Twenty Ten

And a new year beckons. Just like that, in a moment of wonder, and endless planning, task, milestone and goal setting. What have I achieved, what have I yet to achieve, resolutions, promises and all that.

Life needs to be more simple. Someday I will break down these walls that I built around me, systematically, step by step, brick by brick. Or maybe one day when I wake up the wall will cease to exist. My mind will destroy it simply, by the click of a button. Or even better, I will acquire supernatural powers to just walk through it without feeling any hurt or pain, without feeling anything at all, very numbly, in a centered way.

Life needs to be more balanced. Someday I will multitask to perfection, have everything complete well in time. Beautifully and satisfactorily. Lists will cease to exist momentarily. Someday I will rest after my tasks are complete and not feel the angst to begin creating new tasks for myself as the old ones draw to an end. Or maybe I will learn quickly to oscillate perfectly between routine and rest, between escaping and facing, between running and living.

Someday things will change for the better on new year's day.

The Man In The Arena

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

- Theodore Roosevelt, April 23, 1910.

The Crush

I was walking today, two steps behind you
And you wore my favorite shirt
Did you know
The checks on it spelt out the world
And I felt a little at home

And then you stood by the door
Let it open
You gave me my escape
And let me breathe, hoping
I could breathe in a smile and poem

And someday these moments
Will turn to memories
And someday you wont
Have that swagger in your stride
And someday you won't
Give me that slight smile
From that beautiful corner of your eye.
And it's alright, it's alright

The sky, like my heart is
Shamelessly naked and genuine
Someday maybe we could
Mend these piece by piece
Over coffee?

The One Who Left

I often wonder if you think of me. I know it is insane to even think it though. That would make you a loser which you never were.

I happened to stumble, on an old conversation. How smoothly the words swayed too and fro like leaves floating in the breeze. There was a certain simplicity, enveloped in the complex relationship that we were.

And if we were together, we would have been half dead, the glass half empty and our facebook relationship status "It's complicated". Because that is what "we" symbolized. The complete death of our individual spirits. Only to experience one-ness. The complete anarchy of thoughts which was our only order.

Then may be those words were not smooth afterall. They were placed strategically and moves were made with tact, always rationally. Like in a game of chess. Maybe those conversations were trials given the garb of smoothness and our escape from unpleasant realities or pleasant ones that were temporary. Those smiles, efforts, that went to waste.

Whatever it was, it remains a distant, but familiar memory. Neither a happy nor a sad one. It just exists and has stopped trying to find meaning. Like most things in life.

One Art

One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

One Giant Leap

I graduated.
From strawberry to chocolate
From blue to red
From flats to heels
From frocks to skirts
From fast food to gourmet meals
From foolhardy to brave
From take to give
From dumbbells to long walks
From raincoats to umbrellas
From Nsync to Dylan
From pre-paid to billin'
From pubs to plays
From nights to days
From deo’s to perfumes
From tapes to itunes
From sad to philosophical
From happy to happier
I graduated.

Why I Sing The Blues

He took his cane. And tried to climb uphill. His tired legs searched for a stop. His leather jacket had many stories to tell. His army boots had made many stops. And aged much like him.

With incredible grace. His long hair looked like it kept, Braided in it, several verse and song

He looked like an old Vedder...

I was getting back from work, late this evening, with a million things on my mind. And as I hurried along the sidewalk, I was forced to slow down because of this man. He looked like a former rock n roller :) He would stop every few steps, to catch his breath. I slowed down my pace behind him, thinking it would be too rude to pass him and didn't want to get too close or he may have felt pressurized to walk faster. So here I am, with my psycho-analysis, when he just stopped all of a sudden. And exclaimed, "God I just want to get home, please let me get home."

Frightened by how frail and faint he sounded I ran up to him and asked if he was ok. I was amazed at how strong and frail this man looked, all at once. He said, "My dear, could you walk with me till my house? I just want to get home. I was downtown, shootin' some pool, you know...with some old buddies o' mine. I didn't realise how difficult this climb uphill was"

I accompanied him to his house and he held my hand by the door. He said "You're a sweetheart. I have something for you."

A million eerie * shudder * thoughts ran through my head, and I thought "oh my god, why did I do this, mom was right I should never talk to strangers, oh my god, is he going to do something terribly disturbing to me, like maybe kill me? I think I can take him on, he seems frail", blah blah blah. And I could hear his voice in constant conversation with me "You know, I was born in this house? I came back here, after 6 decades..."

He came back to the door (where I ACTUALLY waited diligently) and gave me a Cd. He said "This man, this man changed my life...and we share the same name. His music will teach you several lessons for life. This is for you, take this...listen. I think you will love it."

I thanked him profusely, and strode back home, much happier than I was when I left work. Doped, dazed, or just old, I have a feeling Mr. B. B. King is going to be my friend :D