Glow Worm

Glow and fly
When I blink my eye
Blink in your green-blue
Folds of darkness through

I hold you
In my palm
Cupping light
So bright!

In my dark-dark room
Weaving imaginations
In my loom
Glow you glow-worm
Subdue my fever
Make me warm

Brush my memories
Colorful
Give them red, yellow, blue
Come, let's create a new hue

Glow more, whisper your song
I have waited here,
Now, too long
I will sugar in your rhyme
Take me in your time

Glow, recite a poem
Make my wild heart tame

Preach me your language
Feed me manna
Sing me lullaby
Give me wings
Make me glow

Fiction!

Woolf rightly said that to write a fiction a woman needs to have money. But she forgot to mention that a woman does neither need money nor sanction to live a fiction. A self-created fiction, I mean! Most of my friends wonder, what this nile is all about? Fiction dear! It is just a fiction. A fiction never comes true, I came to know much later.

Now, if you ask me to define nile … I'll do it in my way and stir your imagination. Have you smelled your skin in a winter's morning after you acknowledge you are awake, I say that’s nile to me. Call me a pervert, name me numbskull … I don’t mind! Have you ever spoken to yourself while you are walking alone? I still have never-ending conversations with nile. Sometimes, I even feel that when I'm reading a book, a voice narrating, defining all annotations. Is it a personified shadow living in my secret garden or my consciousness? I don’t want to know. I am satiated with this living fiction. Actually, I have comfortably grown up with nile. Be it my darkness or my sunlight, nile is there. Nile is actually those raindrops that made me smile when I had no reason to.

I am comfortably habituated living with this fiction of mine. I mend it, create it according to my choice. I'm the master, I'm the script writer, I orate, I dictate, I vision, I caution. It’s a world where I have my silent crevices and narrow escapes.

                                                                    Flowing - Nile

As nile moves,
in short steady paces
Meets he, old-new faces
       Now he slows
       Takes a turn
       Slowers his movements
       As he learns

Nile has stopped
He has seen
Changed the colors
Of places, he has been
      Now, ready he is
      To move out high
      He drowned memories
      He bade goodbye
 
Nile in glee
Is blessed to be free
He's extended firth
To meet his sea
      In sea, He'll find
      The reasons to bind
      He'll become the whole
      To meet his soul

mum!

sense of being secured

Is it human nature to hold others responsible for all failures? Probably, previously when my cell used to ring I used to be happy; now, like me it has also become quiet. I am in love with this deafening quietness of myself. I have grown habituated with it. There is a continuous growth of these comfortable silences. Call it spaces, call it escapism, but it is me. Quiet, very quiet. I talk a lot nonsense with other mortal beings around me, the more I speak, the more the walls grow profound. It might even be that I am in a state of vacillation, trying to decipher whether the words should be out in open. Words hurt, yes they do. They do the most when they are truth. And yes, I have hurt ma with words. Still when I think of the words that were spoken, I sigh. I can sense the fingers turning cold. It is easy for a mother to forgive her child, but is it that easy to forgive yourself when you realize the damage. You don’t need big fights or a scene to spoil a relation, just a small gesture can put a death nail to it. As she says, relations are the most delicate things here. Be it with your mother or yourself. It needs to be taken care, once you fail and it's all gone. Ma I don’t know how to mend it, you are matured I know, but still I am scared.
Here I grow silent again!

Just me!

As they rightly say that every homecoming breeds a new skin, sometimes making us stronger and sometimes more detached. Do we all know what we are looking for? Well, I must confess that I’m still confused. I really don’t know what I want. What I am shunning myself from or is it just as rightly said is a mental block? From the city that healed most of my wounds to the city that make my bruises new, no wonder that even this visit left me wounded more! Now, after meeting plethora of expectations I have started revolting. I want to be me, little selfish but quiet; in fact very quiet. I think listening is the best way you can escape many troubles. Have I started pretending even to my mother? Don’t know, but yes I have pretended to be happy. I met all the known faces this time, leaving one whom I think I have left behind. But again I question, is the behind really behind. Still, I find this behind to be too much accessible, as if I need to just call a name. People just remind you of all the things that you want to close. Wish I had a lock that doesn’t have a key. Do we all get what we deserve? I have started poking myself with too many questions, no comma and definitely not a period. Time has just moved and it’ll be a year very soon. However, above all these things petty emotions I need to acknowledge one thing; I have moved away from many people. They don’t bother me at all. Though at times for the sake of respect, for mother, for society, for obligation, or as you say duty I flesh out some finance here and there or fake a smile, but I know what exactly I do! Funny isn’t it? We grow up, we grow out, or we just become selfish! Yes selfish, that is what life has taught me these last six months. You need to learn to be selfish. The moment you accept, some use you, some expect more, some despise, and yet others rebuke. What I have transformed into I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. I need to focus. Just one at a time − prudently and maturely for when I purchase the next flight ticket to come back to this city I don’t know whether I’ll be excited or it’ll be just yet another selfish act. I hope that selfishness just doesn’t triumph against my simple humanity.

'lore

lanes of 'lore

A fiction is best when it sleeps tightly cuddled in reality. A reality that draws its nourishment from diurnal sunrises, rains, after rain somberness, silent nights, and nighlessness. ‘lore is lonely, infact, forlorn. The city breathes an air of independence. The trees cajole your silences; words drown here in the innumerable narrations of brief pauses. Either you are too crowded or you are too alone here. You might meet an abrupt relation, which you might not even repent to hold on to. ‘lore is a quiet song whose lyrics are lost in the meandering walks of tranquility. However, sometimes this peace irks you, holds you down, and buds a longing for something. But what is this longing? Is it just that the loneliness screaming in your head? Is it something that you have never cared for or didn’t even womb in your heart of heart? ‘lore ushers a warmth, a placenta that bears your fetus of imaginations secure. Even after miles and miles of walking and strolling your legs keep on wanting for some more distances to be covered. ‘lore touches your heart more than your head. It promises to keep you away from the high sun. When you are lost in of these similar looking streets, you don’t feel the fear of unknown. Somewhere it seems that the lonely, deserted lanes will take you “home.” A home where you might not be able to do things that you want, but where your words, emotions, dreams eagerly wait to give you a warm hug and make you fall asleep soon. ‘lore has taught me longing, a kind of craving. Little wings of desires keep on humming, following, and teasing me through the lanes of ‘lore.

birth-day

I really dont want 21st august to come to me this time.