lines for all kinds of abuse but self abuse is probably the worst form. One part of her curses herself  for all the failures and the other consoles her. HA!  Nature’s ways…she thinks.

That world would be great, that world would fulfill dreams, everyone would live, laugh , play.. At the end of the day it would be nature’s way and say. Cascades of waterfalls, , winds, trees, grace, love, friendship, beauty, grass, birds, clouds, sun, thoughts, everything just everything perfect! And most of all smiles, lot’s and lot’s of smiles.

On the verge of the end, she decided she just couldn’t and wouldn’t stand in front of the world and it’s people because she wasn’t beautiful, because she was unworthy and selfish.

Because jealousy had taken it’s toll. Convinced with the fact that her fairy tale was just an ugly mess, she took a bottle of morphine…

 

Rays of light streamed into the corner where she sat.

Someone held her, tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked up and she knew some part of her longed for him.

(Bible :Isaiah 43:1  “Fear not: for I have redeemed you, I have called you by your name; you are mine”.)

Staring into his divine eyes, she knew she had found herself.

Giving her the comfort of a father

The lap of her mother

The hand of a friend

The love of a lover

Jesus stood, holding his child.

He whispered, this is your fairy tale, this is paradise, this is it.

From that day on she knew, that she had found her paradise in this crippled Utopian World, She had found God.

( Bible :John 3:16 “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him  should not perish but have eternal life”)

 

Not enough

 Every corner of the world seems to be filled, with imperfections but look again; these humans strive to make it perfect. Or vice- versa?

From the day we’re born it’s a start  into the race of the world. Only 17 years of running and I’m already tired!

 

Because, nothing seems enough!

The cravings , the want for perfection just doesn’t stop.

Top it all, Comparisons

Me to you, you to her, her to them, them to the past, past to the future! The ugly cycle…!

 

I say I write, but that’s not enough.

I say I love, but that’s not enough

I say I live, but that too is not enough!

 

 

I must go on for no reason or rhyme,

Why must I?

Why should I do something the world’s already striving for? And cheating their way through?

Why can’t I simply live honestly?

Why ? Why can’t I love lust less?  

 

How is it that even a 100% isn’t a good enough score?

 

Even Einstein said,

“If you judge a fish by its ability to climb trees it will spend its entire life believing its stupid”

 

I judge, too much. Others and myself,

I question, too much,

I curse , way too much!

 

But that’s how I was taught to be, that’s how the world seemed to be till I discovered, ‘I’ was ‘me’. ‘I’ had the right to express through the gift of writing , to curse , to forgive, to love and to live. How I pleased!

 

I’m fortunate I realized it, in this 17 years of race because even today I look at people and they are running without knowing their ‘I’.

 

So I’ll sprint through bad times,

Garden walk through the good ones,

Leave it to god to guide me,

Hold a hand where I see ,

The hurt and fallen , those who simply ran through life!

Your Shoulder.

   An escape from the world,

a fantasy or maybe a fairy tale, I don’t know.

Like running away from the evils of this life,

From the constant commotion and piercing noises to           peace.

From fake laughter to smiles that could reach.

It’s a place more real than this.

Where your shoulder was my shield against this world.

Where I can shed tears without worrying

where idioticness of lust are not overpowering

because on your shoulder,

I can hear your heart beat,

and I know transient are my own feet.

It’s my home, my security

not plain serendipity.

But is that the same everywhere?

Does everyone have that pure love to share?

Explain to me exactly how this life is fair!

Till then I’ll keep living

walk along, and lip sing

Reside in this world of insecurity

Your shoulder is so far away , it’s a pity.