Nostalgia

You reach my doorstep at 7 o' clock sharp, Your loyalty knows no bounds, You pour forth tales from across the globe, Yet, I forever seem to shudder at the way you sound. Why do you have to blurt out stories of distress and death When pain plagues us all? Why do you have to be so very honest, Unnerving people immensely whenever something befalls? Newspaper, I better turn a deaf ear to you, And weave a world of my own, A world shielded from your scorching truth, Oblivious, peaceful and alone.

I loved keeping my windows shut, My room drenched in murk, Day in and day out, I savoured the frost, And the stillness that did lurk. You beamed in through a broken pane, Your radiance gleamed so bright, Holding forth this gloom anymore, Went utterly against my might. Each day I pined for the whole of you, The tiny crack never satiating my soul, So one fine day I broke open the glass, Lest this desire takes its toll! Now the soft zephyr strokes my hair, As the birds' euphony fills the earth, I keep gazing at the sky so seamlessly blue, But never and never again could I ever find you.

Etched with the ink of nostalgia there is a place that still holds my childhood deep within its womb, despite the fact that I was born somewhere else. The place is like a dormant dream to me, much like a vision that cannot be spun with the string of words how much ever I give it a try. It is something that comes to me only with my eyes closed, something that is forever carved on the canvas of my mind, about which no Google could tell you except for the Power Plant stations, because with all its fascinating nuances that make it, it was mine, and mine alone. The place as people call it is Bokaro Thermal and it lies somewhere within the present state of Jharkhand. My father got his initial posting there on his first job, much before I was born. It was where my parents stayed while I stayed back at Durgapur with my grandparents. I used to visit them at Bokaro, on every vacation and since then it turned into my “Land of Holidays”, a solace from the drudgery of school, exams an...

Life,  It is okay if you hurl me a few more hindrances, But give me the strength to conquer them all, It is okay if you make me doubt my very own self, But do bring me the courage to pull myself up once I fall. It is okay if my striving goes truly in vain, After all there need not be rainbows after every rain. It is okay to tread alone, enduring the cold and grey, Even if the pole star never shines to lead forth my way. But do bless me with the perseverance to hold on unto the end, And embrace willingly, my path's every new bend.

I scroll through the poems on my Facebook page, I read them with utmost care, After having contemplated hard, for quite some time, I give it up with vain and despair. For how much ever simple those lines might be, I realize bitterly poetry is not for me. I admire the vacant walls of my classroom, While the teacher recites out loud, Glancing a thousand times at the clock, I so long desire, to be driven free. Incapable of taking in the essence of verses, I shamefully confess poetry is not for me. Never-the-less, I try penning down a stanza or two, But never a word ever comes out of me. With reality clipping my wings of imagination, With a heavy heart I sigh, poetry ain't my cup of tea!

Do you look even a bit like me? I ponder the whole day, had you been here, how you would be. For all the time I waste, would you have taken me to task? Being my 'Big' brother in your superficial pride you would bask. For all the stories I have of infatuation and prank, For everything I needed to share, with you I could be free and frank. I swear to keep it all to myself for whatever you too had to say, Eager to get back to you after a long tiresome day. Would you have guarded me like a soldier, never letting me go out of your sight? For every silly triviality would you have complained, picking up a fight? Pulling each other by the arms, by the legs, by the hair, Yet not for once forgetting to shower your love, blessings and care. I do imagine you in real, knowing you exist only in my mind, You are safe in my childlike fantasies, with you I bind.

[ Inspired from Tennessee William's play "The Glass Menagerie"] I walked carefully down the path leading to the park lest anyone takes the slightest notice of me. It had been a year almost that I was out again for strolling at that hour of the day. A fresh rush of evening breeze nearly knocked me down as I struggled against its force to hold my scarf closely wrapped around my face. I reached my destination within just a couple of minutes hastily to avoid the glances of people on the road that nearly pierced through my soul. I seated myself on a wooden bench at a lonesome corner of the lawn as I watched from distance the children playing and their parents lost in laughter and talk. I was so engrossed with myself that I did not feel the presence of someone else seated on the bench facing mine and staring at me for quite a long I supposed. As I looked up, he responded with a gentle smile. I smiled back. Next, to my amazement ...