not a nice place to be in..

What do you do when a favourite dream grows old? Revisit and stoke the dying embers of what was once a raging fire which consumed your whole being? Be prepared then to be unsettled. Since it was your favourite, the embers will willingly relinquish the burden of the survival struggle. They know that intentions notwithstanding, your visit itself will be their Elixir. Fuelled on further by your guilt at having forgotten this dream.As the fire leaps up again, you unconsciously shrink away. At first you think it is the heat that has you all bothered. It soon has you fighting with your back to the wall. But it won’t let you win. Or leave. Tired of sparring with the flames of forced introspection, you stand and analyse. Yourself. With cool detached calm, far from what you feel.You fear not the fire. You lit it after all. But why the shadows which are lengthening by the second? Standing between the fire and you is your newest dream, just manifested into surety. Mint fresh and gift wrapped in the sunny paper of happy feelings, it landed some time ago on the touchstone of your belief. And it made the transition. From plain metal into gold. You scarcely believed that alchemy worked until then.But now, the fire is powerful. It swells and rages, feeding itself on long cherished aspirations and goals. “How can shift your goalposts so?,” they accusingly question. “Extinguish us and you lose a part of you. Unfulfilled at that,” they remind.And you stand there. Your face a picturesque canvas. A play of light and shadows. A study in contrasts. The only decision you make is to buy time. You acknowledge your dream, a part of you back. The fire becomes like before, a part of you. Only it has to compete.And now begins the fight. The real contest. The fire is important but it must be contained. Or it will burn and smother, leading you to asphyxiate on stifled emotions. What worth then the glittering diamonds, if surrounded by the ash grey of charred feelings? Yes, you need him on your side. He is the only real touchstone. Father Time.

-the girl.

why write?

Whoever it was who vanished in the silence of words, who said writing is an art, pervades all minds save mine. For me words are loud and no matter how loud i shout.it seems quiet.Here I am staring into the placid walls of my room , with a willingness in my eyes, rummaging deep into my memories for words; but easier wished than done,it just doesn't come.Staring into my empty computer screen, I feel no need to write.The willingness has died and so has the necessity.But as i settle my vision on the wall above me with very little sleep in my eyes and as I burrow deep into my memories,walking lonely along untrodden alleys, I feel the need to write.Ofcourse,the boy has done his level best by telling me '101 reasons why i shud not stop blogging'..The inertia is overwhelming.But seated against a cosy chair as of mine, I have mustered enough patience to pen a few lines.With a pleasant feeling of this jarring pain and at a loss of lexicons, my mind has lost its agility.The legend of phoenix inspires me to push my limits, to resuscitate my tepid spirit.Take a deep breath and you can still smell the pleasant aroma of ash on me.Words are all on which I survive and (what an irony) at those I arrive with a conscious try!!Come , join me in this journey of mine and do walk alongside me to the divine...the journey is short and has some bends though inevitably it has to see its end...

-the girl.

the song of silence..

The creeping voices of this silence, are slowly pouring through my soul,
I’m standing all alone on a stranded road with my life in a million folds.
And I can feel the walls falling stone by stone on me,
The screeching voices are held in a breath too long to feel.
I can smell my fingers going numb, all along life has lost its sense.
But, the darkness is putting me to sleep through sweet song of silence.
My lids are closing down, to the darkness of my pain,
The paths I’ve meandered through have all gone in vain.
The words no more have meaning; I’ve heard what you have to say,
I’m tired of walking all alone; it’s such a long day.
My life is stuck in a moment, a moment too long to live.
Like breath held too tightly, too tightly too breathe.
I’m seeking the lost beauty of innocence,
But the moment is pulling me into the sweet song of silence.
The days are so long and dark, the time is at a hault,
The rooms are so empty, everything so untouched,
And I gaze through my desolate eyes, helpless, screaming it not my fault.
And as try to feel the depth of my pith, I fall inside my sin,
The broken pieces of my soul are pouring through my skin.
The stillness of moving pictures, I can feel in the broken mirror,
I try to peep into the pieces, but pulled back by fear,
A fear of seeing the unseen, a fear of seeing the truth I’ve not been.
The sweet smell of life is tucked away, somewhere far from my essence,
And somehow, striving through the fields, I start humming the song of silence.
Now, when I walk through the crowed boulevards, I see the voidness inside concrete,
Forging myself into life, I see the stifled surrendered streets.
But the time has washed away my tears; the winds have swept away my fears.
Trying to extinguish the fire of my silhouette, people turn their heads around,
Moving on, exalting the silence of sound.
But life has its way of showing the girth of resilience,
Sometimes through words, sometimes through a song of silence.


- the girl.