At Home……

As the lights slowly dimmed,
The sharpness of his vision slowly fading,
Sounds drove him to places, 
Scents guided him towards the known,
When senses fail sometimes memories speak to you,
The wrinkles on the face,
The curves on the body, 
Darkness had engulfed his sight,
Fears ran amok, 
Rioting in his mind,
But as he closed his eyes,
The way his Momma had taught him,
Years before she had passed into the light,
He could see his friends, 
Their little hands as they held them together,
And he saw his Momma, 
Beautiful as always,
Daffodils in her hair,
Winds blowing her hair slowly,
She held his hands,
Made him Apple Pie,
Just like the 4th of July,
He was at Peace,
The rioters in deep slumber,
As his mind slowly lied down,
He was at home,
He was loved………

Mould….

Walking alone on the untrodden path,
Sometimes you may come across some like you,
Similar to you or maybe poles apart,
They might hold your hands,
Or will let you go,
As you continue to walk on the path new,
Unfamiliar, scary sometimes,
Full of flowers or thorns on the way,
Sometimes you’ll bleed with the world at your call,
Or in the dark of the night,
When not a soul is visible,
You’ll laugh with your loved ones,
The ones those warm your heart,
And soothes your soul,
Or sob in the rain,
Hiding your vulnerabilities from the world,
For the world doesn’t deserve you,
You’ll think as they walk past you,
Laughing, mocking, Jibes thrown at you,
It will be hard sometimes,
The crippling pain of responsibilities,
Expectations, mistaken choices,
The past pulls you,
The future pushes you,
The present runs for your life,
Nothing seems right,
As your world slowly diminishes to your room,
Or even the penumbra of your being,
Slowly that tries to vanish,
Assimilate into the void,
Close your eyes,
Sit on the side of the path,
Absorb the sounds inside that speak to you,
Paint, Sing, Write, Dance,
Your creativity is your biggest friend in times like these,
It goes to sleep while you absolve yourself in the routine,
And comes to you when you let it wake up,
Do something for yourself,
Something you might never show the world,
For the untrodden path becomes difficult sometimes,
Its their nature,
For journeys like these make Kings,
Queens and Memories that write their own stories,
As you burn yourselves in the foundry of routine,
A mould you’ll create over the times,
And fill it with your hopes and ambitions,
A butterfly will come out,
And the mould will break,
The Mould will surely break
And the path will take you home,
Where your tribe resides,
The mind and heart at last,
In sync…….

Void

When silences speak for the void in between,
Sound loses its worth,
Presence, absence, today or tomorrow,
Incompetent they become…..

ख़ामोशी जब बयान करती है शून्य को कभी,
आवाज़ खो देती है अपना आयाम,
होना, ना होना, आज, कल,
अक्षम हो जाते हैं सब……