Castles Of Sand

The night is descending slowly,

Leaving me to myself,

The silent fury of life dawning into me...

My hands - they move frantically,

Sculpting a fort of fortitude,

To guard me from my past,

Only to get knocked off by a violent gush of memories...

Promising  to never make them last.

I start again ...

With endurance in my heart,

To build my castles of sand...

And comes another tide of remembrance,

Engulfing it all.

And yet I build and build again,

My castles of sand...

Fighting against the surge of nostalgia,

Struggling to survive in the storms of time,

Not letting it dissolve....

My castles of sand.

Some Things Are Better Unsaid

The  ecstasy of a sculptor shaping his dream,

A singer singing the song of his heart,

The joy of a painter filling hues into his vision,

A dancer blending with the dance as if they can never part...

A writer penning down his burning passion,

A baby etching a tearful smile on the face of the mother,

A poet lost in giving rhythm to his thoughts,

The emotions flooding the soul of two lovers...

Some of the most beautiful feelings are better unsaid

For  their intensity ought to be lost

If in the quagmire of words they get caught

Metamorphosis

It is like a storm building inside; making you more and more aware of its growing intensity. It seems to have the potential to rip apart everything that comes in its way. The outside is calm, almost shockingly calm – the eyes dry, the lips shaping a not -so- evidently struggled smile; inside the storm is refusing to die out. Its the phase of silent screams. You feel drowning inside and you scream hard. But the stillness outside makes you realise that the scream died in your throat.

The body- the physical self withdraws, refusing to change and it almost feels like an unbreakable iron shield. The wildness of the storm, the loud screams all locked inside what looks like a human structure of flesh and bones. Everytime the storm waves or the sound waves hit the inner layer of your body; you feel your veins are going to burst but the next moment you realize that it has on the contrary hardened. In that one moment, you know you are dying and being reborn at the same time. Its an experience that kills your old self and creates a new one .

Like when a person loses his legs, it gradually kills his old self which was rendered incomplete by the loss . The metamorphosis within gives rise to a new personality which is complete without the legs. Reminds me of Gestalt psychology where we learn that the part is a whole in itself. Its strange how experiences can bring so many things into perspective.  Losing a loved one is very similar to the earlier mentioned loss. Your old self does not know how to live without that person while your new self does not need it. The new self has not experienced the relationship and has hence not lost anything. It was born when that indispensable part of your life dissolved. It has never known it.

But to survive that metamorphosis, to not let your identity get lost in the resurrection; thats the journey........