Oh to be alive

Sublime & pure, so much to feel, so much to endure. Moving through meandering roads, the path sometimes obscure, the pulse racing, paradoxically, the heart cold inured. Boxed in, caved out, moving on yet into the unknown. The urge to feel, the zeal to know, an urge to go on & just explore. Treacherous time though tempts & tolls... All one does is go on...@Copyright Suverchala Kashyap 

Sublime & pure, so much to feel, so much to endure. Moving through meandering roads, the path sometimes obscure, the pulse racing, paradoxically, the heart cold, inured. Boxed in, caved out, shaken by life, driven to the core. Somewhere, sometime the need to know feel, go on just explore. @copyright Suverchala Kashyap

Silence: tangible, unencumbered, languid, lazy stillness. Awash with mellow sunshine, swathed, draped in iridescent light. Moments froze, melted in turn, vanishing as they were touched, by a frivolous smirk. Snatched forever, or just suspended hidden from time, sublime…      Silence, complete silence tore through the room, as he tried to make sense of the entire day, surrounded as he sat lost in thought, amidst a boisterous group of friends. It had been a while since they had met. More than two decades perhaps, but it all seemed the same.      Flirtatious and nervous laughter floated around; unfettered banter and a bonhomie that only came with time seemed to be the hallmark of the day, rather evening. He tried to shake himself out of the stupor, the strange helplessness he felt; there, yet not there.      He listened assiduously to the continuous chatter of a ravishingly beautiful woman, whose radiance seemed to fill t...

Unabashedly he stared; ensconced in his arms she felt safe yet scared. Eons melted away between them when he realized how much he cared… Tearing his eyes away, he waited with bated breath: broken moments, flanked by fragmented slivers floated in between, untapped. Unrequited, unresolved, in that moment he lived several lives, yet breathed easy again. Was life cruel or was it a warped sense of time instead? Or was it just a disconnect from another day, another epoch, that had suddenly manifest? Whatever it was, it made him complete, just a look was all he waited for, just a whisper carried ever so lightly on the morning zephyr, bringing tidings from her homestead. Was it all real, or just a story, neatly woven, deeply embedded in his head? Copyright Suverchala Kashyap

https://notionpress.com/ read/sunk-in-amber So, it's finally out... Illustrated by illustrious illustrator Neena Kumar, poems penned over time by me, some that make one sit up & think, others that just let one be... Available on notion press online bookstore...

Fresh snow, light as a feather, fell in sporadic bursts. It lasted long enough to envelop everything it touched. The cold winds wiped out the sun and blue sky in just a few moments as he gazed out of the window that was getting frostier by the minute. The steaming coffee turned stone cold, time stood still a few sips later his hand remained suspended mid-air. He felt something steely cold and sharp pierce through his heart, causing him to cringe momentarily. It wasn’t the first time; there were occasions when he thought he’d suffocate as the pain drained his life energy. And then it would be gone as quickly as it came, leaving him bereft, devoid and cold. He opened the door and let himself out, oblivious to the freezing temperatures and sudden stillness around him. His gait was steady but effortless at the same time, a complete opposite to what he was going through or had gone through.     Shoveling off the snow from the narrow path and easing the part belo...

She was on her way home from home, and received a call: a call that changed everything as she had known it or knew it or would ever know it again. This may sound as a completely bizarre way to start a write up, but how many homes does one have, what is home and how and why do we call it so? Her home had just been blown away, smashed into a zillion smithereens. Her feet felt like lead and she could barely breathe, she was returning from her parents’ place, on her way back to her husband and kids, three wonderful sons, when she was told. Her middle one was no more. He had decided to call it a day, he gave up. He just left. He was all of fourteen. To many of us, home is where the heart is, to many of us it’s just brick and mortar to others it’s a place, a person or few things that smell of home. But, to an increasingly large number of people who mingle with us every day, home is only inside their head. They are, for several reasons, unable to share, communicate or just plain and simpl...