Oh to be alive

  Times have changed, indeed they have:  one often sees the  pot calling the kettle black ! Wonder when good  sense vanished & where?  Everything suddenly vaporised, in diaphanous thin air. The haze is heavy, blinding: overpowering one & all;  debate, dissent are rare.  In a crevice along the bend, erupts a tender tendril:  brave, feisty & bare ! Rearing it’s tiny head,  raring to go & ensnare: just awaiting the spunk to tell  the pot & the kettle,  how they are both dark & devious:  beyond redemption & repair. Times have changed,  indeed they have.  #Srkmusings

If and only if, surges forth: a perpetual urge. If & only if there is an  inclusivity upsurge. Of more lines that mingle,  yet stand apart. There's so much to  learn from nature; initially we, in the right  mode, did start. Along the undulating path  everything was shattered, beyond repair lay spangled, smeared, broken hearts.  Quibbling over night & day, the steadfast sun continued  to rise without going astray,  while man yet again lost his way. If and only if some day the cosmic jigsaw  would fall in place, with every bubble flashing it's   iridescent grace. #SrKmusings

The heart bleeds as the sun rises, every day a new wedge, deeper drives; all around, there is mayhem, nothing surprises. As a father sings a lullaby to his little one, and a mother narrates a story of valour and pride: voices echo in the dark, deepening the existing divide.   Most are sleepwalking through life, zombies caught in a vortex that demeans humanity and thus thrives.  Constantly looking for the deviant and pliant mind, hungry waves catch on, spreading far and wide.  Strange are times, devolving at high tide, awash with a notion that hatred shall help derive, answers to everything that has forever eluded mankind. We are our own enemies, hurtling toward disaster with increasing speed, our nemesis clearly defined.   #SrKmusings #poetry #refuge #harmony

Within boundaries are all confined, caught in a web ill-defined. Some walk through with ease, others falter, often blown off  by the slightest breeze. Trapped in a perpetual dream,  some are unable to redeem: the little that's left of the eternal stream.  Life for others continues to create obstacles that are an unending scream.  Bewildered and bereaved by inundating  themes, there's rarely a moment to reflect, savour and glean. The cycle continues making life a saga of blissfully enriching moments, punctuated by solemn and sad nuggets of drama. The trick is to maintain a balance, looking at everything anew,  living in the moment reveling in  rejuvenating bubbles of silence. #SrKmusings #life #

Precarious & precious, so is life, always dangling on  a dangerous divide. Dancing shadows in the middle of the night, imbued were her dreams  in red & golden light. Power was an illusion, sometimes difficult to deride. Fantasy was her mainstay, she loved the risky tides. Shattered & broken  wanting to escape & hide, solitude & solemnity  her only respite. But often she ached to break the world's false pride. In the midst of the melee  called life, she managed to elude prevalent & impending strife. Caught between morning and night, silently waits twilight. Trapped in the shadows  of the moon is the sun's flight. Borrowed moments compellingly  repel yet invite. Poised, patient she bides  her time. #SrKmusings #moonrides #tides

  The current scenario is not only unique and worrisome but it has thrown up a large number of challenges that humankind was not prepared for. Until now the focus was on building walls, launching into space and creating all kinds of weapons to protect ourselves from our so-called enemies, who seemed to be more real than any other threat. Of course, all the development in science must be applauded and we have indeed made great progress in many ways and trounced many a country in many fields.  But the world perhaps as a whole forgot to focus equally on aspects that would actually get us through. Man forgot to take care of the very place that gives everything, like literally everything to make life livable. We were contemplating an explosion but the truth is uglier and because of the strange and virulent attitude of humans we are in this conundrum. Apathy set in after man realized his unequivocal power over other species and this arrogance led to taking everything for granted, ev...

The speed, the light: the all enveloping clamour:  drowning in vanity,  long ago was lost the  shield of virtuous valour. Falling prey to superficial  yet irresistible glamour, there's no respite; no place to hide, fitting in,  flowing with the tide: seems to be the only way  ahead, or outside.  Wonder why it doesn't rankle, wonder how it doesn't create  a ripple or  a tiny tinkle? Oblivious observers or  obfuscate orators,  wonder who rules the mind! In this rigmarole of  high sweeps & rides, the self-effacing are  pushed to the brink  while the supercilious  & vain rise & shine. #SrKmusings

When she sashayed down a street  many a head turned, along the way unknowingly a few devoted hearts were spurned. Was never easy to catch her eye, people thought she was coquettish, coy: constantly accused of spinning a ploy. Was hard to tell that she was  deeply private & immensely shy. She built a wall around  herself & stayed within, the chances of opening the  gates to her heart were scant & slim. It wasn't a  fairytale ending  that she wanted to  see, all she craved for was to  live her life on her terms with zeal & dignity. #Srkmusings# #girls##precious#freedom#

All your life you are made to believe, it's achievable; are prodded on by one & all to chase your dreams with verve: and to write your own fascinating fable. You begin to think it's true,   slip slowly into the world of make-believe but only too soon meet your Waterloo. For though it seems easy,  a dream is more like a mirage,  vanishes the moment you are close enough  to bask in its  glory.  Often for your very own dreams  you are derided & what you  end up living,  is someone else's story. Your dreams are not yours to own, when you share them with folks around,  your dreams & you are shown the door! Salvage them when you can, the pot of gold  at the end of the rainbow awaits with elan.  Let not others fool you through,  a dreamcatcher is all it takes to start anew. #Catchurdreams#believe#

सरहद के उस पार घर था मेरा, मिल जुल के रहते थे सब हम सब का एक ही था डेरा। आंधी इक ऐसी आयी,  अपनो  से अपने अलग हुए, तूफान इक ऐसा, घर से बेघर हुए। हलचल ऐसी मची, ना रहा  अपना इक भी रेन बसेरा, रातों रात, सब कुछ यूं बदला, हर तरफ थे आग के दरिया और  आंखों में सिर्फ बदले का धुआं। इंसान ने ऐसी की तबाही, दूरियां बढ़ गई; मिट गई कागजों से प्यार और  खुशियों की सिहाही। रहे तो सिर्फ, कागज के कुछ टुकड़े ,  और कुछ तन्हा लम्हों का अंधेरा, सरहद के पार कभी एक घर था मेरा.. #SrKmusings#  #onewholesomeworld# #LetsGrowTogether# #noboundaries# #OneWorldOneFamily

                The river was in full-spate, the sky overcast. The sound of the water was soothing yet strangely disturbing. Children frolicked in the fallow field adjacent to his verdant patch of land. He looked skyward anticipating a heavy shower and hurriedly put away the tools, as he wound up for the day. A quiet satisfaction cloaked his being as he had managed to sow the last of the saplings singlehandedly after three days of strenuous, back breaking work. In his ancient, tiny, sleepy and extremely picturesque hamlet, the village folk revered him, though he was still learning and not as adept at the occupation he had inherited from his forefathers. He had, however, unleashed a silent revolution of sorts by introducing few innovative techniques that he had picked up along the way. One such addition to the daily milieu was a mini-tractor as he liked to call it, a smaller version of the one used in the plains; but this was more suitab...

  A fallen leaf, blooming flowers, sunshine cascading across scintillating bowers. A whiff of perfume, a quiet afternoon, faded words of a poem playing hide and seek in the mind’s nook. Memories flashing, fading: decoding, akin to different shades of blue; some shine bright, some toned down like dew. The essence remains, layers crisscross   lost in a multitude of hues, each following an albatross. Sepia tinted pictures on the wall squint through time and often cringe; eagerly awaiting the annual overhaul. Tear droplets singe, sentiments high strung, feelings sting, ramble unsung.   Reminiscing bygone days, is like being buried in ice, slowly melting away the layers that ensconce and hold, bind.    @Suverchala Kashyap        

The beguiling intrigue,  the impending upsurge,  compels one to move on, steering clear of any scourge. The end entices, tugs like  a swirling vortex's urge,  where eons of  longing converge. Beginnings enchant,  the untrodden path allures,  untouched; pure. Across varied dimensions,  lives diverge, some splurge. Cloaked in mystery the  journey slowly unfolds,  it implores, it coaxes; it spurs. Prodding on to follow  ‘the dream', in the land  of the one and only 'Supreme'. @Suverchala Kashyap 

  Browsing through the pages of history, it seemed like we had finally arrived. But, every single day from the slumber of the patriarchal warp , a disaster is espied. Through the centuries, everything against women connived.   From feticide to infanticide, to  ‘on a whim being just cast aside’. At every step she had to make her presence felt or prove her might and was always victim of remarks, often snide. She tried to fly, she tried to soar, across the firmament or the vast blue sea-shore; she managed too, only to be told:  “you are not good enough,  you know!” She struggled, she persevered, she trounced another score. She made a niche, a place in His tory but there’s rarely an encore. Sometimes she merged into the background accepting her plight. The tide turned and from  victim to perpetrator with  complete ease,  some amongst her creed did slide. They looked down upon the one who had some spunk, ...

It was a hot and humid day. He had slogged since early morning and looked forward to the much-needed break around noon  with the same degree of enthusiasm every day.  Wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, as his palms were heavily callused, he leaned against the hillock and sighed. This was a dicey job, as a part of the hill was being culled a little, to create an artificial overhang: a kind of cliff projecting out to accommodate a restaurant below it. This had been a routine for the past one year, ever since he had taken on the job of a labourer at an upcoming tourist complex site on an island. His days of dressing for work seemed to be embedded in a long-lost past. A past he had let go of: or had he? His fellow workers were not aware that he was an educated, highly placed engineer and that  till about six years ago he was in a plum job; it was indeed hard to guess as he did the same amount of work as anyone else around there, ate the same frug...

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      

My heart hurt I couldn't breathe, as my eyes skimmed through the report with unease. Quietly without informing a soul, he set out on the road... Sixteen hundred kilometers to his village, all he had was a bicycle & two thousand rupees. Some passersby found him unconscious under a tree. His knapsack intact with two sets of clothes, his adhaar card & a blanket. I choked back tears & gasped, all I managed was a silent plea. Police rushed him to hospital but he left unsung, a hero who just wanted to meet his family. All this in a span of twelve hours as he braved the summer heat. All of forty was he, his wife & two sons will wait endlessly... yet some still sit back in the cool comfort of their homes and declare every now & then, it's tough for them to stay put & breathe, this indeed is 'life's' irony...