The young days, The old nights

The young days,

The old nights. 
The charms that hold the human horses together,

Are not so lonely, 

They’ve wrinkles hidden beneath them. 

But the concealers help find those who seek comfort, 

Good or not-so-good, 

Concealed faces attract them all. 
The wrinkles beneath are shown to some, 

To the ones who stay through the nights, 

To the ones who love through the lows and highs. 

Yet, the wrinkles don’t attract.

They’re to be accepted when unwrapped. 
The dark and the light are two phases 

Of the young days 

And the old nights. 

Life:  A timeless beauty 

Hello everybody! It’s a beautiful day today. I see how inapt it seems to say so at a time when the sun is all set to set, or when half the population of my country is stuck up in the peak hour traffic waiting to go back home after a tiring day, or when we’re battling with the scorching heat in the month of March.  Despite all this, the day is still beautiful. You don’t believe me? Ask the parents who just held their newborn in their arms. Ask the child who, for the first time managed to cross the monkey bar for the first time ever. Ask the girl whose parents just agreed to allow her to study further. Ask the boy who could finally convince his parents to pursue Fine Arts and not Computers. But, you might ask me, How does it matter to a person who just lost a loved one or flunked an exam he had studied hard for? The secret lies in seeking happiness continuously and living in the present. The secret lies in understanding that there’s no point crying over what’s done and has no potential to be undone. Seek beauty around you, as, a thing of beauty is a joy forever. Do not attach your happiness to the attainment of a transient goal. Rather, let beauty be the perennial source of happiness for you. 

One might think of me to be a crazy young girl who makes her blog a personal diary and a repository of all her mood swings. The other might find beauty in my thoughts. One might enjoy vacationing abroad. The other might get unparalleled joy by giving the most he can to the cause of charity. One might agree to be a conformist, the other might be a born rebel.
Nobody is wrong. Nobody is right. It’s how we are. It’s how our genes have made us up, it’s how our circumstances  and our environment have conditioned us to be. We all are different and that, my dear friend, is beautiful. 

A tale to tell

Just sought some friends, 

in the yellow pages, 

of those old red books. 

The good world did nothing, 

But rob and rook. 

Fought hard to get her due, 

Which she knew was given to a few.

Her fight was with those who she thought were her family 

 Her father so dear, her brother so near. 

She lost the bout,

When her meek body kissed the ground; 

Some pores drilled 

Alas! She left wearing those frocks frilled. 

Taking the road not taken

Two roads diverged in a wood and I took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference. The difference? My life is probably not as sorted as my contemporaries’ and not as easy as of those who took the other road that was sure to lead to success. 

But am I happy? I would have answered this in affirmative had I been living in a world that did not judge or expect too much. Every moment is that of apprehension and worry. Every dawn brings with it a set of new challenges. The sun shines so bright, but it fails to light me up. Every walk that I take after the sunset, I am apprehensive of being hunted. Is it me or is it those around me? 

Am I a victim of my own fears or a survivor of this cruel world? Am I the one who calls this world a cruel one or is it the world that thinks I’m a pessimist​? I know my musings wander and my thoughts derail. I know what I talk makes lil sense, and I still dare to share it on my blog. But that’s me. Judge me, won’t you?

Not so Childish Childhood

That was a finely fine day

The day,when I was woken up by the hustle of the streets, 

Not by the beautiful sound of the tweets. 

That day I was woken up by the rush of life, 

Not by the sound of my father’s beautiful wife.

And then, my thoughts sank in my sleep.
Minutes later, came a voice;

Harsh enough to wake a child of six up. 

Even though a child, I knew just by a glare; 

That they wanted me to evacuate the place of fare. 

And with obedience,  I did comply.
Six nights at six different stations, 

Where no one knew about the passions; 

The passions that bloomed in the li’l child’s heart. 

And no one knew about the desires;

The desires that were suppressed before they  unfolded. 

I knew I had little choice, 

My passions and desires had lost their voice.
All this happened after the terror attack,

Not by the terrorists, but by our neighbours in fact.
They burned our house

They killed our people

My sister so sweet

My mother so meek

My father so fierce 

And I with tears

They burned us all.
Then came an unkind soul who drew me out, 

Who drew me out of the blazing fire,

Who threw me back to the beasts so dire;

But the beasts paid no heed, 

They had had their enough share of weed.
They were a majority, 

And we the untouchables,  or the minority.

Now, in the city there’s no one I know, 

I don’t know where the path may go. 

I had suppressed my desires for so long,

But now they’ve turned so wild.

Not caring for my martyred family’s pride;

The desires, that day stole a piece of bread,

And since then that’s the kind of life I’ve led.
The craving for a decent meal did not end,

And the same story went on but end.

Because,  with a decent meal, to another place I flee

That’s how I live, 

That’s how I survive, 

Thanks to the unkind soul who saved my life, 

He saved my life, but I was no more alive, I was no more alive. 

The Old Times, The Gold Times

The old times, the Gold times.The times when there was a guiltless pleasure in being dependent on others. The times when we could cry our hearts for no reason at all, and still not be called the ‘Attention Seekers’. The times when our insistence was not taken as our obstinacy. The times when our clothes didn’t define our character. 

All these years have stolen our innocence. The rote learning methods of our education system have ruined our creativity and ingenuity. We know what we’re taught, we fail to discover the mysteries of the unknown. 

Oh, how I wish I was never taught to learn, how I wish I was always taught to question the eternal truths. How I wish I could be a child again. How I wish I could learn to unlearn.