Day 88: The Changing Self

Most times Sundays are about recollecting what went by this week and though I want to do that in a later post. I felt the need to write today about the changing self though we are obsessed at times to remain the way we are, we value change, we like to know it is a possibility, we like to know that it is constantly happening and sometimes we simply learn to loathe it. And though we are fearful and loving of the same quality we possess, we learn to live with it. And hence today is about changing self and changing time, it was well said "We must be the change we want to see in the world" and I believe we must live the change we want to see in ourselves

The Changing Self
Sometimes I fear we have changed too much,
We have come a long way and yet somehow lost touch.
We have become the very best of us and yet we have changed,
And in redefining ourselves we have too hard at what remains

We have cheated time, we have come far from ourselves,
We are every bit as real as reality can be , while life feels like fiction and in fiction we dwell
We have rowed our boat for long and far,
We have changed the tides of time, and sometimes we are simply looking for who we are.

Begin again with me when all is quiet outside,
When you can hear yourself breathe faster with every stride
When the restless mind of yours finds meaning in places it pays heed,
Find comfort in the fact that a warm hug and a smile maybe all that you need

The changing self comes and goes, it fades atop mountains and hills,
And yet comes back like echoes that resonate on their own and their own free will. 

Day 87: Taking Wings

Tonight I leave with 15 minutes to spare to the airport and though the writing is short , it expresses a sense of both calm and restlessness combined for just a little while. Hope coming home is always filled with scribbles on the pages of a book we like to read over and over again.

Taking wings
When the bags are packed, and the pieces all stowed away,
When your day draws near to an end in more than one way.
The tired traveler, yet boards another plane on the way back home
Find resting stops at more than places where he might belong

We write to you, we read to you, we are on endless travel from time to time,
We find reason to be grounded still , in between the times we take wings
Find rest tonight my soul when you fly, you are in thoughts , even if you fly
Find time to rest even if the restless heart beats, in the little moments you can find tonight

We may be an old read, a familiar ones, a known among the many unknown,
And yet coming home never needs and excuse , it is far from places in my mind and places unknown

Day 86: And though we may

I find the idea of listening and writing sometimes just as self involved as writing with no audience. Though there is no one to interact with, the idea that it makes a story in their heads real worthwhile. I think it is difficult to write to people I have dealt with over the past couple of days , though they have been themselves in someway, there is a hidden side we so often seek to find. And though we may learn a lot from misfortunes in the way, I have learnt it is most important to know there's a journey right around the edge. Here's to those who have written to me, in texts, chats and in many ways, I hope you find whatever you thought you may

And though we may
And though we may not find use, we may be broken at the shores,
We have not forgotten how to get to the other side, we have not let go of the oar.
We have found strength where this is none, and yet we make believe,
We find things to grab hold of, even if it is simply the wind blowing by the leaf.

Though we may be locked up behind closed doors sometimes, our minds wander free,
Our being becomes the very best of us, and sometimes relives a part it couldn't play or be
We have been forgotten by many, we have changed sometimes beyond reproach,
And yet we have planned many ways to look behind, as we have played our different approach

And then some nights when you are lying in bed, thinking where it went wrong,
I want you to remember that certain things are just a part of a hand we were dealt & done.
You have far too many things to be broken about, and very few that puts you back as a whole,
And yet you are brave as the night with many secrets it only slowly unfolds

And though we many not have wandered far , we have wandered free from time,
We have lived many versions of ourselves and we have learned to find a rhyme.
You have grown brave my friend, you have learned from what the world calls mistakes,
And yet only you and I know of the great adventure we like and the ones we partake 

Day 85: Misspelled Love

Every year I come across this idea where we feel the need to express love within a time frame of a day. Though the gesture is sweet to give yourself an excuse to be sweeter and kinder in someways I find it is always a good idea to write to love. And though some of our letters are misread, misspelled or left in between the mailboxes we find warmer hopes in the colder winder nights. During a conversation with a friend who wanted to find love, I realize how universal some things are, though we may say it , spell it or even hear it differently it always leaves behind a mark. And it was along this conversation that I read a misspelled letter she wrote and as I read it all of it still made perfect sense, so here's to misspelled love.

Misspelled Love
I wonder if you wander at times,
About the words that no longer make sense and don't even rhyme
That are still part of the prose that makes poetry,
That rhymes just a bit with you, and with a little bit of me

I wonder if the misspelled words in your mind,
Lets you sleep at night, when you could leave it all behind
When the tired day listens but only to you,
And knows not where to go and neither what to do.

We love with more than just a day, and yet we express it so rare,
Among the many things we hold dear, there's rarer things about which we care
The endings to beginnings they day, and of joyous retreats,
When in the quiet of the coldest winter night, you find warmth , you feel the heat

The frosted window panes and chilly winds outside. Do you walk to a different door?
Because I am still here, and so are you and yet your footsteps are quieter than before
I love to love the day sometimes, to wander in my own pursuits at nights,
Because we have not gained or lost a day, even misspelled love are still one of a kind.

Day 84: Color me Red

"Color me a color" was a concept I was discussing with a friend a long time ago, it was about the idea that different days and emotions could allow us to associate ourselves with colors. And sometimes this notion becomes so clear when we emote outward . The human psyche when it comes to emoting inward and outward has always interested me, we don't always project and even if we do I feel we sometimes paint the outside and in differently. "Red" is associated with power, strength and also passion , love, and strength and for no matter what the quality the user may draw from  it , for me there is nothing more perfect today evening than watching a fiery sun take a bow and end the day,and hence I wish "Color me Red"

Color me Red
Some days I think of all that was lost,
In brush strokes and cruel versus between lost meaning in words.
In between the negatives and positives that I forget to develop,
In pictures in my head and the reasons I refuse to give up

Some days I wish you would color me red,
Bring me back to life, from the deep sleep I live in outside of my bed.
Shake me and stir me awake, bring me back to life,
We are all unwritten pieces in your book, we are colors that can't be contained in lines

Color my soul, my mind, colors that bleed when you think of tonight,
When you recollect everything that makes you happy and for once willfully lets you lose my sight
In the shadow when it's too bright, I stand behind you like a silhouette ,
In between bells that ring out loud, and yet play like music to my ears and only in my head

I fear the day may be too short at times, and yet I encourage you to take a chance,
To fill the wall, will scribbles and sketches , for once let go of charge as the walls are painted by hand
Among many things I wish for tonight, in shades of color that are so loud,
For now I wish to be on a canvas somewhere, painted red as the sunset ending the day & taking a bow

Day 83: Time Zone

I would be remiss if I don't take the time to write about moments when we all get phone calls from people on the other side of the world and if your friends and family are spread everywhere, you can expect calls at anytime. I have woken up many a times to messages and phone calls from these friends who are spread out in places. And though I would say it is hard to respond back when you are sleepy, it is at these odd moments that you feel remembered, cherished and sometimes called upon. Personally I enjoy being woken up sometimes by a happy message or a call I might have missed. In any case I find this splitting up of our lives and responses among different time zones amusing and in the past couple of days while struggling with it, worth something to write about. Though it may approach simplicity in the choice of topic, I believe it is the simple things we should write to at times.

Time Zone
It was 3 am for maybe not the world, but me,
When I had put myself to bed,and yet the whole world couldn't fall asleep
When the random blinking of the phone, a message alert came popping on the screen,
When I was woken up and yet there was some happiness on the unlocked and unseen

Timed away, and stowed away and saved from those who might twist in and turn,
Who have learned to calculate differences in their head, and some that are too hard to discern.
We have all lived with the chaos of the many calls someday, from different time zones,
From silence that haunts our phones sometimes, and sometimes the anticipation of the unknown.

Just like all of us who have been woken up at times,
Who have spoken without their free will, at long calls and on distant lines.
Who have given up just a little bit of their precious sleep,
Because someone somewhere wanted to talk, some needed to speak

I wonder how different it would be somehow, if the whole world is too quiet,
If I switch off my phone and turn on vibrate, would I find a more peaceful night.
I have been told tales and complained by those who feel I might simply have too much time,
But what would our world be , if all the people & all time zones were so quiet even for a while.

I wish I could get rid of the hands of the clock some days,
I could listen endlessly without the tick-tock of the clock, as I feel the world would give away.

Day 82: Stumble Upon

Sometimes a long phone call gives clarity to the ideas that were already in your head but never truly found their way through. One such notion was the way we connect to people, to strangers and sometimes the idea that we stumble upon even people. It is during these transitions between people, places and things that we find a reason to make decisions and live by it. As this week draws to and end and you find yourself clutching to the edge of your chair, in your office as you stare outside the window, the cold glass pane and your warm breath against it and the need to scribble something, even if it doesn't always make sense.

Stumble Upon
Do you feel the need to be yourself, or sometimes be someone else for a while?
Do you feel you have stumbled upon a day, or do you carry it just the same with a smile?
The lighter ends to the week, times when you have carried yourself to the end,
When the little things, the big ones too, and all the lost ones come back at life's bend

When you decide to move, not just in place, but spaces in your mind,
You decide to empty things out, and sometimes not even leave a trace behind
There are those who will write to farewell songs, for longer goodbyes,
I am one who feels farewell comes every weekend, and sometimes every night.

We are addicted to the weeks I feel, to people, to the work we must all do,
Or sometimes just getting by is all we care about, sometimes just making it through
Even if you are reading this in your office, lab or wherever your eyes may find,
I would like you to stumble upon, things in life that are sometimes so kind

You have made the best of yourself, or you keep trying when no one cares,
You keep your poker face on, and sometimes you head on with life as one big dare
There are many things I wish that you stumble upon, things that let you dream big and free,
And every time you are in doubt my friend, I wish you would simply "stumble upon me".

Day 81: Being Yourself

A friend of mine wrote to me yesterday about the passing of a hard time, about wanting to be able to put a brave and strong face when facing adversity in personal life, and how the things we choose to not matter, affect us a lot. And though she was able to move on from her condition in sorts , her fear of feeling the same way remained with her.
                              I think we all feel the same way from time to time, when we are stuck between taking a step forward hoping we will make the same mistakes we did earlier. We are tired of being in the same place but familiar things comforts us. I am sure she will make it as do many of us, but we have to often remind ourselves that we are not done trying yet. Here's to such situations and here's to being brave my friend, being yourself .

Being Yourself
Be strong be brave my friend,

Only the feeble ones have been forgotten in time,

Be the rhythm on the note that you play, be the music you compose,

Be noticed, be proud, be yourself as you chose

Be the bend in the river that forces the hand,

Be tall and yet humble, take flight not knowing or caring how to land.

Be restless like the bird , and be free like the wind,

Disappear when the world looks for you, you are too special to be seen.

Be mellow, be sad, but not for a long time,

Because we make stories out of thin air, make fiction that breathes in your mind,

Be the best of you and worst of you, be discovered in many ways,

You have never given up, you are not lost you are simply making up your mind 

Be heartbroken and yet not the broken hearted one, fear not of putting back pieces again,
We have gone on like the wind that fills the room, the words that fill my pen with no remorse no pain

Be strong and be brave my friend, someday you will talk of tall tales,

You are distinct in every way, together we will not fall, we will not fail

Day 80: An Angry World

I have always felt it is difficult for me to get angry, so much so that I often feel physically overwhelmed in the presence of confrontation. And some may find it amusing that they have seen that part of me which is cynical and unhappy about how unfair and unjust the world treats each other. I had such conversations at times with friends , and today when I had another I felt it would rather be unfair if I specifically chose this; to be a topic I refused to write about. Though I fear I tend to apologize too quickly, though I fear my innate need for what I call being nice may be rooted into a grander acceptance of the world I live in, it is far from being right. I guess for now it is the only version I know about, and though I make no promises to the world or to you my friend(s) , I can only write to this mad and angry world we each try to make sense of every single day. I don't know what I achieve in writing this piece, but it is nevertheless the idea that we can be fair, and honest to ourselves.

An Angry World
And yes the world was angry, heated up, rattled like a room with no escape,
A windows that lead you to believe what was real, with bars inside and out it was built like a cage
Angry upon the minutes of the day that means so little to few and so much to you,
Angry with favors that are called upon and about returns which come so very few

An angry world often sits and plans, it does nothing much but keeps memories of the past,
It reminds itself, it hurts itself and often tells itself of the stories that for no reason last
Angry upon the complains we never made, the things we didn't get to say as arguments end,
And the incomplete phone calls with conversations still, and the letters we write; but never send.

I feel anger mixed with passion at times, about situations that I wish I could change at will,
Which were carried on from time to time, and yet would listen to no one and would not yield
Are you angry with me, the world or is the wait too long?
I have reasons, as do you, and for now the world is mad trying to get along

And in the end when all is calm for a while, when the tea cups and coffee cups are stowed away,
You will remember both the angry times, and maybe the times you could smile the ones you share
Yes I might be angry with the world, or simply gloomy, upset or too tired to complain,
But it is what is left of utter disbelief, waiting for things to be equal is it all in vain?

Go angry when you can into this world, the little kid is beaten down too often at times,
And even the maddening crowd, the cynics and the hopeful ones refuse to stir any part of mine

Day 79: Winter Sleep

Two days ago, I followed my friends for a movie called "Winter Sleep". It was a foreign film centering around characters who would talk about normality and argue incessantly over what would seem mundane at times. The focus of the story was thereby not so much on the surroundings, rather the conversations that felt so human from time to time, and the symbolism that effects the tone of the movie. There were moments in the movie where you felt for both the central characters, the relationship between a man and his wife and as they struggle to find their own role. Their arguments seemed real enough to move you into taking sides while the topic of the argument seemed irrelevant. And somewhere in between those moments , there was a restlessness and helplessness that could not be replaced by any thought or words.

Winter Sleep
I sometimes wish for the bitter things, the arguments that ring in my head,
That doesn't let you be yourself and neither me , become myself instead
I sometimes bother myself with setting you free, somewhere in my mind,
Because you have long gone away from me, it is only your memory that you left behind

The tired man, the withered man, the proud man in silent retreats,
Becomes the best of himself, and yet is temporary and for no one to keep
I write cooped up in my warm study, the couch behind; is where we fight,
We have talked on and on , and refused to win as the morning creeps, we have only lost sight

The winter sleep and the winter as it sleeps both tired as it comes home,
It goes round and round in the white snow outside, it has no place to go alone.
Do you sit outside endlessly, in between laughter you dare not set free,
You have changed yourself, you have found cold inside and out as much as can be

I will never know why we don't find love when we need,
Why we couldn't stand to be what we are, the best of us when we heed
I will only know of heartbreaks and memories of the past,
And I will only dream to be a better man, when no one cares to ask

Though I would hate to argue for any one character, I would be remiss if I say that I could not feel the warmth of the tea that was poured in the glasses, the tea turned cold and yet it is the only escape I see that shared the warmth equally.