The Insignificant I

Wave after wave
of generations rise and fall
In that tumble of people
I am less than a little drop

To Be, To Be

To be the mother
Who carried you in her arms
To be the father
Who was disarmed by your charm

Finite and Infinite

Clouds float away
The space stays on.

Wind dies
The air lives on.

The Flame

The body burns
So does the heart

The world burns

Angry and hurt in parts

The View

The Batra family moved to the second-floor flat hoping now for some privacy. The earlier house, located on the ground floor facing the main road, had been perpetually subjected to prying eyes. Well, whether anyone pried or not, Seema Batra always felt vulnerable. She had to keep the windows closed and ensure that all the doors were always locked. When the children complained of stuffiness and lack of view, she would snap back, "What view do you get in any case? Just the boundary wall."

Before - After

Just the sweet chant
Set my body on fire
Making it blossom
Like a beautiful flower 

A World of Make-Believe

 I love reading books and watching movies. More than movies, the books. Because, you can drift into a wonderland, imagine how it would be, be a part of the scene witnessing the events without becoming involved.

But after I put the book down, sometimes I am in that world, imagining conversations and scenes between the character and me. At one point, though, the futility of it hits me. Unless I want to write fan fiction, I can see that that character and my paths will never cross. I am not a character in the book and nobody writes me into a book, not even me. Some aspects of me may be reflected in some characters I write, but the dialogues the character speaks or the actions and behaviour are not necessarily unique to me.