Day 52: Familiar Roads Mile High

I am writing this poem while on a flight to Miami, we have 26 minutes before we land and then another one and that means I can only post this once I land. For a long time I feel that journeys always leads you to ponder more about things , not because you have nothing better to do, but perhaps because it is quieter with your thoughts. For today I write about familiarity and travels alike, hope it is worth your read. The picture is during our descend to Miami Airport from my window. 

Familiar Roads Mile High
Do you feel the rumbling beneath your feet?
The giant soars in a pitch black sky,
It knows not where the path may lead,
It only breathes as it takes flight.

So many a times when you fly back home,
To places you come back to, places you belong.
To some weary roads, to familiar smells,
Where home is all about , what stories you have to tell.

Find comfort in the story tales, the ones you were part of, but never wrote yourself,
In familiar faces and places sometimes or in the faces of strangers where I sometime dwell.

Pack your bags and take wings my friend,
Your journey, your escape often comes with a cost,
Wherever you go, whatever you may find,
You have found more familiarity than the chances to be easily lost.

I write this to you from thousands of feet above the ground,
Where the roaring engine is the only sound,
I unmute for a while, I write on napkins still,
I have only but only my journey for now as I find more spaces to fill.

Day 51: Bring me Home this Thanksgiving

I believe that in general, the places we write from are often reflective of what we write, the people who are in those places with and the moments we often share with. And it is in these moments that we resonate among the strangers around us, the friends who are part of our extended family and our so called alternate realities that we live in. Our notion of warmth that we find among others extends and constricts from time to time, in between the kindness we find in the corners we least expect. Here's to the souls who are away from home this thanksgiving, the holidays, the get together and the musings , I wish you just the same among friends , or in the company of yourself, among family that you find when you least expect it, and among strangers who give new meaning to the word company. Whatever you may or may not find this thanksgiving, whether it is a warm sliver of turkey, a piece of pie or the company of those you enjoy for the time being I wish you & promise you nothing more.

Bring me Home this Thanksgiving
Take me as I come to you, even if broken down from time to time,
Remember the song we used to sing, I would call it yours and you would call it mine
The nights we sat on couches still, we figure out how the games were played,
We didn't read instructions on the box, we didn't care if it was the right or wrong way

Bring me home to the company of those, who have stories to share,
When it's cold outside and there are moments about which we care
The steam above my hot chocolate cup, the perfect start to some cold morning days,
Or even if I stare outside my lonely window, here's hoping some warmth your way

Take me from the first flight home, my bags too as I stare at the homecoming boards,
Nothing drowns my shadow tonight, I will find my boat I will reach my shore.
Find me in the footsteps in the snow, leave your door unlocked I maybe coming home late,
But I promise you this much, there are something that are always worth the wait

Bring me home this thanksgiving day, even if you are my own company,
Between families , friends and warm smell of food , find me among strangers who take me as me
The snow starts to grow on my window pane, it clings and falls and flurries along,
And to those who are at home tonight, find a reason, find warmth & bring "yourself" to a place you call home.

Day 50: Wishing upon a Wishbone

Reaching 50 poems was hard not just because it got more difficult to reflect at times, but because sometimes inspiration takes a long break from work. I was talking to a close friend today, who was sharing her wishbone story, how it signified some things and it reminded me of the warmth of wishes, the secrets we guard often for others and not just from others. The wishes we make that include much more than just us, and in times when we get homesick I find they keep us grounded, they give us reason to keep doing the things we do everyday. Even with or without the wishbone we often guard little dreams, we often keep the snippets of the day. And in between all the chaos if you can still find and value the wishbone wish, I wish you find the tale at hand. Here's the wondrous souls, the ones who wish upon wishbones and those who simply dream of them when they put themselves to rest, find a warm place to keep them tonight, and let me write, let me simply write....

Wishing upon a Wishbone
There are chances still, that we will make them count,
The wishes, the chances, the fates and more often things that turn around
The wishbone wishes, the private ones, the special ones kept close,
And the ones we couldn't share but the ones we simply chose

Are we wishing upon the happiness, are we wishing your pains away?
Are we wishing for more time well spent or are you hoping that some things would stay?
We are far from withered between pages of a book, we sketch our painting in living hearts,
We are far from going home right now, we are a fan of chatting forever and taking long walks.

We often miss the chatter, the voices, the songs, the radio shows, the music we sing,
We are held by reason in our head, and yet we keep hoping , we often pay heed,
Wander along my traveler tonight, do you tuck yourself like the dreams of the day,
Like recollections and diary entries, among the things we couldn't simply put away

Sleep well my dear dreams, my night that finds no rest even with no regrets,
Find a home, a path , and a wish as you put your day day to rest,
Our greatest secrets our strongest fears, and simple thank you notes; are the hardest to leave,
And on some warm thanksgiving night, I hope you wish upon your wishbone, a wish you get to keep.

Day 49: You Remind me of Rainbows

There are some pockets of warmer day we face in between the cold winter nights. We are packed away between cups of hot chocolates, families and friends who are reminders of life from time to time. As I write this from a different city a thought that enters my mind is that of nostalgia of a place, space of the people we are and so I write to the warmer hearts. The ones who have reminded me of beautiful things from times to time, of strangers who have spent hours listening to me and talking back, of those I have know only from a voice and to sing back to them almost as though distance was ephemeral. Here's to the rainbows outside your window, my warm hearted ones, You remind me of Rainbows so I wrote to them

You Remind me of Rainbows
In between the train rides home,
In between finding the places we call our own,
I find people around that keep me grounded still,
Who remind me of empty spaces and walls that I can fill

You are caught in between the sun and the rain,
You remind me of rainbows and a brand new day.
In between the times you have written through my thought,
You are a mystery everyone knows about but only a few have sought.

The simple things are often heartfelt, they are easy to keep,
They are in between the smiles, and warm hugs and between moments of giant leaps,
Between looking for trust, that is often hard to find,
The promises have always been hidden, between harder smiles.

The wind rustles against the tress , the evergreens stand tall,
The wind shudders behind the window pane and behind thinly veiled walls,
You are reminder of a warmer day, you are rain when it's too cold outside,
You are a language that I wish to learn, when it's easy to listen to you but harder to write

Day 48: Have you Traveled?

Had a long road trip to Chicago today, and among staring outside the window from time to time and dozing of between things to do, I kept listening to the same songs I would have heard everyday and not thought about it twice..........There is something about a long journey, staring outside into the quiet fields, and something about the silence amplifies whatever you feel, think or recollect. And though it is hard to capture something outside its element. outside its natural way I wished to write to travels, to friends and to the rhyme we find on roads. I often question myself, what are we looking for and what are we looking at?

Have you Traveled?
Have you traveled from time to time?
In buses, in trains and sometimes just at the end of the line.
Held a straight face though your tired shoulders might have given away?
Kept up your spirits as you are often told to wait

Have you ever lived with no fear of the cold? the cold wind numbs you from time to time,
Or been afraid of the snow outside, wishing the warmer things are often close by,
I find it hard to find my way sometimes, I get lost in the city that never sleeps,
That reminds of maps we used of draws, and secrets and stories that were only times to keep

Oh traveler of mine, Oh friend extraordinaire come find me alongside wherever you may go,
For now I may not be close around, but I am not buried in the rain, I am not yet trapped in the snow
I am merely losing tracking, I am dizzy as the cold wind blows,
And of every time I walk in circles , and in between the places I seem to go

Do you carry a map to guide me home, do you trust me with your stories tonight,
Do you recollect, do you confide at times and just leave your worries behind,
Come talk to me, just share a drink at times, we are both but drunk in nostalgia tonight,
We are far from finished chapters at the end, our books is still being written , just put on pause sometimes

Day 47: Box of Lost and Found

Find me a kind world and I will find you a sensible one . In more than one way the most valuable lessons in life are the ones you don't hope for, the one comes either on a cold winter morning when you are least expecting it, or something that has to run into you more than once to be realized. Whatever may be the case, the best lessons are still free and find their way from time to time. In the last couple of days my workplace had been flooded with new people, people I work with , share a meal with and learn and write to from time to time. And though it amazes me how certain things comes easy with strangers, it is in the warm moments that I share a cup of tea that I find welcomed. Here's to those warm hearted ones, the inspirations, the obstructions, the reality checks, the day dreamers, the kind and the cold and the meaningful among the meaningless. Lets hope that my writings today knows what it wants to be and I find my box of lost and found.

Box of Lost and Found
There are times that keep coming back to me,

About things we choose to write about and then are some that we let it be,
Times when the world is too hard , just look around,
I am wherever you need me to be, in that box of lost of found

The snow covers my road outside, a bright sun may still feel cold at times,
And we can write poetry, even if we no longer find rhythm or rhyme
The missing warmth of the day is what hugs are all about,
And when the whole world seems upside down I am waiting for a shout.

The kind world writes just the same tonight, we wish adieu we say goodbyes,

Because long before we know it, we are far away from corners of our mind,

Hold the center stage my friend, play your part as things may come and go,

You are meant to carry the things you keep special, the pieces of you that only you would know

There are things we often lose in memories, and then there are those we can recollect,

We are far from drawing within the lines, the best of us are incomplete and best is still imperfect.

Day 46: Smell the Coffee

Almost a year back, on my first day at Indiana University, I was trying to find Starbucks with a friend of mine.A fellow student pointed us in the direction and said keep going up the stairs "till you can feel, smell and see the coffee". We knew nothing at that point about how the next phase of our life was going to start, about how easy or hard our PhD programs were going to be, whether we should be worried about the things ahead or we would simply fit. I just sat at a desk and we ordered coffee and tea and decided we had plenty of time to decide. We never found out where the other one ended up.
                             This week after an entire year of my life I found myself sitting at almost the same table with two new friends of mine, still trying to figure out what it means to be wherever we are. And though the definitions, the meanings and reasons we ask that question had changed from time to time, I often tell myself, it was never about the coffee, but the company.

Smell the Coffee
In just this day, on a warm August high or a November low,
We were characters of a story book, the one we didn't write and a story we didn't know
We walked through the closed rooms and we found empty hallways,
Through lines that we waited for and in between quiet couches that lay.

"Smell the Coffee" I was told, I may not drink it at all,
I may stand and order the sizes, the Venti, Grande and tall,
I may punch out the stars and I may wait up in line,
But I still scribble at the coffee table, whenever I find time

There are those who will find my writing too easy, too mundane,
Among the many things we have kept for a while, both the joy and the pain,
Among the coffee ground, the steamed milk and etchings on the napkins where I write,
And waiting for the music to play, as my words find a way to come alive.

Day 45: Just Pretend

There are moments here, when the sky just fills with clouds and though it is not raining yet, it is often in the precursor that makes us anxious. The idea is we are all filled by this anxious feeling of not knowing "what next" but planning incessantly for it. I sometimes believe we are designed for this , while there are times when the need to know is all I have in my mind. For sometime now people have wondered why I write about the things I write,and though telling them about topics suggested by others and musings of the day isn't always satisfactory, we walk in between these little things I choose to capture. For today my day 45, is about such an transition between the warmth and the cold, between the rain and the snow and about anyone who shares it with someone, a friend, a mentor or whatever your situation may be. For now they find me chairs to sit, when I want to run, for now they find me a place to be when I find solace in being anywhere and everywhere else.

Just Pretend
Pretend we are gone, somewhere long time ago,
We are covered in rain, we are waiting for the snow
We are cold inside out, we are barely awake,
But we hate to rather leave and walk home instead

Do I find you a chair,
Do you pretend I am not there,
Holding what comes and what comes but so sincere

The days comes and goes and the stories they build,
There are dreams that are born among the ones that are killed
They are kept in the envelope you can wake up and go,
You are nothing if not a friend, like ever before

There were times when I walked, I walked you to the door,
There are places I couldn't be, were the ones I wasn't looking for
In between the read books, in between everything that's easy,
I find meaning in fiction that feels more real, I find answers in the mystery

Do you find the footsteps by your door, are they coming in or going away,
Are they fresh from the snow outside, or they just a bit warm as they come your way,
You figure out the rest of days, I figure out simplicity in just this bit of time,
Just pretend you were written long ago, you were a piece of writing in my mind

Day 44: Keep up my Friend

Today is all about pure poetry from songs, a friend of mine sent me a song and I felt it was too incomplete, so I write this one as an add on. There are times we write to the wonder we feel, to the wonder we bring, the ones we can't always capture in words and still we must try, I say we must always rehearse. Find rhyme in my words for now keep up my friend, keep singing, keep writing till you know me, till you remember me and can't find where the day ends.

Keep up my Friend
Keep up my friend, no matter what the day brings,
The etchings on the wall,
The ones that crumble and fall.

Start your day today, with a smile that you kept,
Like an old letter in your memory, that you can't erase,
Use up your will, use up your day, you are more than a song that for some time but plays.

Keep reminders of your heart, the brave soul that beats,
The ones that doesn't let go when you need.
The musings will be, of an old friend who stayed,
Who left letters and chocolates and maybe simply wishes your way.

You are no where if not here, you are listening to my song,
You are dancing with your eyes closed you are dancing along.
You are finding your fault, but you are fixing your day,
You are keeping yourself afloat as the hours pass away.

Keep drinking my friend, keep listening to the song,
You are nothing if not words, the ones you write when you are high,
Keep etchings on the wall they will will remind you of home,
They will carry you longer and they will fight your fight

Day 43: The You

There are days that are often harder to drag and then there are some that will talk to you about being forgetful once in a while even if it would seem impossible. Between the many binaries of life, we often find a space to make our own, our grey areas and white. Our blues and shades that in time but fade. The idea is simple; we write to a few not all, even if they find no reason for me to write.  We write to those even if they haven't given us a topic till date, because they are present none the less in my writings in my musings of the day. The rain grazes my window and the night reminds me of the quiet times we share from afar. Our table tops are empty because we choose to keep it clean, let me come back from time to time.

The "You"
There are musings of the night, there are givings of the day,
The are things that we seem to forget, and then there are some that stay,
The simplicity in an open door, the knocks that we hear like ever before,
The staircase falls and fills my home, leads me to you when the days are gone

The "you", is a friend I believe, the "you" could forever find space on my shelves,
The musings , the music , the paintings you draw, the "you" are in pictures that are well kept
Imagine the cold wind that numbs your hands, the remnants of the day are still found warm,
The "you" is the story I share about for the day, the "you" remains in places where I belong

My old friend reminds of of birthdays still, asks me if I still write to them,
If I remember the days that are all but gone, do I still find the time or do I need to pretend,
My forgetful mind but forgets so little, it holds stories it plays in constant rewind,
It find places to go, and people to meet, even if the stories are only in my mind

The "You" finds solace as the warmth on my cold winter day,
And hence I write to nobody and to none, but whoever is listening it is for you today.

Day 42: Writing at 3.25

There are some nights that are about incomplete conversations, that remind you that no matter what you figure out at 3.25 in the morning it can't possibly be the reason you are still awake talking about life. There are those who have spoken to me about madness and then there are the mad ones themselves who have tried to make sense. There were holes in days I couldn't listen to, and the ones we couldn't plug . Crossed wires in your head makes you the you. And makes me "me". You have hardly begun to ask me the right questions I will answer them anyways. I wrote the beginning to this piece Friday night around that time, wide awake among the many happenings and musings thinking about the things that keep coming back and the music we love to listen when it's quiet outside.

Writing at 3.25
Yes we are all but lost children, in the games that grown up play
We tread so strong , we move on from time we live the grown up way
Yes we have all but wielded our day, we have much left to do from now and onward still,
We have pieces to compose, writings to write and we have only started to paint the places we fill.

Writing the day, the givings of the week, the givings of a day, at 3.25,
And a long way from sleep, from dreams I call home and my eyes are open wide
I would often listen to the song that plays on the radio, and is on endless repeat,
The beauty, the melody and the lyrics of the song, or are we simply not listening to the beats

It was warm on this cold winter day, even the messed up bits seemed right,
For now I am composing a song that I have yet to sing, for now I simply write,
Dance to the tune you cannot find, it exists in more places than only your mind,
Find that bit of courage, that extra luck, that hope that follows you even at 3.25.

Day 41: Finding Shelters

Walk outside your home for a while, when its so cold that the chill runs down your bones, Stand on your own doorsteps pretending you don't know the way back home and the only thing that you can hear is the cold wind that shears by your ears. The street lamps flicker with the same breath and cold nature of the night, there a kids who are out for candy on the streets, the slow and shallow hallow of the pumpkin and yet all I can hear is the quiet. Tonight was all about taking shelter, packing your bags and heading back to warmer places we called home. And though it might seem crazy that I actually stood outside on my own doorsteps, I could only imagine how hard it is sometimes to get lost even if the whole world is known to you, so tonight I write to finding shelters for my friend, finding solace where there is none and finding warmth when it's simply bright outside.

Finding Shelters

The street lights tell a story, even if they cannot say,

Would the night win the fight, or would the street lamps flicker the darkness away

Would your poems find a place in this world, would the kind man and harsh read it alike,

Would the bitter sorrows and sullies of the day, haunt you on this cold night.

Some speak of the Halloween spirit tonight, dress up in ways and find street corners to play,

Even if the cold winter speaks to them for a while, they were always there, they were here to stay,

I wish shelter for those who couldn't find a way back home,

Who are wrapped in shards of blankets and sweaters, that we only hope keeps them warm.

Find shelter my friend even if these words don't reach you for a while,

Pay heed not to those who stay, but to those who have kept you, the one with whom you smile

The restless spirit, the warm glow of day, my doorsteps, my mailbox tonight,

Finding shelters is all I can do, with you and yet I know not where, or how sometimes.

Stay warm my dear friends, and keep sending me more things to write about.