The Unblocking

My nails grow in silence, break with noise, and grow back in silence again. My heart grows in silence, breaks in silence, and grows back in better silence again. If our lives had background music, it would have been a lot easy to live. Every emotion would have a 'value'; every value would have a sound, every sound would welcome you for feeling everything as sincerely as you want. If mind had a face, beauty would have a very ugly definition and if our hearts were as mindful as we want it to be, evolution would have reached the finish line way back. I have lived most of my life till date nurturing the ideology of silence and letting time be my spokesperson. But as you grow up, you tend to understand the world a bit better especially the power held by a befitting reply. My father uses this phrase a lot, he says, " kill the issue on the spot". He lives by his words, he does kill the issue on the spot, he does not mince words when it comes to an offender. I on the other ha

Pehli si Mohabbat.... You seem like the scent of a long-gone childhood You seem like a song hidden in a diary It was the elevator where our eyes sparked a smile, The smile that blows off a candle from its heat The smile that plants a love grenade.   I adore your face Like a sunflower keeping up with the sun, I have met you in ways Like a mirage that never meets the horizon.   Your wind keeps the winter warm. When you become the sun that struggles to peep, Your wind draws my hair on the face While I hear the jingling wind chime to sleep.   I adore the geometry of the diameter of your nostrils, I adore your pearly eyes that keep me awake even when I dream about them in dreams, I dream of your eyes, I dream of them falling for the mole on my cheek, For my unkempt paint-less soft feet, For my shy dark eyebrows, For my fingers, when they run through your mind, For the way I make you laugh out of nowhere, For the way, I held myself strong whe

There's detergent and filthy clothes in my bucket when I opened the tap water to create lather. Initially, there was absolutely no movement of my clothes but then as the water level increased, I felt what those clothes must have felt; the stress from congestion loosens up as the water enters them and they slowly seem to relax and float as if they are yawning and stretching out of weeks-long wait to be cleaned. I presumed that that's how letting go must feel, at least initially. When was the last time you had to dig some soil and leave it like that for air to seep in? When was the last time you looked into a mirror not to get ready for the day but to read your own face? Have you ever read your own face? Did you like what came as a reflection? Were you able to see the truth of your deeds in your eyes?... There are many ways to look at yourself; the mirror is not the eyes that behold your reflection but it does hold some truth because it lets you see your eyes. I adore my eyes, I

 There are many things to say to you, but she chooses to zip her words into a sigh as if telling the obvious would make it irrelevant. I don't think we learn to speak during childhood, I think we keep learning it till we become quiet. Silence is composed of a thousand words whereas sometimes all it is that a thousand words say is "nothing". I know the power of words and so I am not quiet when it comes to speaking the unsaid obvious. There is a girl at my window staring at the passing clouds thinking to herself where does she stand in her life; is she a passing cloud too, would she ever know stillness? There are two kinds of people in the world; one who knows the word, the other who knows the meaning. There is one more kind who fall at the intersection of the two; the hybrid one, who knows the meaning of the word and the "when and where science" of using it. At every stage of knowledge of the word and of the meaning and of the usage, the bar of responsibility goe

 The laundry-washed clothes have a unique smell of freshness, the freshness of it being clean, the goodness of it being good to go again! The day seems newer with a fresh ironed cloth on the body, the body seems fresh with a new soaked approach for the day. The birds talk to me, the purple flowers stare at me, I blush when they do that and I think, how am I not over them already! I never get over them. Every single time they make me feel purple, even if it's just for a moment. It's the same with humans too, I suppose. People who make you feel purple are purple themselves, they have their own color, they have their own sun trapped glow. There is no one way of describing an early morning sunrise and so there's no one way to describe that purple feeling. Sometimes when you can't measure something in quantity, you aren't able to say how much gravity it holds in words, so you reply with a silent adoration for the ocean before you. I see the ocean in his eyes and when the

I stepped on a dry curled leaf on the ground and the sound is somehow very satisfying. The brutal crunching makes way for easy assimilation of the dead leaf into the ground. I have watched the same leaf go from the small peachy pink size to the big vibrant green one followed by the sunny yellow attire!! And let me tell you that sums up the question of life for me in just seven words: EACH FORM OF BEING IS EQUALLY BEAUTIFUL.  The body lying on bed has witnessed the pink-green-yellow steps circularize ; credits to the window that allows the eyes to witness the tree, which sometimes looks like a painting in the canvas of a blue shade.  Sometimes waking up to a sight of life like that makes you happy and just for that moment everything about yourself seems enough. As usual as it may seem, to have your face washed by the morning rays of dawn, this regular thing is how life kisses you, soft and gentle. For a long time i have been kissed alive by the day and for a long time i haven't bee

The sight of a red moon delights me so much about my life/my eyes that i feel relaxed in ways which makes me live, more lively. I simply fell in love with that moment when the time inside takes a pause to make me realize that it's a rare beauty, no matter how many times the night witnessed it. I never thought seeing the moon would make me obsessed about seeing the moon. Witnessing it is my way of knowing how much this god thing loves me.  It's a thing because that's what i have known it from my conditioning. It's a photograph in an assumable sacred place at my home, it's an orange or black or sometimes a beautifully designed body of stones and marbles in some other assumable sacred place at different parts of the world. I wholeheartedly appreciate the amount of art and literature invested in creating the different ideologies of this god thing, because all of that was somebody's ''work''. Somebody's sweat, blood and tears have been fossilize