Oh to be alive

Deeply entwined within the flow of time, is the inherent need to discover oneself and define.   The incessant chatter along the way beguiles. What matters most isn’t always visible in bright sunlight; the nook, the cranny, the tiny crevice in deep a ravine, goes unnoticed, unsung -- remains a mystery undefined. The burst of fervour that is named life: in its many swathing folds, truth abidingly resides. The search continues through darkness and light, sometimes it evades, other times it is in plain sight. Yet is distracts and hides, making the quest for it a challenge some days, but often just pure delight.        ©Copyright Suverchala Kashyap  

  Etched, embedded, or just superficial, precariously balanced on the edge of yesterday, memories have a strange way to bruise or amuse. Sometimes they engulf and sometimes smother or soothe. Lost in reverie, rooted on a crowded road, eons gush past, as today is just a ruse. Eager to embark on a journey into tomorrow, caught up in a million flashes of yesteryears, moments expand, shrink or seamlessly fuse. Rationalizing your way through the haze, lifting your face up to the Heavens,   with new energy and faith infused. Fragmented or whole, shards or nuggets of shimmering gold, there’s little one can do when they come cascading down or leisurely unfold. ©Copyright Suverchala Kashyap      

    Sub m erged under a multitude of layers, lies a distant dream. Envelo ped in mystery or perhaps just a an illusionary slipstream. It tri es to surface and resurface, grappling to stay afloat on its own steam. The impetus of darkness makes it thrive, but in the light, it barely survive s.         How does one then from the deepest recesses of the mind, retrieve? Shards of memories, some broken some peeled, keep emerging evaporate, coalesce.       Astounded by the perpetuality of some, and the belligerence of others playing hide and seek. Some are coy, some have blatant and bizarre streaks. All in all, deeply embedded in every psyche are a million imprints, scathed unscathed, brimming up against the tide: some reach the shore others dissipate, tired of trying.   ©Copyright Suverchala Kashyap    

   The night was dreary: dragged on and on, from the echoes of time a distinct sound arose, as pure as dawn. Between a stupor and wakefulness, a dialogue arose, ensued; held forth. Sprinkled it was suddenly with laughter and mirth. The dark dull night was beholden, drawn into the moment it decided to, its desolate cloak shirk off: turn it golden. The edges shone, shorn as it finally was of eons of desolation, angst and desperation. The night opened its arms again, sound and light became one strain. Merging, emerging stretching like a yawn, the night that day, decided to move on. It rejoiced as it waited for the moment of respite, it met its partner from the other side, no longer was there a difference in sight or sides, from then on it was a ritual called twilight.   ©Copyright Suverchala Kashyap