Thursday, March 23, 2017

I Don't Remember.

Mother always said to not swing your legs as you sat
But I couldn't help it
I always did that when I was restless
Here I sat in anticipation, waiting;
My eyes kept on swinging back to the sky
The clouds had come at last
And I waited for them to act on their threats
Their threats to burst.

I was armed and ready
The pots and pans in place
And as the drops came thundering down
I ran out and cupped my hands
And watched as the drops slipped from in between
My vessels filled slowly
I heard them receive the blessings from above

I stood in front of the mirror
Drying out my hair
So she asked me -
I couldn't be there. How was the rain?
I smiled and said I did all that I could but some water flowed away
Maybe if I had tried harder I would even have caught some more
So, I think it was a good rain.
She looked at me peculiarly, then said -
No. you didn't get me. How was the rain?
Tell me how the first drop felt
Tell me how it tasted when it touched your lips
Tell me how it was when you looked skyward and felt the shower on your face
Tell me how it drenched all your clothes
Tell me how it made you want to move; that you broke into a dance and sang
Tell me how you watched all the drops collect and the puddles form
Tell me how you said goodbye to the little streams that went away

And all I could do was stammer and say
I don't remember
I made out to explain to her that it was the desert
That rain didn't visit often
That water was important
I reached out to tell her
But she didn't look me in the eye
Then my explanations seemed vain.

Monday, March 20, 2017

Yet Another Set of Lyrics

Maine yeh bhi socha hai aksar
Tu bhi main bhi sabhi hai sheeshe
Khudhi ko hum sabhi mein dekhein

I like these lines. They happen to me a lot. :')

Thursday, March 2, 2017

#28daysbloggingchallenge #day28

Wow I am at the last day of this thing! So soon!
Today's prompt is - one little word.

What word should I choose? This is difficult! So many great words to choose from. Although the question seems to have been framed in such a way so as to make the most obvious answer love. Or am I imagining things?

Well, this is tough. I have already backspaced a million words. Okay, let's not think that much.. let's choose time.
Time is so flexible and malleable but yet it waits for no one. You can't control it. Some might say it doesn't really exist. If life is a story, then time are the pages of a book. There is always a sequence and the each part of the story unfolds on its very page. You can't force its hand. You have a fixed limit of it. It can even heal things. Such propertis remind me of Fawkes!

And well, here it is. :)