Something in Nothing

There is a meaning even in nothingness

If we would stop by and examine its test

While it seems like a vacuum out there

Sometimes nothing is our answer best

Nothingness is a space that can be filled

It is a challenge to our creativity and imagination

For all we know this world might be virtual

But we know it needs purification

But if the earth needs to be purified

The very essence of life needs to be rectified

Cos with man came misery

And in his shadows, other lives were crushed

Nothingness is not an empty space now

That there is a word that describes it

Is tangible evidence that it is something finite

And there is no better word to fit

Can anything be nothing?

Can everything be nothing?

Yes it can because as someone once said

We love giving words and defining

We are not money-making machines

We are meaning-making machines

Cos even money without a meaning would be useless

But the definition makes it coveted nonetheless

So why are we discussing nothingness

When it is nothing but an empty space

We do it to stop and remember

That we can paint colors of life on the plain canvas called nothingness.

Red as red can be

Dedicated to all victims of abuse irrespective of gender, age, caste, class, religion and country.

Bound by chains of propriety

Of sublime chastity

Of purity

as pristine as the waters of the Gangotri

How could I reveal this blemish on my café skin

That left a mark on my soul as dark as sin

The wrath of the fury incurred

Left me all but shattered

Can you now forgive me

For not opening this cupboard

Of my dark past.

Their fingers still browse my body

Making me feel like some cheap commodity

Up for sale, cheap bargain

Oh, am I really going insane?

I hear the voices whispering and screaming

Telling me they know me inside out

That no one knows every cell in my body as do they

And I should only follow their bidding every way

The white walls here are stark reminders

of how pure childhood innocence used to be

but came those devils with arrogant quivers

to pierce and color me red as red can be.

Do you hear them telling me

The world is not such a good place to be

That mom and dad pretend to love me

Siblings and friends change moods with time

That my love is soon going to be history?

Let's build our own cave

Let’s build our own cave

A cozy corner that only you and I can find

Beyond the river

Over the hillside

The sun shining brightly behind us

Our cave dark and nightly, shining by the twilight

A place that can find us

A place that only we can find.

Let’s build our own cave

We can carve our own niche

Do a decision analysis of the economics

Save lives, win our races

Have our tryst with destinies

But at the end of the long wry day

We need to find our way

Back to our little corner shining by the twilight

A place that can find us

A place that only we can find.

Let’s build our own cave

The waters of the river shine silver in the moonlight

I drive past by and wonder what came upon us tonight

That we are so worn out, weary and tired

From this long journey that they call life

Can we not seek refuge from this daily battle?

Can we not spend quiet moments whispering sweet nothings

Can we not retire to our cozy corner, shining in the twilight?

A place that can find us

A place that only we can find

Let’s build our own cave.

Words for my song

I sat down to write the words
of the song I wrote
I have created a melody
that I think is lilting
from the strains of the soulful iktara
A single stringed instrument
That creates a holy aura
in the air around it.
That has its listeners swaying
and losing themselves in its mystic

I tried to put down words
It's a puzzle of words
that I am trying to put straight
Maybe they are an anagram
From where I'll get the
actual lyrics for the tune that
I've been humming and strumming
and playing in my heart and mind
All day, all night,
For the last one week.

And then, I was possessed by
a thought that grew louder
than the conductor's orchestrated tune
Does my song need words
to truly describe its beauty
to convey its meaning
Sometimes, don't our wordless expressions
speak louder than a collection of alphabets
Sometimes, doesn't the silence at the other end of the phone
convey everything that the voice doesn't?

Do you know how it is
to be possessed by something
so strong and powerful
That rules your daily routine
that is louder than your thoughts
Have you ever had
your own song, loud and clear
in your mind,
that takes up more space than
the incessant rush of your thoughts.

It feels like I will drown in the
high notes of my song
and will be washed away ashore
by the low tides of this melody
The waves of the octave will
take me on the most beautiful
journey ever
Maybe I should stop looking for words
and just float in the pristine beauty of an unworded, shrill
music of my life.

The Vulture and her Angels

The skies are grey, mist falling from the cloud

People waiting at the bus stop making it a crowd

Atop the fire temple, vultures waited for their prey

And across the city, in a church, the devout came to pray

But who knew that there were vultures waiting at the bus stop

And who were just waiting for their luck to come out on tops

There stood she, silently, misty eyed in the fog

Hoping that the bus ride wouldn’t be people-clogged

They were watching her, and she could feel the heat of their gaze

As hot as it was the scorching sun ablaze

She tried to ignore the stare

And returned it with an icy cold glare

She sat in her seat and one of them sat next to her

The other seated right behind her

The warm glow emanating from their faces

But she was thinking of bigotry of races

The journey seemed long drawn

It seemed like her destination wouldn’t come before dawn

She shuffled in her seat, they remained unmoved

Because they knew he was there, ready to make his move

The girl with the small eyes and jet black hair

Began to feel a bit of scare

Though what she did not realize

That they were her guardian angels, kind and wise

The vulture sat at a distance hoping

The two black men would soon be leaving.

He saw a scornful look staring him in the eye

Telling him that it was time for a goodbye

Their look pierced the vulture

Their warmth made cozy the girl of another culture

That there was hope began to dawn on her

From the clutches she would be free forever

At the last stop she got up

The black men followed her

The vulture was paralyzed

That the men were her angels, he realized

In a trot she began to move

But suddenly she no longer feared fear

Finally the truth dawned on her

But they had disappeared into the thin air.