Reflections of a restless eccentric

I look out the window. Trees zoom past me. Now and then, I see a little civilization. This is why I love this route--it's deserted for the most part. In this isolation, I thrive.  I've traveled this way in winter, summer and monsoon. In August, I sat in this same place while it rained. I've never more loved being drenched. For it seemed like my soul was parched with thirst.In December, the cold air bit into my skin till my hands turned numb. I've never felt more alive.The heart warming cold. Now it's April and the warm sunshine falls on me. It's the  mellow sun--not burning hot, but just right. It seems to be smiling at me. This is probably what they call resonance with nature. I'm one with it.  The places keep changing. I keep looking. Lost in the mellifluous music that's playing in my ears.If you keep playing a particular set of songs through thick and thin, then they will evoke emotions that go deep. The associations fade away, but you can

We sit in the lab on yet another ordinary day,slogging away to meet another deadline while everyone else is lost in the college's sports fest.After what was a reasonably good meal,all of us are in the post-prandial snooze mode.As is our way,we play music on the days when the lab is almost empty.Today is one of those days.My friends have a wide music vocabulary ranging from regional to english.I usually just listen,having no idea of what the song is. Today,they ask me to listen to this song with the video telling me that it's worth watching. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SdcAN3dobz4 The song speaks of a father's love for his daughter.And just like that,in a moment,I'm transported to my own memories.Of my childhood.Of a time when my world comprised of just my parents.The visuals are bittersweet,for I realise that I can never go back to those days.But they're also infinitely precious for I would never trade them for anything. No matter how old I grow,or how s

My apologies to every poet out there.I'm not doing justice to this.A poem needs polishing--like a gemstone,its beauty emerges only with a great degree of effort.A lot of thought goes into a poem.The number of syllables in every line,the sound of the words,the powerful imagery all contribute to what a poem is.While prose is merely an outburst of thoughts,poetry is perfection that's born of flawless writing and emotion.Poetry is almost always centered around the reader--and therefore it's only a good poem if it evokes extreme emotion in the reader.Poetry is never about restating the obvious--it's about taking something completely ordinary and giving a take on it that makes it so extraordinary that you wonder why you never saw it that way. Since I'm currently incapable of all this and spending five minutes a day writing some trash that's a disgrace to poetry isn't my thing,this shall be my last poem,till I see fit to write another.When I have the time,ener

I found myself walking Through a forest so dark and deep That even light was petrified to enter I would 've turned back in a moment  But for a will'-o-the-wisp that caught my eye  Blue and mysterious,it seemed to light up my way  Fear gave way to curiosity and something more cheerful  I followed one blue beacon till it led me to the next I know not if they will lead me to a place of no return Or to a land that's untouched by anything living But all life is fraught with uncertainty And so we follow our Will-o'-the-wisps and call them Hope. P.S:A will-o'-the-wisp,unlike what I've portrayed here, is usually taken to be something negative.It has quite a dreary etymology--it's associated with misleading people and luring them into marshes and what not.But what's poetry without imagination?:D I see it as something magical and cheerful and so I endeavor to make my reader look at it the same way!:)

I can't find time to do a proper poem everyday--life,I blame you:P I'm thinking of writing short ones:a quatrain or two,in the worst case maybe even a couplet.:) Peals of thunder echoed Amidst the pitter-patter of raindrops It seemed like a scene from a picturesque dream Till I woke up to the scent of petrichor. Magical are the first showers in summer For the earth hungers passionately for water And the sky grants it like an indulgent parent All creation exults in this miracle we call rain.

Past me floated a bubble Its myriad colors a vision to my eye I watched enchanted as it soared past me So much so that I followed it on a whim It made its merry way through the air Its lightness echoed in my very soul A gale rose out of nowhere Ne'er have I been more terrified of the wind Yet,the bubble flew high Taking with it my spirits A million glorious colors on its surface Each moment a blissful dream My world ceased to exist--for this was my world My gravest folly to forget that it too would shatter One moment a wonder and the next a void Where once there were colors there's now a vacuum It all feels like a dream now Sepia tinted emotions that vaguely haunt me All ephemeral--happiness,sadness and everything in between The perfect metaphor to life--a bubble. P.S:Ah,I give up! I cannot write happy poetry.Sad definitely.Not sad,maybe.Happy,doomed.:P

All my attempts at poetry end up being oh-so-melancholy for reasons I can't fathom! Here's hoping to write something cheerful:) Exhausted and weary I reach home and open the door Not wanting to contemplate Another dreary day My phone and laptop Are but distractions While they keep away my demons I wish for something less ephemeral Perhaps heaven heard me sigh And directed my gaze hither A book--as worn and weary as me Yet my eyes look no farther:my treasure is here! I touch it with reverence For it holds the soul of someone Soothing are the dog-eared corners to my feverish fingers  Enchanting is the perfume that emanates from within I open it to find a note from decades ago One mortal who bequeathed this to another There's something magical about knowing You hold something that's touched many people For a race that struggles to find immortality The answer's not in potions and vials But in our very own minds-

The grey hours of dawn greet me As solemnly as pall bearers The hand of the clock inches agonizingly forward As if to remind me there's no going back I wish like every naive soul to turn back the clock And relive yesterday in all its beauty If I lived it a million times more happily this moment would still be upon me Such is the inevitability of time What then, is the point of regretting a beautiful past? Or to place upon the unborn future your burgeoning hopes? There is wisdom in neither For this moment is all there is to live The man with eyes set in eternity watches me Not with the agonized look of sorrow Nor with the ever twinkling gaze of hope For he has seen too much to be capable of emotion now He weaves on the fabric of time With hands as steady as rock His every breath a knit, The pattern forever elusive.

I love reading poetry but somehow in all my attempts at writing,I've never written a poem.I just read on a friend's blog that it's national poetry month.What better time to try,eh? First ever poem! Hope I don't suck at this:P I sit here,as dispassionate as ever Beneath yet another charade She flits around, as cheerful as could be Yet I know of the sorrow that haunts her How could someone have eyes so soulful? Eyes that twinkle with every smile Yet pierce me like a knife when I look deeper I wish she wore a mask,like everyone else She beckons me outside into the cool night breeze Asking me to talk While she busies herself In yet another chore I move not an inch. For I am not equal to that task What words can I find To soothe away life's cruel prose? I sit as still as a stone And watch her from afar She plucks a flower in full bloom Walks over to hand it to me Eyes shimmering With all that's left unsaid I know not what to do What to

The title sounds a little like I'm an enlightened saint--but I'm as naive as ever.Just one of those realizations I thought I'd put into words:) I've always prioritized work over everything else--family,friends and myself.But all these years,I had a normal life--not so stressful,not much work.Till last year,that is.All of a sudden,my workload increased monumentally.Everyday was a race to meet some deadline. I lived six months like this.A month ago,I would have called them the worst six months of my life--but now,I think they're the best.I've learnt more in this period than my entire life put together.And I don't just mean academically.Life lessons. I first lived like a pariah.No social life,no entertainment.Just work.Everyday I'd have a certain amount of work to do and I'd try as much as I could to finish it.Maybe I was overtly hard on myself--for the deadlines I set demanded 48 hours in a day.At the end of every day,I'd add up the balance

Society largely frowns upon change. She's changed/He's changed is always uttered with an ominous sound.As if staying the same is the ultimate goal of life.But pause for a moment and ponder upon this:If we don't change at all,what is the point of all that we experience?Our experiences are meant to shape us,to change us. Machine learning is a buzzword these days--and sometimes I wonder how easily this is programmed into us humans.In fact,every species on earth has this ability.We all adapt to life.Change without even realising it.How powerful are the algorithms wired into our brains then? How much of this change is desirable though?That's again subjective.A hundred people will appreciate you for the new you,and twice that many will frown disapprovingly at who you are. What matters at the end of the day is what you see when you look at yourself.You have a picture of who you want to be,and it's your foremost duty to be that person.If you don't like who you h