A Morning Note {16th June, 2011}

I woke up to a soft-drizzly morning.

One with soft, breezy pieces of grey clouds?

Yes, and one look outside the windows, makes you feel, as if you’ve been washed off-shore right into the ocean.

It has been raining, while I was dreaming, and droplets have formed simple seas on the streets.

It’s not a day to work or lament.







As I type this, a crisp breeze is blowing right through my hair,carrying my own scent, right into my room. I know I am here.

It’s letting the one know, that I am here, and that, I am not alone, and that no one is alone.

This breeze must be playing with your hair too.

Like an indulgent pet, licking up your face, and stitching up a smile.



You are stuck beneath an up-turned amber jar.

A jar which holds stars, and the umbrella which rains from within.

And you have no choice but to get wet.

It wants you to get wet.



The solitary bird on the tree outside my window, the one I had been talking to all this while, just flew off.

Perhaps the healthy winds scared it away.

I don't know, it had put up brave and well against the winds, but then one can't always stand straight.

The tree was indeed shaking in a zig zag, following the lead from the gales.

I had been swooning too!



But then, these are free days.

And such days are dangerous.

For you cannot escape, from all that you’d been avoiding under the mask of a routine.

You cannot keep it down, hidden or under.

Everything around, pulls you amply closer to that which you are not immune to.



There are eyes, a pair of eyes, so beautiful, that it hurts.

Eyes, which will not let you see, other than that, which it wants.

It has the pull of the Sauron, but then it pulls you into heaven.

These are eyes, which will not let you be, they will just not let you be in peace.

And all your control, and your farce at self-composure fails.



Only when you remember the mischief, and the laughter, and the kind understanding grace swimming in those eyes.

You are transported.

I am transported.

And for once, I lose control, and I forget, I am not supposed to give in. and that, this is not supposed to be written.

But then, what is?



This is the problem, with us. With me. We want to share our heart-beats, we want to say it all.



But then, we also, never for an inch, care or want, anyone to listen, or anyone to understand.

We want an audience, but we don't want it to exist. we' rather it didn't!



That which is lost in translation, is that which is gained in thought, and sustained in years and hearts to come.



But those, eyes, will still not let me rest, and they will urge me for an answer.

But what can I say, when all I can do is just see, SEE and stay numb?


These are glorious days!!!