Portrayals.

A certain hush had draped the night. The tree admired its own form on the eyes of the lake. The silence of the moon played the only witness to the warmth of the brewing intimacy.

The affair was cut short.

The lake looked up to the sky worriedly. The clouds were already gathering. The moon could not be seen anymore.

And then came the drops.

The lake shivered with the ripples of the drizzles hitting its face. New dimensions superimposed on each other. As if crying in dismay, the lake tried to gather the portrait of the tree. Unfortunately, the PERFECT reflection was already gone.

Or was it?

The lake suddenly felt the distorted echo of the tree playing on his surface, as if beaming with affection and waving at him. The new dimensions were somehow breaking down the image and then recreating it afresh. The lake couldn’t take his eyes off. The romance was being weaved anew.

Maybe the water from the sky didn’t mess up his own. Maybe it added something to his own. Or maybe it just made him a NOT SO PERFECT veneer, which in some way mirrored an even more beautiful impression of his lover.

All this while, the moon kept smiling behind the clouds.

The Calling

As the rush of the grass strokes your hand,
And each dash of the wind adds a flavor new,
All you want to do is write about that distant land,
Where the only king your body served were you.

As the whiff of the waves hits you in the face,
And the squeaks of the sand clutch on to your feet,
All you want to do is rewind and play those days,
When the only ring your heart knew was its own beat.

As the size of the peaks reveals the grand scheme,
And the mystery of the shadows speaks of a friend,
All you want to do is groove to the ancient dream,
Which is the only string your mind follows at the end.

As you feel alive with all the senses firing the brain,
And the mind, heart and body connected at the core,
All you can do is ask yourself again and again,
What is the only thing your soul’s here to search for?


Image by Pezibear


Invisible

Putting the lipstick in her purse,
She stole a glance at the mirror,
Given the fact this wasn’t her first,
She couldn’t afford any error.

Tucking the tie in between collars,
He put on the blazer black,
“I’ve got the charm and the dollars”,
He drew the matte shoes from the rack.

It was a lovely evening of spring,
Lovelier were the outfits they wore,
As their table got ready for the fling,
The glances kept playing with the four.

Amidst all the laughter and the cheers,
Both were unaware of the maquillage,
Which wasn’t so shiny as their attires,
But was donned as the perfect camouflage.


Image by Gerd Altmann


Viewpoints.

Once upon a time, there was a child, safe and secure in the mother’s womb. Having no OUTLOOK on the world out there, the child basked in its own little world.

Then the child was born. Surprised by the new world, the child APPROACHED everything with feelings of awe and admiration.

The child grew up and turned in its adolescence days. Suddenly the world was not a friend anymore. The child PERCEIVED the world as its enemy and was careless towards everything, living life to the fullest with its carefree ways.

Then came adulthood, and with that went the innocence. Equipped with the limited resources, the child was focused on its personal aspirations in the competitive world. There was no time to see the world from any other ANGLE.

Then it dawned on the child. There was an entire world out there, unsafe and insecure even in the nature’s womb. With the new POSITIONS of thoughts on the world out there, the child was raveled by its own realization, and along came the questions.

Maybe the child is ME. Maybe the child is YOU. But there is an entire world of generations out there, ravaged by greed, war, discrimination, poverty, exploitation and more. Maybe all it needs is a small shift in our VIEWPOINT towards it.

Let’s adjust OUR VIEWPOINT. Will YOU?


Video by TEDx NTU


Out There

Careless whisper of the drizzling drops,
Enormous greens bustling with crops,
Wild stares of the winged with a twist,
Magic in the ways and rules of the mist,

Out there, all belong to the creator.

Old leaves in the wind of old cheers,
The chaotic order of smiles and tears,
Shadows of feelings and their carriers,
Even the shapes of the broken barriers.

Out there, all belong to the dreamer.


Image by A Hopeless Anachronism