A Dreamer's Destination

Credit: Sheela Pillai You tell me you have to go. After travelling all the way to steal the ecstasy from my eyes, you tell me you have to go. "Why?" I ask. Will some more time hurt? I wish I could freeze the moment when sliced the wind into pieces of tranquility, I wish you never left. What is it so enchanting that's drawing you back? Tell me, I won't be hurt, for I am not telling you that I am enchanting enough for you to stay, I am but a wanderer, too enchanted by the legacies of all the racing clouds and the bleeding sun, but again, do I have to be enchanting for you to stay? "Tell me" I ask again Tell me what is that you go back in search of, the very second you meet me. You tell me you are lost as well, in between all the slithering memories. You tell me you have to go back trudging along those limned locks of life, You tell me you have to go back to make sure that the five-year-old understands that going back sometimes means going home and somet...

Friendship factory Cherry-dropped cakes stacked across glassed counters, my tiny pony tail dances in excitement, friendship oozes out of my eyes, as a 5-year-old, chocolate was my best friend; 19 years old now, nothing has changed. Yet again, like closely knit sweaters, it was family that taught us to share these cakes, it was family that taught us friendship. As the clock strikes four, door bells also ring. Our badminton rackets giggle at all our wrongs shots, the cars that we framed as our hiding spots might still want our fingers to run over its glasses to trace random patterns, I’m sure our cycles have heard our voices more than mobile phones, dear childhood friend, our friendship always rhymes with joy and innocence. We make all kinds of friends- that “When is the next train?” friend, “can you edit my picture?” friend, “I don’t understand this!” friend, “I now want coffee.” friend, “what is life?” friend and “Can I not wake up today!” friend. We are also friends with a ...

Sailing through her gasps, those fireflies, trespass the boundaries of heaven, to find her soul, dance recklessly, and her arms, move vividly, making pristine patterns of her eyes, that shelters the ecstasy of dissolving into a heart that bleeds poetry… (C) Vasanthi     

Picture Credits: Sheela Pillai She dreamt of the ripples that mirrored every word in her heart, she dreamt of the memories that kindled the past with heavy brushes, she dreamt of love-struck flowers  that yearned for shadows of the sun, she dreamt of all the wreckage the meteors had showered over her soul, she dreamt of the fingers  that burnt the fire, she dreamt of the voices that seeped through the rustic winds. She dreamt of him. She dreamt of her. She dreamt of everything the universe would never understand. She dreamt of you.                                                                    -Vasanthi

Rowing through the spirals of memories that stalk my life, I squish, swirl and stumble as I see myself flipping through the pages  of the million people I remember. One of them was a woman, who grabbed a random kid  running in the corridor  and said “I loved the way you laughed today”. A minute later I saw that kid walk away with a smile on his face. A teacher, she was. Handled none of my classes but taught me something that was way beyond books, chalks and blackboards. There was a young girl the other day who wouldn’t take her eyes off the window. “Is it the chocolate shop that you’re looking at?“ I ask and she says “no, I’m looking at that raindrop that is yet to dry”. and all I could do, was smile. Yet another day  I saw a guy run,  as though he was running a race, all alone. But later I realized  that he had seen an old friend, walk across the road and all he wanted to do was make up for the time he lost. These are just a few among the many w...

www.flickr.com Heavily pre-occupied faces rush in and rush out of varied cemented structures, holding inked papers, that demand answers for  curious questions and one among these interrogative lines is your, Nationality.  A  doctor  delicately places the sheet on the wall,  and holds the pen like an injection  and writes 'I' “I know for a fact that lying beneath you, are a million morals, habits, legends, myths and miracles that you have been fed with by your native society,  after all you were an Indian child” he says to himself and smiles as he writes the very first letter of his nationality.  An artist  blooms colourfully, and holds the pen like a paint brush to write 'N' “Now that you are already grown up and you have seen Muslims, Hindus and Christians mingle,  you are sure that beyond conflicts, your country still upholds unity in diversity” she whispers as she paints the second letter. ...

As I enter a coach packed with busy women, whose hands tightly grip, sandwiches, hand bags, papers, pens and some anxiety. I find an empty seat beside a woman who was intently caressing her mobile screen, so I slipped in, unnoticed. Her thumb swipes through photographs, one after another, slowly, back and forth. And all of them showed three kids, with positions flipped, emotions mirrored, costumes flaunted and all smiles. She smiled along and so did I. ‘She must be going  back to work, a Monday morning ritual’, I thought. But I knew that she wasn’t back from home yet and I know she never will be, for a mother, she must be...                                           - (c) Vasanthi

Picture credits - Google Images All the colours that I'd  ever see, flashed across her face as she spoke about her childhood A childhood that showed her what it meant to be happy and helped  her  find invisible hands, that held  her while she walked. She placed her fingers  against her  stomach, as though to feel those momentary butterflies. And her teenage, blushed. A teenage, that saw  recklessness, curiosity, illusions, vibrant clothes, giggles, gossips and  handsome boys. She smiles instantly and looks into my eyes with rays of experience, as she tells me about her adulthood. An adulthood, that found her soul mate, made her a  master chef, and taught her the A to Z of multitasking. She suddenly shifted her gaze  towards the window and said“you must know that I once, kissed the rain, meddled with wet earth identified flowers, cycled  across...

                                    EY ES                                                                   Picture  Credits: Google Images Those that, shimmer with pride, laugh in agony, doubt with confidence, wander in boredom, shoot questions, hide in fear, lie casually, shower peace, smear love, smirk in sarcasm, dive into the ocean of thoughts, radiate power, narrate  stories, read your minds, reflect, help you find yourself, and there are also some that look beyond. I've  seen them all but I still look for more, because to see the world, through a million different pairs, give me a mi...

I AM THE SON OF THE SUN - RADHEYA My Birth, a childhood mistake, of my innocent mother. An untimely experimentation, Of a well deserved boon. Curse not the sage who granted, Curse not my ashamed mother, Curse not my helpless father, Curse not anyone, it was my destiny, and I had to play ! My life, tactfully coloured, with haunting childhood dreams. with unconditional love from my unfortunate foster parents. With passion for a skill of the kshatriya clan to which I knew not I belonged. With the purest form of loyalty to those who stood by me. with mistakes, unforgivable. With my generosity and courage, well  acclaimed. with battles against my foes who unexpectedly turned to be my brothers. With consistent curiosity and rage to tear up the curtain of illusion and peep into the intentionally buried reality !   My death , On a battle ground. Unlike any other warrior, the result of an unintended lie to my b...

                           I AM     A WOMAN                            ILLUSTRATION : PADMAPRIYA MURALI                                         My eyes can venture into  the deepest secrets of your soul. Those eyebrows that lay on my forehead can question the unanswerable. Look at me a little carefully, and you’ll find  a gentle smile behind those lips of mine that are tightly sealed in fury. Those bangles in my hand    jingle very often to tell you that my gestures speak as much as my eyes . I am powerful, poignant, intense and passionate. You can call me shakti, You can call me kali, You can call me panchali, or name a million more gods and  goddesses, and you'...

I have a child in me who fears isolation. I have a villain in me who is a prejudiced idiot. I have a lass in me who wishes to look beautiful  always . I have a genius in me who yearns to achieve . I have a dreamer in me who wishes to unleash reality. I have a joker in me who adds humour to every cell . I have a fool in me who complicates simple things. I have a saint in me who controls the rest of them. I have a god in me , who loves to touch lives . All of them share the same space presenting themselves in a myriad of forms. Yet,I am no perfectionist, I commit mistakes. But, I am myself and enjoy being that way. You too are a multi- coloured soul, Celebrate your uniqueness, Celebrate yourself!                              - (c) Vasanthi