Phoenix

“Her heart’s turned to stone;
Could at least shed a tear!”
That’s what everybody said
Some with sympathy,
Others with sarcasm and
Most with insensitive indifference.

No one knew though
That her eyes
Weren’t always barren.
Back then they’d brim over
Even in little joys.
One fated day he left.
Why and where? Unknown.
No talk, no letter nor a goodbye.
He just left.

Comprehension beyond any attempts
And no semblance of any reprieve.
Patience, perseverance, trust, hope
All collapsed brick by brick, burdened under
Pity, blames, sarcasms, comments
And the hollow noisy rumour mill.
Once the dam was breached by the tears
They just flowed and flowed away
Leaving behind nothing but a desert.
Indeed, she’s stone-cold on the outside
But within her, rage cataracts of emotions
And questions.

     “Thoughtlessly, it is he who left.
     Did his heart ever hold him back?
     Ruthless he, merciless he, emotionless he,
     Then how am I the stone-hearted one?
     He forsook that love, forgot those times,
     Those memories, the laughter et al,
     Why am I the one who’s stone hearted?
     I simply loved, seeking nothing in return.
     Then why should I endure the smears?”

     “My eyes shall not always remain barren.
     But not a single tear, I swear
     Will be shed in waste, especially for him.
     The stone which the world’s turned me into-
     I’ll hammer, chisel and carve out of it a new me.
     No longer would I be reflected in societal mirrors,
     But in the mirror of my own making;
     Only I'll bear witness to,
     The resurrection of the new phoenix me.”

Moss

Mine is the oldest room of the house,

It has come to smell of an age now.
In the back wall, years of seepage
Seems to have been arrested in time;
Covered with season upon season of moss.
Blue green patches here and there
Give way to slivers of faded beige paint.

For the past few minutes, off my work

My eyes have been held by these
Seemingly formless stains.
A bounding rabbit here,
Breezy boughs of the banyan there.
A corner appears to be a green Kashmir
While a camel trudged tired along the floor.
As if that verdant moss had painted
Her entire imagination on that old back wall.
It’s unlikely that the moss is aware of this,
Perhaps she did it all instinctively.
It’s in her nature after all, to trail moisture
And keep growing with it.

For a moment though, imagine
What if she too is aware, sentient
Breathes like we do, wonders like we do,
Emotes just like us, imagines just like us.
Perhaps like a little child- innocent, unbridled,
Speaking her mind, doing as she feels.
Such fun it must be to shape one’s fantasies
Just as pleased, sans any inhibitions,
Unhesitant, express one’s inner being
For everyone to see;
No shame, no restrictions nor any fear;
Living life only on one’s own terms.
As if all world’s a stage, and one’s playing
One’s best part, with such passion and immersion,
Unaware of everything but that moment with the self,
Beyond any applause or critique.

How I wish
To be just like that moss,
With a back wall of my own,
Splashed with the soaring hues of
My unshackled spirits.

---------------------------------------------

Original Hindi post